A/N: WARNING: this chapter is the worst chapter I ever wrote. It's my first time writing about any kind of abuse and sexual abuse disgusts me. Yet I put it in a story, I'm confusing, I know. Anyway, don't like don't read.

Sorry for the late update, yet I hope you enjoy

~DSL

The evil behind two faces

Chapter 6

"The second beginning" by Axel Nakayama

Of this whole book that I'm writing, I guess this chapter is the hardest to write. Sure, it probably will appear in more chapters than just this one, but it's the hardest thing to write about. I thought writing about the physical abuse was hard,well, this is a complete different story. Strange, really, how two different stories can comply to one and the same person.

Okay, time to stop babbling and start to actually write what I'm trying to tell here.

What I'm about to tell you is no pleasant story. It's not a story one should read to the little ones. Not the kind of story one tells at a party, or a family meeting, not the kind of story one tells when first meeting the family-in-law.

It's an awful story, but it has to be told.

Gods, and I was actually trying to start writing what this chapter is all about...

It all started when I was about seven years old. Somehow, my dad had found another way to humiliate and destroy me. By forcing me to do sexual things to him. With him.

It started once when I had come home with a school report that wasn't straight A's. Of course it wasn't, sometimes the beatings got so bad I couldn't do my homework anymore. And when one doesn't make their homework, they don't get straight A's.

Anyway, so I came home with my school report, that wasn't bad, but it wasn't the greatest I had ever had either. My father thought that was a perfectly reasonable opportunity to beat the crap out of me. He had taken me upstairs, to my room and showed me every corner of the small place. He knew it was the one place I felt safe in the whole house, as I had been beaten in pretty much every other room the house had. My father decided that that day was the perfect day to take my last safe haven in the house away.

Sadly, that wasn't the only thing he took from me that day. After my dad had beaten me pretty much senseless (or at least, I thought I felt pretty numb) he went to his own bedroom to get something. That 'something' turned out to be some sort of lubricant. Yes, he did think of that. That, sadly, was also the only thing he thought of.

By the time I had recovered the slightest from the beating, he had returned and was pulling my pants down. Soon, his own pants followed. Shortly after that, I felt the worst pain one could possibly imagine. I remember this quite vivid, and the memory makes me shiver every time I think of it. I remember it so clearly, because I never felt that kind of pain again.

It was not only physical, as an adult tried to enter me at a point that things should not enter, the opposite, really, but also mental pain. The pain of knowing these would be the only moments my father would like me. Love me, even, if you like.

I'll never forget what he said at the moment that he reached his climax. This has two reasons. One: because it really did not apply to the situation. Two: because it was the first time he ever said those three words to me. 'I love you.'

After that day, after my father had taken my virginity -something I didn't even know the excistence of at the time-, my life never was the same. The beatings were something I took without too much resistance. I would, however, never go down without a fight if he were to rape me.

Soon I had learned when my father had this certain look in his eyes, that would tell me to start fighting. It only aroused him more, if you ask me. Ever since that day, the beatings were accompanied by rapes whenever he got the chance. At first, he tried to hide it from my mother, which was a hopeless cause, because she found him raping me pretty soon after it started.

You'd expect from your mother that she'd at least try to protect you from the kind of harm my father was doing to me. But not my mother, she'd just beat me more for the fact that my father would rather fuck his seven year old son, than his own wife.

At school they started to notice that I was sick more often, but every time my mother would come up with some sort of excuse. That I had a weak immunesystem for one. That I had fallen down the stairs. That my balance was pretty bad, so that I fell a lot more than the other children. That I sprained my ankle... anything to keep the school from questioning more.

Like I said, this is no story to tell at a party, to children or family. This is a story that shouldn't be told, but has to be told anyway.