At Fault.
It's Mine.
It seemed like every noise in the house intensified by ten. The TV seemed like it was yelling at me as the clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked away every second that I stalled to tell my family what has been true for my whole life.
Mom just sat there, her hands placed nicely on her lap as my dad sat next to her, his legs crossed and his arm around my mom. My sister, Lisa, was sitting at my mom’s feet, typing away at her phone like any other 15 year old would do. These three people mean the world to me. They are my family.
I was especially afraid to what my dad had to say. He was always rough with us, hitting us more than we needed. He was a drunk.
“Claire? What do you need to tell us?” Mom asked. I sighed nervously and twisted the hem of my shirt more. My leg started shaking in anxiousness as my stomach felt like it was going to explode from all the butterflies that were fluttering. I felt my face get flush, my heart in my ears.
“You guys know that…I love you and no matter what happens…I will always love you.” Mom furrowed her eyebrows.
“Claire, honey, what’s wrong?” Dad asked this time. Lisa’s head lifted to look at me, confusion all over her face.
“You aren’t dropping out of college, are you?” Lisa asked. I rolled my eyes.
“No, I’m staying in school.”
“Then what is it?” Mom asked. I exhaled.
“Mom, Dad, Lisa…I’m a lesbian.” The whole house stilled. The clock seemed to slow, the TV went mute. All their eyes were zeroed in on me.
My heart thudded faster.
Lisa broke the silence.
“I knew you were a faggot.”
“Lisa, don’t call your sister that,” Mom said lowly. Dad stood up, walked over to me, and slapped me across the face.
“Do you think this is funny? I did not raise a fucking faggot! You are a disgrace to this family, Claire Lynn.” He yelled. My hand went to my face as tears started to spill. Mom stood up.
“Harold!” He turned to her, pushing her back on the couch.
“This is your fault! I told you sending her to California would change her into some carpet muncher!” He yelled at my mom. Lisa stood up and walked out of the living room. A few seconds later I heard a door slam.
“This has nothing to do with Califormia, dad.” He turned to me, anger laced in his eyes.
“Get your stuff and get out, you fucking dyke. Get. Out. Of. My. HOUSE!” He grabbed my arm, pulled me up, and pushed me in the direction of my room. I quickly went into my room, shutting the door gently as my mom and dad yelled more. I walked over to my bed and sat down, my hands covering my face.
Blaming myself immediately entered my mind. It was my fault. If I hadn’t been gay then maybe my dad wouldn’t hate me. I punched myself in my leg, biting my lip hard.
My door opened, making me look up. My dad stood there, breathing hard, still angry. He closed the door, locking it. I stood up.
“Dad, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me again.” He walked over to me, staring at me. All of a sudden, I flew back on my bed, my lip bursting from him punching me. He got on top of me and started hitting me. I kept on yelling for him to get off of me, to stop, but he wouldn’t. He got off of me and flipped me over on my stomach. He grabbed the scissors off my desk that was by my bed and cut the crotch out of my shorts and then what happened next was an intrusion of the worst.
He had unbuttoned his pants, pulled his boxers down, moved my underwear out of the way, grabbed my hair, and raped me, all the while saying that he was going to teach me how it was to be with a man. A real man. Not with some fucking dyke.
When he was done, he got up and spat at me. I brought my knees to my chest and cried harder than I was.
“Get out of my fucking house. Don’t ever come here again,” he said as he buttoned his pants back up. He turned around, unlocked the door, and walked out. I sat up, wiping my face off. I took off my underwear and ripped shorts, putting them in a bag. I walked over to my dresser and put some more clothes on. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my friend’s phone number, telling her to come get me. I started stuffing my duffel bag with clothes. I pulled the bag over my shoulder and ran out my room, the house and into my friend’s car.
“What happened?” She asked. I wiped my lip with the back of my hand, blood smearing all over it.
“I told my dad I was gay and he hit me. He also kicked me out.” She gasped and grabbed my hand.
“Claire, oh my god. You can stay with me as long as you want.” I nodded.
“Just drive please.”
“Okay, okay.” She straightened out and started driving. I leaned my head against the window and just stared at the moving houses.
I never saw them after that. I wound up dropping out of school and got a job as a secretary at this law firm. I never told anyone that what had happened to me and I don’t think I ever will. I knew what had happened to me was my fault. I had to be a lesbian. I had to tell them. It was my fault that my dad did that to me. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I couldn’t just hold in the fact that I was lesbian. My life was okay when they didn’t know about it.
