Homophobia Is Gay Just Like Frerard
Drown Your Sorrows, Fag
I sat in my room. The mess had started to build back up. I laid on my floor drawing; the desk was full of clutter. So far I had draw the beautiful smile of my Frank and his glowing eyes. I had my iPod earphones in so I didn’t hear my Father arrive home, or my Mom shout that is was dinner. I just felt my Father grab me by the hood of my hoodie. I took a deep breath. I tried in vain to relax and not tense up.
“Dinner’s ready, you Fag,” my father spat at my face and threw me to the floor. I landed on my drawing of my sweet and caring Frank. My father saw it and kicked me away from it before picking it up. “Who’s this?” he asked. I didn’t reply, I just looked at the drawing. Frank’s eyes sparked at me giving me courage. “Who’s this?” he asked again, this time I replied after his foot connected with my ribs.
“A guy”
“What do you mean by, a guy?”
I replied with thick sarcasm, “A guy is someone with a penis.” I started to stand up, whilst hissing at the pain in my ribs.
“Well, this ‘guy’ doesn’t look as though he has a penis. He looks like a Fag, just like you.”
“Shut up,” I spat at him, a slight glimmer of confidence rose in me.
“Aww, you trying to defend you pathetic boyfriend”
“Yes actually.” I stated looking Dad in the eye. For a minute I had a confidence and actually believed my Father wouldn’t hurt me, like he normal does. But as he hand forced me onto my bed, only that morning me and Frank had slept in, that confidence abandoned me, along with courage as my jeans where peeled away from my legs.
“This will teach you a lesson, no son of mine will be a faggot.” His framed loomed over me as he entered me. A searing pain shot through me, I tried to scream, but his hand covered my mouth, muffling the sound. He then started to pound forcefully into me. Salty tears filled in my eyes, but I didn’t cry. Last time this happened, I cried and made it worse. I shut my eyes and tried so hard to block out the pain, in vain. Finally he pulled out and I heard him walk up the stairs. Lying on my bed, my jeans still by my ankles. The silence was horrible and was broken my father upstairs explaining to mom I would up in a minute. I hauled my self up. The pain shot through me like a ragged bullet.
My eyes were dried on the sleeves of my hoodie and my jeans pulled up, despite they agony. I climbed up the stairs and forced a positive expression on my face. Not to keep my father safe and stop me being raped again for the hundredth time, but to keep Mikey safe. I will never let him know, I thought as I moved into the dinning room. My dad greeting me as through the previous encounter never happened. Mikey kept stuffing his face, and my mom looked annoyed that I was late to dinner.
I poked the food on my plate and sculptured the mash potato. I felt sick to the core, just being in the same room as my fa –
I ran down the stairs to my room and spewed my guts up, just as I got to the toilet. I flushed it and cleaned my mouth out. Catching my refection in the mirror I decide I need my vodka. Whilst rummaging around the shit in my room Mikey walked in. Causing me to jolt, sending pain through me again. The nauseous feeling came back.
“Y’kay?” he questioned.
No “Ummm, I’m gonna go to bed early tonight, I don’t feel to well.”I smile feebly at him.
“’Kay, Night bro’.” He said, walking out the door.
I laid on the floor, going no where near the bed, it mad me feel sick. A bottle of vodka drowned my sorrows for one more night.
“Dinner’s ready, you Fag,” my father spat at my face and threw me to the floor. I landed on my drawing of my sweet and caring Frank. My father saw it and kicked me away from it before picking it up. “Who’s this?” he asked. I didn’t reply, I just looked at the drawing. Frank’s eyes sparked at me giving me courage. “Who’s this?” he asked again, this time I replied after his foot connected with my ribs.
“A guy”
“What do you mean by, a guy?”
I replied with thick sarcasm, “A guy is someone with a penis.” I started to stand up, whilst hissing at the pain in my ribs.
“Well, this ‘guy’ doesn’t look as though he has a penis. He looks like a Fag, just like you.”
“Shut up,” I spat at him, a slight glimmer of confidence rose in me.
“Aww, you trying to defend you pathetic boyfriend”
“Yes actually.” I stated looking Dad in the eye. For a minute I had a confidence and actually believed my Father wouldn’t hurt me, like he normal does. But as he hand forced me onto my bed, only that morning me and Frank had slept in, that confidence abandoned me, along with courage as my jeans where peeled away from my legs.
“This will teach you a lesson, no son of mine will be a faggot.” His framed loomed over me as he entered me. A searing pain shot through me, I tried to scream, but his hand covered my mouth, muffling the sound. He then started to pound forcefully into me. Salty tears filled in my eyes, but I didn’t cry. Last time this happened, I cried and made it worse. I shut my eyes and tried so hard to block out the pain, in vain. Finally he pulled out and I heard him walk up the stairs. Lying on my bed, my jeans still by my ankles. The silence was horrible and was broken my father upstairs explaining to mom I would up in a minute. I hauled my self up. The pain shot through me like a ragged bullet.
My eyes were dried on the sleeves of my hoodie and my jeans pulled up, despite they agony. I climbed up the stairs and forced a positive expression on my face. Not to keep my father safe and stop me being raped again for the hundredth time, but to keep Mikey safe. I will never let him know, I thought as I moved into the dinning room. My dad greeting me as through the previous encounter never happened. Mikey kept stuffing his face, and my mom looked annoyed that I was late to dinner.
I poked the food on my plate and sculptured the mash potato. I felt sick to the core, just being in the same room as my fa –
I ran down the stairs to my room and spewed my guts up, just as I got to the toilet. I flushed it and cleaned my mouth out. Catching my refection in the mirror I decide I need my vodka. Whilst rummaging around the shit in my room Mikey walked in. Causing me to jolt, sending pain through me again. The nauseous feeling came back.
“Y’kay?” he questioned.
No “Ummm, I’m gonna go to bed early tonight, I don’t feel to well.”I smile feebly at him.
“’Kay, Night bro’.” He said, walking out the door.
I laid on the floor, going no where near the bed, it mad me feel sick. A bottle of vodka drowned my sorrows for one more night.