"Claude, is that you?"

I closed the door behind me, sucking in a deep breath. "No, Maman…" It wasn't here boyfriend, it was me, her son. But at this moment in time he wasn't a pretty sight. My jacket was torn in multiple places, and my shirt was covered in dirt. My tie was loose and one shoe had gone missing. Bruises and scratches were hidden under a layer of grime and blood, but still painful nevertheless.

"Grantaire, what are you doing home so early?—Oh, my…" Mama had exited the kitchen, but now she was standing in front of me and observing what had become of me. Her fingers gently brushed some of my hair from my face. "What happened to you, mon garçon chéri?"

"This has been happening for years, Maman…I-I ran away from them...They chased me out of the parking lot and down the road…" I leant against her, burying my face in her hair. "I...I didn't think it would happen here too, Maman, I'm tired of this…"

"This isn't your fault, Grantaire. You cannot help who you are." She patted my back gently. "You can stay home…"

I gasped suddenly, her hand hitting the worst of my injuries. As small as this outburst was, it gave away how painful it was. She pulled back, a puzzled look on her face.

"Grantaire, chéri, take off your shirt…."

I shook my head quickly. "N-Non…."

"Grantaire—"

"Mére!"

She gave me a look, that look when a parent wants you to do something you truly do not wish to do. I sighed, peeling my coat off reluctantly. She glanced at my back and frowned, obviously seeing the blood that stained my white uniform shirt, and waited for me as I unbuttoned it. Once I had finished with it, I let it fall to the floor.

There was a moment of silence before she spoke. "That's it, I am calling the school and speaking with the principal. You're not going there any more."

I ducked my head. "Maman, s'il vous plait—"

"My son is getting bullied, of course I will make a big deal! They are Catholics, just as you are. They should treat you as their equals, you are not superior or inferior to them."

I sighed and nodded. "I think I'll go shower and get this blood off."

Of course, no matter what school I went to there would be people who did not approve of my sexuality. But in my mother's eyes, this was too far. I was scarred, mentally, emotionally, and physically. She only saw the back; she did not see my stomach.

Catholic school. The Catholics were supposed to be nice, accepting people. But no, not in my world. I had changed schools three time since the beginning of what the Americans would call high school.

The water ran down my body and I closed my eyes. Now, to match the scars on my wrists and thighs, there was a big scar on my back. I was seventeen and I had already attempted suicide twice.

I stepped out of the shower and looked at my reflections in the mirror. Seventeen and I had the bags under my eyes that resembled an old man's.

"No man likes me for who I am," I sighed, glancing around for my razor to shave. After a moment of running through my thoughts, trying to recall where I had put it, it hit me. Maman had taken my razor. "Bless her," I muttered, turning back to my reflection. My eyes trailed downward, falling to my stomach and pelvic areas. Written in permanent marker, still clear as day, were some painful words. 'Too small to please' and 'Dicks are meant to fuck women not men.'

What little self esteem I once had was now gone.

There was a knock on the door. "Get dressed, chéri, we've got to go to the hospital."

I sighed. "Oui, Maman." I was careful with my white V-neck and pulled on my red skinny jeans. This would be my fifth trip to the emergency room in one year.

"Our boy has stitches because of those…those garçons stupides! Graintaire, fils, tell them what they did to you."

I glanced down at the floor, taking a deep breath. Claude's presence wasn't exactly welcome by me, but his support was nice. In this circumstance, however, I did not wish to talk.

"Monsieur, they took a pocket knife to my shoulder and carved the word 'faggot' into my skin. Since I arrived here, they have called me names of all kinds. In addition to the scar on my back, they took a permanent marker and wrote demeaning things on my stomach and pelvis." I took another deep breath. "And because of them, I lack self-esteem. When I came here, I expected to be treated normally, just as they treat their siblings and friends. But I have been treated as inferior. A man should be allowed to love whomever he pleases; but apparently I am not included."

M. Gérard leant back in his seat, looking at me. He looked to my mére, then to Claude.

"I wish I could help you, Grantaire."

Maman blinked. "You can't help him?!"

"We need proof, Madame."

"We have proof—"

"Proof that they did it. We can, of course, have the boys come in—"

"No!" I protested quickly. If my reluctance was not proof, what could be considered proof. "I cannot see them." I turned to Maman. "S'il vous plait, do not make me stay. Can we go home now?"

She nodded, standing. "Go ahead, to the car, chéri."

I returned the nod, standing and hurrying out of the office and school. Once in the safety of the school parking lot, I pulled out my phone to look at my Tumblr.

"Hey, dick lover."

I stopped in my place, quickly slipping my phone into my pocket. I was texting a friend from Tumblr, and I did not wish to share our texts.

"Can't believe you decided to show your face after that beating we gave you the other day. Did maman come to take care of you?"

I turned slightly to face my attackers. Jean-Luc, Michel, Léonard and Yves. Jean-Luc was their leader and the one who directed the others to torture me.

"Is that your proof that you are happy to see us?" Léo teased, nodding to the bulge in my jeans that was actually my phone.

"Leave me alone," I muttered. In my pocket, the phone made a sound. I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath.

"Who's texting you, faggot?" Jean-Luc sneered. He nodded to his friends. "Get the phone."

