Who I Am

WARNING: This chapter involves rape and child molestation. Really, it took a lot of guts for me to even put it up. . . Proceed at your own risk! Thank you!

--Zadia Grey

Chapter 8

Drunken Nights

I had had the perfect time to finally be in a real relationship, with a guy I couldn't stop thinking of, and I blew it. Damn it Ron. . . He was on my mind just as much as Dean had been. I loved them both. . . But which was stronger? I wasn't sure as of the moment. That's why I said what I did.

". . . I can't, Dean."

His smile faded again. Dean didn't cry, his voice didn't break, but he was hurt again. I was hurting him again. Damn me.

"I met someone, but. . . I don't know how they feel. I love you, but I need to see what he thinks. I'm not going to lead you on. I also love someone else. . ."

"Why don't you go with someone you know loves you, instead of chasing someone you don't know about?" he frowned.

"I don't know. . ."

Dean let go of me.

I slammed my head down on my desk a few times, repeating the same words over and over as my head cracked on the hard wood: "Damn it damn it damn it. . ."

Vernon was gone as was Dudley. I was by myself for the time being and I was taking this time to jostle some sense back into my head. Somehow I had lost all perception and was now cracking my head open to see if it would maybe find its way back and crawl in through the splits in my skull. Yeah, like that would happen. Whatever was lost wasn't going to come back. Like Dean . . .

Somewhere between slams, I heard a door open. I sat all the way up this time and stopped my self-discipline to listen. The door slammed behind the person. From the sound of his footsteps alone, I could tell it was Vernon, and he was drunk. To make this worse, the steps were coming toward me. The steps were rushed, but there was a lot of staggering and loud sniggering involved. My door soon opened to reveal my step-father, in all his drunkenness. His suit was still on (though a bit rumpled). His eyes were bloodshot and wide, almost as wide as the grin that graced his slightly wrinkled face. Vernon was trying to look suave against the wooden doorframe.

"Harry! Just the boy I wanted to see." He said this as if this was the last place he would have looked: inside my own room. . . All the same, Vernon gave a laugh and ran his fingers over his mop of brown hair. "Mmm. . . Harry, I have a few confessions to make to you."

"Oh, yeah?" I turned in my seat to face the man properly.

There was an odd look in Vernon's eyes as he watched me. I had a feeling it was only the alcohol causing it, but something was telling me other wise. He took a few steps forward and collapsed almost comically to the floor. I jumped up to help him, but Vernon put his hand out to stop me there.

"Fine! Meant for that to happen. I like the floor. Nice and carpeted down here." He patted the white carpeting, all the while keeping that cheesy, drunken grin on his face.

I hadn't seen him drink all that often. Usually he came home really horny when this happened though. This was really bad for Mom. Now, Mom wasn't here. . .

"You see son. . . Where to begin? Oh yeah! Your mother. Sweet lady, wasn't she? Too bad I wasn't really in love with her these past few years."

These words hit me like a mallet. What was bad about this was that my head was already in enough pain.

"You didn't love her? Then why--?"

"I wanted someone else." Vernon waved it off as if it was nothing. "Now, this child was too young for me. All I could do was wait until he grew up a bit. But what if I lost track of him? I couldn't do that, Harry. I wanted him so badly it hurt--"

"Him? Vernon, you're gay?" My gaydar really did need polishing. . .

"Bi! Men and women make me hard. But this boy . . . I really wanted him. He was special. He just. . . Mmm!"Vernon took this moment to stretch his arms over his head. I took the moment to wonder why he was telling me all this in the first place. I don't know if it's love or lust, but I wanted him. I still want him." He got to his a moment to crawl forward and use my knees as armrests. "Have I mentioned how good you look tonight?"

These words hit me even harder. I was speechless. "Me?" I managed to choke out feebly.

"Do you see anyone else here?"

"No, I mean. . . It's me isn't it? The boy you wanted all these years? You married my mother to get to me when I was old enough, didn't you!" Anger and fear rose in me. Anger for all the obvious, fear because I knew he was drunk and in need of sex. Sex from his gay step-son to be more specific. Sex from me.

"Damn straight!" Vernon laughed at his own joke.

"You were leading her on for three years just so you could get me in bed? I was fifteen when we met!"

