Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: This chapter contains somewhat graphic rape. If that sort of thing makes you feel queasy, please leave immediately.
"About time you got home, worthless piece of junk!" My father slurred drunkenly when I opened the door. "Get me another beer." I sighed and opened the fridge, which was stocked with beer cans. I grabbed one, popped the tab, and handed it to my father who was watching t.v. in the den. Then, I pulled ingredients out of the fridge and the cabinets and fixed him a meal, a big one. He always ate like a pig. It seemed like the only way he drowned his pain. Well, that and getting wasted every night.
He wasn't always like this. I remember times when he used to be someone I looked up to, someone I wanted to become. When I was a child and someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always replied, "I want to be just like my daddy!" and they would always pinch my cheeks and coo about what a sweet little boy I was. Now all I wanted to do was survive each night. All I wanted to do was stay out of his way. I don't remember exactly when the abuse started. But I know it happened around the time he was fired from his job.
Flashback
I walked through the door to find him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He looked and sounded as if he was crying.
"Dad, what's wrong? What happened?" I walked over, dropping my bookbag on the floor. He lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot; he'd been crying for some time.
"I was fired from my job." He rasped and picked up a beer can from the table in front of him. He gulped it down, burped, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. I was shocked; he never acted like this. He was always calm and collected and he never wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then I realized he was drunk. "Well, don't just stand there. Get me another beer!" he stood and advanced on me with clenched fists. "I worked my ass off for you and you can't even help me get a beer?!" He backed me up against the wall and rained punches down on me. I shielded my face with my hands, pleading with him to stop. When he finally did, he hugged me, crying again. "I'm sorry, Yamato. I'm so sorry." And that was that. The next day was the same. I would come home from school to find that he was drunk and mean as hell. Then came the day when he dragged me to my room…
"Dad? Dad, what's going on?" I asked as he shoved me on the bed. My head hit the wall but I didn't make a sound. I'd learned already that he didn't like me showing any signs of pain when he was beating me. He never answered me but his next action was enough to tell me: he leaned down and kissed me. "What the-" I yelped, twisting my head away from him. He'd had more than usual that night, I suppose. He grabbed my head and forced me to stay still. I tried hitting him but his body was on top of mine, obstructing any movement.
"Shut up, faggot." He slurred and moved his hands up my shirt. He pinned my arms to my sides with his legs, straddling me, and took of his shirt. I could see the beginnings of a beer belly. When he moved to take off his pants, I wriggled my arms out and punched him. I fought with him until he decided that it was too much trouble and left the room. I lay on my bed with my heart pounding, not knowing what the hell was going on. But I felt the beginnings of relief because he'd left me alone. But he came back, this time with string…
When he finally left me alone, I rolled onto my stomach, buried my face into my pillow and cried myself to sleep. That night, at the time, was the worst night of my life. Little did I know that life would be getting a whole lot worse and I would be experiencing that kind of excruciating pain and humiliation almost every night for the next few years…
End flashback
After he had finished eating, dad grabbed another beer and meandered to the den again and plopped himself down, expecting me to clean up after him. Once the kitchen was clean, I headed to his room and shut the door softly behind me; I never knew what noise would set my father off and send him after me. I threw myself on the bed my stomach grumbling loudly (I hadn't eaten for a while and there was no chance of getting any food in the house) and lay there, breathing in the clean, detergent smell of my bedsheets. After a while, I reluctantly pushed myself up and got started on the massive pile of homework my teachers had assigned; I hate homework. I was only halfway done when a loud bang startled me. I looked up and my heart dropped when I saw my father standing in the doorway, bloodshot eyes watching me lustfully. It was only then that I realized I was stretched across my bed on my stomach, a position he thought was 'exciting.'
"No." I mumbled fearfully to myself. It didn't matter what I said; father never took no for an answer. I was dragged from my room, down a few stairs into one that was dark and musty, one that I had nicknamed 'the Torture Chamber.' "No, please." I begged, knowing what was coming next, forcing my muscles to relax so I would be a dead weight in his arms, maybe he would get tired and forget about doing anything today.
"Shut up." My father growled, backhanding me on the face. He handcuffed me to the headboard and climbed on top of me, straddling my waist, smiling wickedly.
"No, please." I whispered it over and over. "No, please." It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I was stripped of my clothing, of the few protective layers separating me from the bastard who called himself my father. He took off his clothes and sat on top of me, chuckling. He loved seeing me in pain. I glared at him and struggled, but it did no good. The handcuffs held fast and his weight was too heavy on my legs for me to do anything about it. He leaned down and I felt him on me. He kissed me, deeply and I turned my head but he forced me to look at him.
"You like this, faggot." He whispered into my ear, nibbling it. I hated him, hated the sound of his voice, the feel of his body against mine, hated everything about him. But my hatred couldn't stop what he was about to do to me. I closed my eyes tight to stop the tears from streaming out as he pushed himself into me. It hurt so much, each time worse than before. The bastard thrust himself into me over and over, ramming my head against the headboard, hurting me. With one loud moan, he came and pulled himself out, grinning drunkenly. He pressed his lips to mine, his post-rape ritual. I was shaking so hard the bed was rattling against the wall. "You like this." He said again and I spat at him, knowing full well the trouble that action would get me into.
"I hate you!" I snapped and something in his face tightened. The self-satisfied smile slid from his face and was replaced with a look of disgust and anger. He sat up and punched me. Pain exploded in my head and I saw stars. My vision went blurry and I knew I had gone too far. I knew that any word out of me when he was this drunk was enough to send him into a drunken rage. I hated him.
"Hate me? I feed you, clothe you, give you a roof over your head, you ungrateful maggot. Without me you would be on the streets wearing rags and eating out of dustbins." He punched me again. "I. Am. The. Only. Reason. You. Go. To. That. School. Of. Yours." With each word, he punched me again and again. By now, he was tired and out of breath, so he climbed off and dressed unsteadily. "You can just stay there and rot, for all I care." He turned off the light and walked out, closing the door behind him. I could hear it click; he locked it from the outside, so even if I found a way out of the handcuffs, I wouldn't be able to escape out the door. There was a window but he had installed bars in it; he'd installed bars on all the windows. I lay on the bed, bleeding and sore, my wrists aching, and cried myself to sleep. I was trapped and there was nothing I could do about it.
A/N: I was feeling a bit… angsty when I wrote this. Sorry if anyone who has read this is traumatized… I did warn you. Reviews are always welcome.
Redvind: hee hee. Don't worry, is all I have to say… ;D