Before I could react, Michel and Yves pushed me against the wall and Léo reached into my pocket to grab my phone. Jean-Luc snatched the phone, looking at it.

"Who is abarricadebuilder?" he laughed.

"He is a friend," I answered, struggling against the two boys. "Please, give me my phone back."

He laughed. "Look at this last message. 'You should not be ashamed of who you are, baby.' Is this your boyfriend?"

More or less, abarricadebuilder was my boyfriend. He and I spoke every day, all the time, via text messages and phone calls, and even Tumblr, where we met. To spice up our relationship, we kept our faces to ourselves and our real names were a secret. He called me by various pet names, and I adored each one. I enjoyed flirting with him, and he was the only person who made me happy.

"No answer. Must be his boyfriend. Throw a few punches his way, Michel."

Once again, they ganged up on me before I could react. A fist connected with my jaw, and another with my nose. Between punches I was able to glimpse Jean-Luc texting with my phone. I took another punch to the eye just as my phone's ringer went off.

"Oh la la, the boyfriend is calling. Cover his mouth, can't let him hear!"

I opened my mouth to object, but Yves' hand quickly covered me and kept me from speaking. The phone was turned on and my heart practically stopped beating.

"Is something wrong, freedomseeker? Babe, that last message—"

"This isn't freedomseeker." Jean-Luc smirked at me. "I have some bad news for you about your precious friend."

"You give the phone back to him right now—"

"Oh non, I cannot do that. He is occupied at the moment. But he asked me to pass on the message. He never wants to see you again, and he most definitely does not wish to hear from you."

"I want to hear it come from him—"

The button pressed, my phone turned off before my beloved abarricadebuilder could finish his sentence. Another punch was delivered to my stomach. They let me go and I hit the ground, gasping. Jean-Luc threw the device to the ground, that frightening smirk still on his horrifying face. Extending a hand, I groped around for my phone; just as my fingers brushed the side, Léo stepped on my hand. I gasped again, this time wincing in pain.

"You're leaving, which is good," Jean-Luc said. "Our school is better without you."

I attempted to move my hand, feeling tears prickling my eyes.

"Go kill yourself, faggot."

The foot lifted and I quickly pulled my hand and phone back. The four of them left, and I curled up on myself.

The feeling of being hated for being myself really bothered me. I wanted to be loved by someone other than my mére and her boyfriend. Nasty rumours had spread about me, ruining my reputation; since then I was friendless, and the only friends I had were halfway across the world. They were bloggers, like myself, and preferred to be away from society.

After a few minutes of self-loathing in the dirt and wallowing in my own sorrows, I got to my feet. Still trembling, I sat in the back seat of Maman's car and curled up.

My phone rang.

"Bonjour?" I murmured once I had turned it on.

"Freedomseeker, baby, who was that? Are you okay?"

I swallowed and shook my head. "Non...I need you so much, abarricadebuilder."

"Talk to me, baby."

"I-I can't do this. I can't go on. Nobody wants me, nobody needs me….I h-have tried everything…"

"Baby, don't you say that! I want you, I need you. Je t'aime beaucoup, mon amour."

"I love you too, but I can't—"

"You have to stay strong, freedomseeker! If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. I need you. S'il vous plait….Do this for me."

My boyfriend was the best man in the entire world. I wished we did not live so far apart, but on Tumblr things like that seemed to happen every day. I wanted to meet him in person, to have him hold me in his arms. I imagined that it would be the most blissful experience in the world, in my life.

I closed my eyes. "Je t'aime," I whispered.

"Je t'aime trop, freedomseeker. Now, if this persists, you need to tell me and I'll kick some arse."

I couldn't help but smile. He was so great at making me feel good about myself. That's why I loved him as much as I did despite our daily phone calls with him.

"You're perfect the way you are, freedomseeker. Don't you let anyone tell you otherwise. Je t'aime."

I glanced out the window, noticing Claude and Maman coming towards the car.

"How bad did they hurt you?"

"A few punches, not too bad."

"You said something the other day about going to the hospital."

"It was an...an allergic reaction. Had to get my stomach pumped."

"What did you eat?"

"Pecans."

He hummed. "Right, you're allergic to nuts. Look, I must go, it is about time for dinner here. Je t'aime beaucoup, baby."

"Je t'aime trop. Text me when you have finished eating."

"Will do, baby. Take care."

I ended the call as Maman opened her door. She had a wide smile on her face, but it rapidly faded as she sat in the passenger's seat.

"There is a new bruise on your eye."

"It is nothing, Maman," I sighed, glancing at my phone.

M. Gérard gave us the name of a boarding school in Paris. We have decided to send you there."

My jaw dropped. "Boarding school?!"

"The school stresses equality and allows electronics. You would still havve your phone and your laptop and that blog. He has sent over your file, we'll be flying to the city on Saturday."

It was Thursday.

"You will be rooming with another boy, but they'll be giving you his name and room assignment when we arrive. Claude will help with the move. You and I will pack tomorrow, then go to the stores to get you new books and clothes."

I cleared my throat.

"Now, don't look at my like that, Grantaire."

"I will need my razor back, and I will be wanting bandages."

She sighed, nodding. "Which is where your roommate will be coming in."