It was all my fault. And I hated myself for it.
Mom just sat there, her hands placed nicely on her lap as my dad sat next to her, his legs crossed and his arm around my mom. My sister, Lisa, was sitting at my mom’s feet, typing away at her phone like any other 15 year old would do. These three people mean the world to me. They are my family.
I was especially afraid to what my dad had to say. He was always rough with us, hitting us more than we needed. He was a drunk.
“Claire? What do you need to tell us?” Mom asked. I sighed nervously and twisted the hem of my shirt more. My leg started shaking in anxiousness as my stomach felt like it was going to explode from all the butterflies that were fluttering. I felt my face get flush, my heart in my ears.
“You guys know that…I love you and no matter what happens…I will always love you.” Mom furrowed her eyebrows.
“Claire, honey, what’s wrong?” Dad asked this time. Lisa’s head lifted to look at me, confusion all over her face.
“You aren’t dropping out of college, are you?” Lisa asked. I rolled my eyes.
“No, I’m staying in school.”
“Then what is it?” Mom asked. I exhaled.
“Mom, Dad, Lisa…I’m a lesbian.” The whole house stilled. The clock seemed to slow, the TV went mute. All their eyes were zeroed in on me.
My heart thudded faster.
Lisa broke the silence.
“I knew you were a faggot.”
“Lisa, don’t call your sister that,” Mom said lowly. Dad stood up, walked over to me, and slapped me across the face.
“Do you think this is funny? I did not raise a fucking faggot! You are a disgrace to this family, Claire Lynn.” He yelled. My hand went to my face as tears started to spill. Mom stood up.
“Harold!” He turned to her, pushing her back on the couch.
“This is your fault! I told you sending her to California would change her into some carpet muncher!” He yelled at my mom. Lisa stood up and walked out of the living room. A few seconds later I heard a door slam.
“This has nothing to do with Califormia, dad.” He turned to me, anger laced in his eyes.
“Get your stuff and get out, you fucking dyke. Get. Out. Of. My. HOUSE!” He grabbed my arm, pulled me up, and pushed me in the direction of my room. I quickly went into my room, shutting the door gently as my mom and dad yelled more. I walked over to my bed and sat down, my hands covering my face.
Blaming myself immediately entered my mind. It was my fault. If I hadn’t been gay then maybe my dad wouldn’t hate me. I punched myself in my leg, biting my lip hard.
My door opened, making me look up. My dad stood there, breathing hard, still angry. He closed the door, locking it. I stood up.
“Dad, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me again.” He walked over to me, staring at me. All of a sudden, I flew back on my bed, my lip bursting from him punching me. He got on top of me and started hitting me. I kept on yelling for him to get off of me, to stop, but he wouldn’t. He got off of me and flipped me over on my stomach. He grabbed the scissors off my desk that was by my bed and cut the crotch out of my shorts and then what happened next was an intrusion of the worst.
He had unbuttoned his pants, pulled his boxers down, moved my underwear out of the way, grabbed my hair, and raped me, all the while saying that he was going to teach me how it was to be with a man. A real man. Not with some fucking dyke.
When he was done, he got up and spat at me. I brought my knees to my chest and cried harder than I was.
“Get out of my fucking house. Don’t ever come here again,” he said as he buttoned his pants back up. He turned around, unlocked the door, and walked out. I sat up, wiping my face off. I took off my underwear and ripped shorts, putting them in a bag. I walked over to my dresser and put some more clothes on. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my friend’s phone number, telling her to come get me. I started stuffing my duffel bag with clothes. I pulled the bag over my shoulder and ran out my room, the house and into my friend’s car.
“What happened?” She asked. I wiped my lip with the back of my hand, blood smearing all over it.
“I told my dad I was gay and he hit me. He also kicked me out.” She gasped and grabbed my hand.
“Claire, oh my god. You can stay with me as long as you want.” I nodded.
“Just drive please.”
“Okay, okay.” She straightened out and started driving. I leaned my head against the window and just stared at the moving houses.
I never saw them after that. I wound up dropping out of school and got a job as a secretary at this law firm. I never told anyone that what had happened to me and I don’t think I ever will. I knew what had happened to me was my fault. I had to be a lesbian. I had to tell them. It was my fault that my dad did that to me. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I couldn’t just hold in the fact that I was lesbian. My life was okay when they didn’t know about it.
It was all my fault. And I hated myself for it.