The Past Isn't Really In The Past

Jack's POV.

I'm in denial. Its as simple as that right there. I fucking deny being gay. I deny it everytime its brought up or I make it seem like I am. I deny it. And I have my reasons, too. I'm in denial in fear of being rejected by my family, friends, bandmates and most importantly my fans. I'm in denial to protect myself from being used and thrown to the side again. To protect myself from the demons of my past and from today.

But mostly, I'm in denial because of him. Because of that asshole that I knew in high school.

He did so many things to me. So many things that I reget everyday damn day of my life. He fucking stole all my firsts from me. He stole my first kiss. My first actual real date. My first drink. My first real sexual act with someone. I even gave him my innoncence. And he stole my first chance to spill a tear. I cried my first tear over some boy who really meant nothing and was only using me and playing me.

I was stupid and naive. I acted on impluse. I didn't think. I just acted. I didn't see all the signs that were put up, all the warning I got. I ingored them all and it came back and slapped me in the face. How stupid can you get?

I'm grown now and I see now how curel and dark this world is to people. It doesn't spare anyone.

And oh how I reget every stupid act I did with these boy. I reget it every second of the day I'm forced to lived and remember. Every day, I'm forced to sit and remember. I don't want to remember. I want to forget. But I can't. That one night replays so many times in my head, making it impossible to simply forget.

'Shh, Jacky. You gotta be quite or we'll be heard,' he murmmered against my swollen lips. I nodded and stifled a moan when he palmed me through my boxers. As his hand worked it's magic, I found it getting damn near impossibe to keep silent. A low pleasured moan escaped my dry throat when his lips found that sweet spot on my neck. He nibbled and nipped at the skin, despreate to leave some form of a mark. He soothed the spot with his tonuge and I tilted my head to the side so he could get better acsess.

I barely felt his fingers hook around the wastline of my boxers and I soon felt them being slipped off, leaving me shamelessly naked on the hotel bed. His eyes raked my body and I suddenly felt inscure about myself. What he found me to not be what he expected? I probably didn't reach his excpetations....

But he smiled a beautiful smile at me and whispered, 'Beautiful,' under his breath. Surely I had heard him wrong. Me? Beautiful? What a load of bullshit.

His fingers teasly trailed down the inside of my thigh and I couldn't stop the shiver that racked my body. I suddenly forgot about my inscurities and I just wanted him. Badly.

'S-stop teasing m-me- uhhhh,' I barely got the sentence out of my mouth with his fingers wrapping around my shaft. He stroked slowly, causing me to wirthe and squrim on the bedsheets. I was fucking putty in his hands.

'You turn me on so much,' he breathed in my ear. He twisted his wrist at just the right angle and a loud throaty moan tore its way from my lips, my hips bucking up invorintarly. He seemed to have really liked that. He

He rubbed his thumb over the slit and I felt myself getting that much closer to loosing myself. That hot burning sensation starting up in my lower stomach. 'I-I'm close,'

All actions stopped after that. Every form of contact was suddenly gone. I wanted it back....'

I felt bile rise in my throat as the memory played out like a movie infront of my eyes. I could see everything and feel everything. I shut my eyes and bury my fingers in my black hair and tug on it. I reget letting him have me like that. I reget just giving myself to him like that. It makes me fucking sick at my myself and I hate myself.

I hate him. I hate what he's done to me. I hate what he's caused me to become. He had me so wrapped around his damned finger and I did nothing about it. I was so wrapped up that I couldn't see the danger that lurked ahead. Everyone else fucking saw it. But I didn't. I was so blind. I felt hot tears buring at the corners of my eyes and I begin to shake as I try to hold them back.

Sometimes it like I can still feel him touch me, touch me in ways I only ever wanted someone special to touch me. I can hear him say my name over and over and run his fingers through my hair in the middle of the night. Its like he's still fucking here. And I hate it.

Maybe - just fucking maybe - that's why I do what I do. Maybe that's why I drink myself into oblivion and take a razor to my skin over and over. Maybe that's why I sit in the bathroom crying and harming myself. And that's why I deny being gay.

Just thinking about everything makes my upper and leg crawl with the feeling of sudden want. I try to fight the urge as tears casade faster down my cheeks. I try to ingore the way that little sliver razor in my wallet is just calling my name, coaxing me over and to take him out. I fight until I'm shaking more.

I feel his hands suddenly on me, touching me, running those fingers through my messy locks and saying, 'I love you, Jack,' right in my ear and I can't take it anymore. It has to fucking end! It has to stop. I climb off the bed and dig until I find my wallet and slump to the floor with my back against the bed with my razor clutched tightly in my hand. I roll up the sleeve to my hoodie and find the spot that doesn't have many cuts and scratches and scars already there. I press the cool blade down to my arm and slide it smoothly over my skin.

I sigh in relief when I felt the tiny bit of stinging pain and see a small trial of blood leave the wound and smear over my arm. I feel like utter shit when I do this but its really not something I can just stop cold turkey. I hate how feel when I do this. I feel like I'm betraying everyone I know. But I can't help but enjoy the small seconds of release I get with these. I cut a little more, and a little deeper than before.

When I have about ten tiny marks made, I wipe the blood off the blade on the carpet of the hotel I'm in and put it back in its home. I need to move quickly to clean this up and cover the marks before Alex gets here. My God, he would go complete apeshit if he knew. Which is exactly why he can't know. I don't want to disapoint him.

I stand and quickly walk into the bathroom. I turn the water on and then stick my arm under the running watter. It stings like a bitch. I bite my lip and close my eyes as I let the feeling calm my on edged nerves. Its sad and rather pathetic I know but when you have a painful high school life and had all your trust of the world taken and thrown back in your face, it really fucking gets to you. And you sink to a level you constantly want to rise from.

I'm Jack Barakat, and welcome to my life.