"That you were. . ."

This couldn't be Vernon, the man my mother married. This was an old pervert. A user. A homo. . . He must have been a damn good actor to have fooled us all these years. His goal was always to put me down. . . Now it was literal. He wanted to lay me. My own step-father. . . It seamed all the men who ever really bullied me over my sexuality were really lusting after me. (All but Brandon maybe, but the way things were going. . . Like father like son, right?)

As my brain raced to process all this new information, Vernon took the opportunity to take action on his intentions. His hand slipped under my shirt, pushing it up with his thumb as all the other digits touched my bare skin. A breath caught in my throat from pure fear. All the anger and pity I had felt just a few minutes ago had fallen in mercy of this pure, raw fear. What he had done to Mom when drunk, what he had kept bottled up all these years. . . I put two and two together really fast. I wasn't living through this night with my virginity fully in tact. There was no way this would be another "almost" like that day with Draco.

Vernon's lips began to caress the freshly exposed skin, kissing my abs in a somewhat rough manner. The hand inched up to my chest and the rough digits rubbed at my nipple. The lips soon abandoned my abs to kiss my chest. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. This really didn't feel so bad. . . Maybe I could do this. . . But, I don't love him. He was my step-father for the past three years, not a person I would even consider being with. How could I let this man have his way with me if I felt nothing for him?

It was the sound of my zipper coming undone that broke me from my trance-like state. I stood suddenly. "No, I can't--"

"Of course you can!" Vernon pushed me back down and straddled my hips, taking off my shirt. He began ripping off his own shirt as he sat on my lap. His breath smelt of beer. . . Was this really how I was going to loose my virginity? To a man who was drunk shitless? Not Ron? Not even Dean? It wasn't supposed to be this way. I knew it.

"Get off me!" I pushed him back, but he didn't fall. Vernon held his ground.

"We can do this the hard way if you prefer."

Oh God, no . . . He was talking rape now.

He leaned forward and began sucking at my bare neck. "I suggest you don't fight. It will save you a lot of pain."

Pain. What was more painful: giving yourself to someone you don't love or loving someone who doesn't love you back?

I reached up and took his bare shoulders and pulled him into me a bit closer.

"That's right. . ." he whispered against my neck.

Then, however, I pushed him back as hard at possible. This time he was caught by surprise and had no choice but to fall to the floor. Vernon was up and had me by the waist before I could reach the door. I fell hard on my face. Every fiber of my being was hurting already from that fall alone. What kind of shape would I be in after the night ended? I pulled my head up to see a red spot on the carpet where my face had been. My nose was bleeding. Vernon turned me over and held my arms into the carpet.

"You want it rough, eh? Fine by me!"

He took me and pulled me up by the arms already clenched in his fists. I was thrown on the covers of my bed. Vernon wasted no time in pinning me down on the mattress. I could feel every spring press on my back under the larger man's weight. I held his shoulders, trying to keep his lips off of my own. He took my wrists again and pushed them to the sides of my head. I turned at the last moment so his lips collided with my cheek.

"Oh, c'mon Harry. You have no idea what years of sexual frustration can do to a man."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn." I seriously didn't mean for that to sound like Gone with the Wind. Really.

"Heh heh. Cute, Harry." Vernon leaned over again, but instead of going for my mouth, went to my ear. His sour breath tickled my skin. "You know that pocket knife I have on me at all times?"

"Yes."

"You don't want me to use it, do you?"

I hesitated. "No."

"Then I suggest you let me have my way and don't make any trouble about it, you hear me, son?"

Damn him to hell. How dare this intoxicated bastard call me his son? My father would never hurt me like he had. Would never try to have sexual intercourse with me, or hit me, or call me a fag when he himself was also one. Traitor to his own race, this one. . .

I woke up near morning sore as hell. The pain from my belly button down to my knees was excruciating. The sheets were soaked, my clothes were blanketing the floor, my ass was killing me. . . Speaking of which, I raised the sheets up between two fingers to survey the damage. Bruises and hickys everywhere. Damn it. I whispered a string of curses and recovered myself. It wasn't supposed to be this way, damn it!

Exhaustion took over again and I fell into a hard sleep. . .