In hindsight, Shawn should have seen it coming. He should have never assumed that Chet would be out and about, getting drunk with his 'buddies" If he was smart, he would have changed, and taken off the make-up at Cory's house. But Shawn wasn't smart. If he was, his night wouldn't have ended with him on the floor of his trailer, bruised, naked, and bloody.
It all started when Shawn walked in and Chet spotted him. He was currently on his third beer and was in an already horrid mood.
Shawn gulped. He couldn't tell what Chet was thinking, but he knew it wasn't good.
Chet slapped him hard. Shawn yelped and fell to the ground. "What's the meaning of this?"
"It's not what it looks like, I swear," Shawn rubbed his throbbing cheek. Chet just glared at him. Shawn cringed back, it was apparent that Chet did not believe him.
"It's not what it looks like?" Chet growled. Shawn started to breathe heavily. "It looks like my son is dressed like a woman," He spat in disgust.
"It was a social experiment," Shawn defended himself. Chet only scoffed. "I'm telling the truth, I am. It was for an article-'' He stopped speaking when he felt a sharp kick to his side. Shawn gasped at the piercing pain. He clutched his side and looked up at his dad who had nothing about hatred in his eyes.
"Shut up, I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses," Chet said. He stared at his son for a moment. He stood tall and firm, trying to come up with the perfect punishment. A lightbulb went off on his head. Shawn could see that and scooted further away from his dad. "Stand up,"
Shawn gave an unsure look. Was Chet testing him? "What?"
"Not only are you a queer but are you stupid too? I said get up and face me," Chet commanded. Fighting off the dull pain in his side, Shawn quickly scrambled to his feet, facing his dad. He was terrified; but tried not to show it, in fear of pissing off Chet even more. "Good," Chet smiled. The smile was far from genuine. "Now strip," He demanded. Shawn felt his heart stop. His insides were twisting and turning. Whatever sick and twisted thing Shawn expected his dad to do him, it sure as hell wasn't that.
"Please don't make me," Tears welled in Shawn's eyes.
"Aw," Chet pouted. "Don't tell me you aren't about to cry like a little girl," Shawn's face heated. "Shawn," Chet gritted through his teeth. "Don't make me tell you again."
Shawn's lower lip quivered, he was now openly crying. Chet watched smugly as his son removed his clothing. When Shawn got to removing underpants, he bit the inside of his cheek. All his defenses were robbed away as he stood nude in front of his father. If his face wasn't red before, it was now surely the shade of a tomato.
"Good boy. Now turn around, and bend over," Shawn didn't reply. He obeyed his father and placed his hands on the counter. He sucked in a breath when he heard the sound of the belt buckle.
"Hunters aren't fags," Chet sneered. He folded the belt. "You'll learn that tonight,"
It will be over soon, it will be over soon. Shawn repeated in his head like a mantra.
Shawn cried out when the sharp leather hit the center of his back. "Be quiet." Chet sneered. Striking Shawn five more times with the thick belt.
Shawn groaned in pain. He pressed his forehead flat against the counter.
"Had enough?" Chet asked. Shawn stayed silent. He didn't want to utter the words Chet had trained him to say. "Shawn!" Chet yelled, this time striking him on his bottom.
Shawn jumped forward. "It's not for me to decide," He repeated what Chet had told him years ago when he first got whipped.
"That's what I thought," Chet said smugly. He took a moment to admire the welts that were forming on his son's smooth back; and went back to work.
All that could be heard in the trailer was the sounds of the belt, mixed with Shawn's grunting and groaning. Chet didn't care. He enjoyed watching his son whither in pain, knowing he was the cause of it. It made him feel powerful.
It didn't take long for Shawn's back to become extremely sensitive. Each strike felt like a bullet. He wasn't sure how long Chet had been going for. Shawn had lost count at 30. He tasted something metallic in his mouth. It was Shawn's lip. It was bleeding from him biting down so hard.
Chet dropped the belt and grabbed Shawn by his bicep. He examined Shawn who was trembling. Mascara stained his puffy cheeks. "You're pathetic, you know that?" Chet remarked.
The tears from Shawn's eyes dribbled down in chin. That seemed to send Chet into a fit of rage. He shoved Shawn roughly. Shawn hissed in return as his abused flesh hit the edge of the hard surface. Chet then punched him in the stomach. Shawn gasped for air. He didn't even get a chance to catch his breath before Chet backhanded him.
For the second time that night, Shawn found himself on the kitchen floor, pleading for Chet to leave him alone. "Dad, please," He whimpered. The blood from his nose had dripped down his chin to his bare chest.
"I know I'm not the best father; not by a fucking long shot," Chet said. "But I know for a fact I didn't raise my son to be a fucking pansy." Chet's cruel words were like a knife to the heart. Even as of right now, Shawn still couldn't bring himself to hate his father. He still very much craved his approval.
Shawn got on his knees, and used his left hand to hold his stomach, while the other rested on the floor.
Chet took that as an opportunity to crush Shawn's fingers with his boot. Shawn screamed in agony. His whole hand felt like it was on fire. He could have sworn he heard his bones crack.
"Quit your whining," Chet grabbed Shawn's hand and squeezed the broken fingers tightly.
What came out of Shawn's throat was a mix of a scream and sob. "Dad, I get it! Please just stop!" He begged.
Chet let go, and gripped Shawn by his hair, making him stare into his soulless eyes. "I don't want to see you like that again. Do you understand me?"
Shawn shook underneath his gaze. "Y-yes," He stuttered.
Chet pulled his hair into a tighter grip. "Yes, what?"
"Yes Sir," Shawn quickly corrected himself.
Chet gave Shawn a hard look before releasing him from his grasp. Shawn ungracefully landed on his right hip. He rubbed his throbbing head. Chet grimaced. "Go take a shower. You look like hell."
Shawn stood up and kept his head low. He dragged his feet across the room. Wincing in pain every step he made towards the bathroom.
"Oh, and make sure you scrub that shit off your face." Chet hollered from the kitchen.
Shawn shut the door quietly behind him. He turned on the lights. And Chet was right. He looked like he had come back from hell.
The devil himself had beaten the living shit out of him.
The father and son never spoke of what happened again. But Shawn's body always remembered. When Chet got a little too close, on instinct, Shawn flinched away from his father.
Chet preferred it that way.