CHAPTER 55
KIAN
16 years old
My dad stormed in the front door, the hinges creaked from the force as he shoved it open. He'd come from church in a rage. There wasn’t a lot of sense in his drunk ramblings at the beginning, but from what I gathered, there was not a large turnout for today’s sermon. Which okay, granted, it was a slow day at the church, but there was a revival downtown at the same time, so of course people flocked to that.
I sat in the front row pew, like the dutiful and God-fearing son that I am, and listened while he preached his usual homophobia and misogyny. The only thing keeping me together was Trent. Trent who sat by me in the front pew and sang the songs that I taught him so he would know what’s going on. In between those four walls, we’re two best friends who hang out and love listening to the word of God on Sundays.
When it’s just the two of us, in the close confines of his bedroom, it's a different story. We’re boyfriends who love to sit and talk while they play boardgames. We talk about where we see ourselves, what kind of careers we want, how big we want our house to be. Our discussions are about us. Our future.
The only thing that keeps me from panicking was Trent staying by my side during church, knowing that he has my back no matter what.
“Get over here, boy,” my dad snarls, standing by our kitchen table. I quake in fear on the far side of our couch. Nothing good is going to come out of me going over there, but it will be worse if he comes over here.
I untuck my legs from under me and stand up, my bottom half shaking like a leaf. Breathing deeply, I remind myself that pain is only temporary, and no matter how much it hurts, I always heal.
It’s a shitty mantra, but it’s been the only thing that helps me through the worst of my dad’s rage.
I stand in front of him, his face so like my own, you can tell I’m his offspring if you see us walking down the road together. I hate it. I hate that I have any part of me that also belongs to him. I can’t stand looking at my own reflection in the mirror–the temptation to smash it to smithereens is always there.
He looks down on me. I confidently stand at five feet and eleven inches, but he has a few inches on me. His body mass is greater than mine, too, and he’ll never let me forget it.
“What did you do today?” he snarls, getting in my face. The putrid scent of the alcohol on his breath burns my nose.
“I went to church. I came home with mom and Trent. Worked on some homework. That’s all, sir.”
The usual, what we’ve been doing every Sunday since I’ve been old enough to go to school. The one change was adding Trent to the mix, but that hasn’t been a problem. My dad hasn’t said anything about it. If anything, he seems more excited that I’m bringing someone to church.
“What else?”
My mom comes out of their bedroom, and stops when she sees us. Pausing to take in how drunk my dad is and how scared I am. She tsks under her breath and walks right back into their bedroom, leaving me alone to deal with this.
“I–uhm. I’m sorry, sir.”
I’m cut off from saying anything else when he grabs me by my hair and drags me over to the counter. He presses my face onto the hard granite, the coldness biting into my cheeks.
I bite on my bottom lip to keep my gasp in. “Sir?”
He lifts my head up, then slams it back down onto the unforgiving hardness with a loud thwack. Pain radiates up my cheek and to the back of my head.
I hold back my moan of pain, the taste of copper flooding my mouth from my own ministrations.
“I know what you’ve been doing. You disgust me. I’ve raised you right. I taught you the exact same lessons my folks taught me. You’re damaged. You’re not my son.” With every sentence, my panic rises and his anger burns brighter. He slams my face harder and harder against the counter. I can feel the warmth from my blood trickling down my face and splattering when he forces my face back down.
“I’m going to kill you,” he says, his palms shaking in my hair. I freeze in terror.
No.
No.
He can’t. He can’t do that to me. I won’t let him.
I will fight until my last dying breath. I’m not leaving Trent. Not now and not ever.
I kick out as hard as I can with my right leg, hoping to catch him off guard. My foot connects with skin, and he howls in pain. His grip disappears from my hair. Dark spots dance behind my eyes, and I have to breathe deeply to fight off the pain and nausea rolling in my stomach. I need to get out of here.
Now.
I dash past him while he curls up in a ball on the floor of our house. Throwing the door open, the balmy night air swooshes across my face, cooling off my overheated cheek.
My thoughts are racing, my pulse pounding in my throat.
I need Trent. I need him to fix me, to put me back together the only way he knows how.
The only thing I have is the clothes on my back. All of my school supplies and all my belongings are back in that hellhole. I think of my tattered book that I’ve kept with me all these years, hanging onto it tightly. I’ll never get to see it again. I’ll never get my things back, because if I step foot inside that house, I’m signing my own death certificate.
Blood slowly trickles down my face, and with every step I take, I feel my consciousness slowly slipping away.
In the back of my mind, I know the truth. I’m going to pass out, right here in the middle of the road. My footsteps are heavy and my mind is foggy.
“Ki!” a stricken voice screams, and it takes all my energy to lift my head.
A blur of movement appears in my peripheral. I think it’s Trent. It sounds like Trent.
“Freckles, what’s wrong? What the fuck happened?” A sharp inhale, and I can hear his choked breath. He sees. He sees how much my dad hates me. How much he’s always hated me, but now he has a more valid reason. “Freckles, oh my god. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“Can’t,” I wheeze, the pain in my head excruciating now. If we go to the hospital, they’ll call my parents.
“What do I do?” he pleads, and my body sags under my weight when I feel his arms wrap tightly around me, cocooning me in his warmth.
“Safe,” I say, then the light behind my eyes burns brightly until it’s snuffed out to pitch black.