"Outlaws of Love"
"Golden haired, cerulean irises," I spoke.
"No," my father said. "Anyone but him. You can do much better."
The simple words that my father spoke rang like church bells through my cranium. Words that were spoken oh-so long ago, eight years to be exact. Eight long, miserable, terrible years of repetitive moving to new locations and dealing with new boyfriends. New boyfriends whom were as slutty as my own male parent.
Each and every one of them longed to do something different, and even more kinky than my father's last boy-toy had, proving to him that they were good enough, that they would take care of him; but alas when the "great boyfriend" phase would wear off and the "asshole phase" would be initiated, causing the two lovers to split up, leaving one another to walk around aimlessly, not knowing what to do with themselves, I would always be there on the couch comforted my bawling baby of a father, telling him that there were other demons in this underworld, and that his ex-boyfriend didn't know what he had until he lost it, and so on and so forth and all of that bullshit.
I couldn't help but sigh, for I had had a long day of unpacking and packing. We had moved yet again, but this time it was where I wanted to go; back to a quiet, little mountain town that went by the name of "South Park".
Heaving the last load of weighty boxes, I sat down on my plush bedding, which had not yet been applied to my sleeping area. Glancing around the hollow, dank room, I gulped a massive lump in my esophagus. Ivory acrylics chipped off of the walls and water dripped from the molding ceiling. This place was, in a way, a "Hell-hole", but-for the time being-it would have to do. Though this was going to be a difficult task, it was possible, but I needed time and thankfully-according to my satanic parent-we would have a lot of that to spare, for we were supposedly settling down in this miniscule city, for now.
Suddenly a thunderous crash sounded from one of the upstairs bedrooms, causing the foundations of the household to wavering. After jumping-from the startling noise-I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighing once more. This was going to be a long life time that I was unable to escape. Though this wretched life was a literal living Hell, each and every day I attempt to escape to a fantasy world, to a world where I can be truly happy. Truly happy with my lover. The helpless victim of my endless torture. Phillip Purrup, the petite British male whom I had fallen so desperately in love with. I was trapped; trapped in the fingers of Cupid, and now I am unable to squirm away, for it was too late. I had fallen whole-heartedly in love with Phillip. Phillip. Pipsqueak. My Pipsqueak. The thing that kept me from leaving this Earth so many times. Pip was-and always will be-my reason for living.