My life sucks. No, it really does. Want to know how I know? Because my dad's fists are raining down on me and landing on my face with full force, and he's yelling about how I'm the biggest failure known to man.
"You're. Such. A. Failure. We. Should've. Gotten. That. Abortion." Each word came with it's own individual hit, while I swayed in and out of unconsciousness. The last word did it for me, and I blacked out.
No sound. No dad. It was nice. Was this what it was like to be dead?
Because if so, then I could painlessly do the job myself with a bottle of pills. But there was no way I was going to die like this. Not by my father's hands.
I don't know how long I'd been out, but my vision started to return again. Everything was a blur and voices echoed and bounced around in my head. I blinked a couple times. I felt numb. I looked at my ceiling, and unfortunately for me, my hearing returned as fast as my eyesight did.
"YOU DID THIS, DONNA. YOU MADE ME HIT HIM ALL THESE YEARS. I COULD'VE LIVED MY WHOLE LIFE NOT KNOWING THAT GERARD WAS GAY, BUT YOU HAD TO TELL ME, DONNA," Great, now my father was blaming mom for this.
I realized I was gay when I was only twelve. Though my memories are blurry and painful, it just occurred to me that my dad started to hit me when I was around fourteen.
Was that his goal? His purpose for all these years was to punch the gay out of me? I didn't even know any of my parents knew until just now.
Then it hit me… That day Frank was over for my birthday when I turned fourteen… We didn't plan on anything that happened that day, it just happened. And I don't regret it.
My door was open a small, itty-bitty crack. We were sitting here and then his lips came crashing down on mine in a quick motion. He knew I was gay, but I didn't know he was. He laid me down and flew on top of me, holding himself up by the spaces beside my head. We kissed furiously, like we couldn't get enough of each other.
"I didn't know you were like this, Frankie," I managed to squeak out.
"Yeah, babe, I'm as straight as you; not at all," His voice was slow and sexy.
I held my hands behind his neck, pulling him in again to pick up where we left off. His tongue found mine and it explored my mouth. Each motion he made with it shot straight through my body and down to my crotch. As quick as it happened, he pulled off of me breathing heavily towards the ceiling. We both lay speechlessly on our backs. That was when I heard my door close quietly.
In the adrenaline rush of it all, I dismissed it.
I should've known… It was mom who closed my door. She had seen everything. She had heard everything.
And that led up to now, including four years of punches and kicks and bruises and scars and concussions… With only one hospital visit throughout all the beatings.
The yelling still rang out from the kitchen, followed by some sobs. But the sobs weren't my mother's. Oh no, these sobs were Mikey's. Poor Mikey, caught in this world full of violence…
"WHY DO YOU HAVE TO SCREAM AT EACH OTHER?" Mikey's voice broke during his yell, and he returned to his crying. I then heard a faint knock on my door, "Gee? Gee are you okay? Can I come in?" His voice was filled with worry and weakness.
I opened my mouth to speak but the words didn't come out. I tried so hard to let him know I was all right, but there was only silence. I even tried to cough and clear my throat, but it was so sore that I was thrown into an agonizing coughing fit, spitting up blood that ran down my cheek.
Mikey barged into my room when he heard my now gurgling coughs, and I spit up even more blood. He put his hand under me and lifted me up into a sitting position. Each movement sent electricity all over me and I desperately tried to scream. Nothing worked. Just more blood. Just more pain.
"Oh my God," he said in disbelief, "Gerard, speak to me. Tell me anything."
I signaled to my throat indicating that I couldn't make any sounds. My eyes rolled back and I coughed out of control. Each one ripped at my esophagus, tearing it apart. I heaved more blood onto my lap.
"Okay, Gerard, I'm going to call an ambulance, okay?" I was feeling faint and torn due to the blood loss.
I nodded very slightly because my neck was bruised and injured. Even that small motion caused excruciating pain, so I lifted up my blood stained hand into an "okay" sign.
I heard Mikey frantically dialing 911, and before they answered, he made a promise, "Gerard, its over. This is all going to end now. You will never get hit again after today, I swear."
