A/N: This is a re-upload, I must've deleted it by mistake and not bothered to do anything about it until now, I will re-upload and gauge the interest, if you want to see more I have chapter 2 in the pipeline ready to upload if there is enough interest.
Broken
Chapter 1: Introduction
"Please, Dad, please, please let me out. I don't like it. I'm frightened. I'm scared. Please, Dad, please let me out!"
Subconsciously my heart raced as I leant towards the door, looking around the room where I spend most my time. I screamed out, pleading with every ounce of innocence in my voice to be let out the horrible place where I be put if I 'misbehave'. My frantic pleas were unheeded. No matter how much I wanted to be let out, every scream, cry and noise was left ignored. My innocent seven-year-old self, my crime is being forced to live with a vile and despicable man who portrayed himself as the person every human being looks up to, to give advice, guidance and a highly respectable police officer. That description of this vile man being wrongly portrayed as their hero makes me sick to my stomach as he thinks of himself as my father.
This wasn't the first time I have been put in the cupboard under the stairs. It is a place I fear every-time I go downstairs, it had the appearance of a dark, dingy hole. My father reminds both my brother John and I, that it is the entrance to hell. "That's the place where naughty little boys are put. At the very back lives the Devil. He drags naughty boys from there down into the depths of hell". You could imagine the fear that the place had induced in my mind. He would regularly use this as a pacifier, to strike fear into both of us to either not bother him or to generally behave ourselves. He gives us this dark, hard stare as his head turns to the crooked door that is the entrance to the cupboard under the stairs.
What an absolutely horrendous thing for a father to tell his sons. No normal parent would torment the minds of young, innocent children so peculiarly, but my father is no ordinary person, no he is an evil, manipulative bastard of a man.
On that day, I had been sitting in the living room, moping, trying to stay out of the way. Most children would be running around having fun with their parents, but for me and John we mostly stay away from our father. This is the common practice now; I would sit in the living room stay out of my fathers' way. He reminds me every time "little boys should be seen, not heard".
Every time he says that it clicks in my mind that I was never wanted or loved. I knew I was in the living room for one reason only… he calls it a game, but I know it wasn't, the fear itself is enough for him to manipulate me. I sat in front of him, ordered by my father to lay there after I stripped naked in front of him, I'd shake as I do this and lay down with his filthy body towering over me. I could smell his stench, his sickly stench of as a result of smoking 50-60 cigarettes a day, this stench of stale smoke that oozed from his skin and mouth. My father hated his sons and I recall a time when he uttered some hateful words, his cold, black-hearted eyes as he began his mission to control a child, his own son.
"Do you know how much you get on my tits? You are a real pain in the arse. You're a little boy who isn't wanted. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't exist", he told me once. Although I was sheltered for most my life I can understand that I wasn't meant to be loved or wanted. I took that onboard and understood their meaning and from that I knew not to question his judgement. It was his way of saying be grateful for even existing though the way he puts, I shouldn't exist, how horrible for a father to tell him that. I became more and more subservient to him, feeling I should be grateful that he gave me life in the first place. Scared that I would be sent back to wherever I came from, a shop perhaps where they found me. Worse still he might just send me to the cupboard under the stairs, to the Devil that struck fear inside me. That cupboard – its contents and everything it stood for – still terrifies me now. I'm not ashamed of stating that I am scared of the dark.
The absence of a paternal figure has led me to believe that I can't be loved or cared for, that I was merely a toy that is used whenever my dad got upset or angry over something, I was there to serve his need to slap, punch and kick to release his feelings. It didn't have to be me that caused his problems, he just needed a punch-bag and I'd be his punch-bag. He sat back down on the sofa behind me as I looked back with dull, gloomy eyes in confusion as I shivered and covered my genitalia; he watched the television pretending to not notice me. All I ever wanted was to be cuddled, to feel loved by my dad, but that never happened, not once. I made a mistake on this occasion as I ask innocently why, if he didn't want me had he got me?
"Get you", he roared at me, "I didn't get you. I wouldn't want something as pathetic as you. We didn't get you, you were presented to us. You came from here", he pointed to his trousers.
Oh dear I done it now, I've agitated him. He rose up from the couch and started fumbling with the zipper on his trousers, he pulled out his penis. "You came out of here. Like wee, you were pissed out. Stand up in front of me!" I didn't want to stand anywhere near him, he dragged me towards him, "Kiss my cock. Kiss the end of my cock, you little bastard. See what it tastes like. This is where you came from. This is part of you".
Without prior warning, he grabbed my head with both his hands and pulled my face towards his penis. "Kiss it, I said!" he yelled. I wanted to break the hold he had on my head so I could run away, but he over-powers me. I knew if I refused he'd force me to, like he did my brother and my mother in bed. I closed my eyes and faced the music as my lips touched the end of his penis and immediately I removed them as the sickening smell of stale urine and cigarette smoke made it too sickening.
"Do it again. Only this time, put it in your mouth or I'll have to force it in there". Again without any warning, he yanked my head towards him, I didn't want to, but I had a gut feeling that if I did then my life will never be the same again. Unfortunately my thoughts were interrupted by him forcing my head downwards towards his junk and he had my neck in a vice like grip which I couldn't escape from as he forced me from fear to open my mouth as he inserted it. I have the image still in my head, that disgusting, shrivelled up member that looked unhygienic that I couldn't wait to be of age where I could get away from him, but alas I still had ten or eleven years yet, oh joy.
I felt sick to my stomach whenever I even think about my life as it is at the moment and having to live here in this house with an abusive father. Well that is until my dad got a phone call one morning when he woke up.
"Hello", I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I can recall his side of it.
"Hello".
"Yes this is Frank".
"Oh really you're transferring me".
"I'm sorry, but I'd need to take my family with me in order for that to work out for me".
"*sigh* Ok I'll go".
The rest is history as my crappy life was packed up and transferred to a little town called "South Park".