A Love Like War

KELLIN'S POV
"You ungrateful bastard!" My father shouted, throwing a bottle near my head and narrowly missing it. I ducked aside, but almost wished I hadn't. Maybe the impact of the bottle would be enough to end my suffering.
Insead the bottle smashed into a million pieces against the kitchen wall, making my father even more angry.
"You wretched boy." He spat, looking down at me as he stabbed a pointed finger into my chest. "You clean that up."
"Y-yes." I spoke, backing away slowly before dropping to my knees and collecting the shards into the palm of my hand. Pieces dug and caused my skin to bleed, a few drops of the dark red dripping from between my fingertips. When the first splatter touched the floor the world had stopped as I made eye contact with my father.
"Bleeding on my floor? Well, you already do have enought of a mess...." He laughed manically before bending down to my level. He looked as if he was going to help me clean up as his fingers scanned across the glass, until he picked a rather large shard up. He spun it between his fingers before suddenly slashing it into my cheek, making me cry out.
"Does that hurt, you little bitch?" He sneered.
My bottom lip quivering, I shook my head no. I could feel the blood dripping and felt queasy, hating the sight. I'd seen enough blood when I was a child, I vowed to limit that for my life experience.
"Huh, how about this time?" He asked, sliding the glass gently down my neck and across my chest before slashing it across my arm. And again. And again. The three slash marks lined up perfectly, giving me easy excuses that it had been a dog. It was always my father's method, hurting me in a way he could easily lie about.
He looked over his work before standing up and dropping the glass to the ground. He turned and left the kitchen, and I listened carefully to the sounds of his heavy steps up the stairway and to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him. It was then I willed a tear or two to fall, mixing on the ground with the few drops of blood. With a gulp, I stood up and threw the glass into the trash. I continued the process until I had finished completely, and heading upstairs myself. I looked at myself in the dirty, cracked bathroom mirror and despised what I saw. I saw a boy with a child's face, hair too long, and an ugly bleeding gash. His shirt was tattered and used, a few drops of the blood had bloomed and stained it's once white cotton. Pulling off my shirt I scanned the marks across my ribcage from previous attacks from my father, many worse than tonight. I gently ran my fingers on the tattooed words across my chest, the words as the reminder of my long gone mother.
I decided I had enough of my self pity and bent down, splashing water on my face until the water ran clear again. Once satisfied, I stretched and silently crept to my own bedroom, the door shut behind me. With a long sigh I settled into my single bed, pulling my blanket over me. My pillow had been only a pile of clothes, which I promptly squished closer together before snuggling into a somewhat comfortable position.
Soon I had shut my eyes and let my mind take over until my thoughts lulled me to sleep. Tomorrow will be kinder. I thought to myself before falling into a slumber.
****
I woke up to the sound of the front door being slammed, the walls shaking from it's impact. It was my fathers idea of a morning greeting or a wake up call. With a groan I rolled over, sighing when I saw the time was merely 5:30 am. It was typical of him, of course, to wake me up as he went to go meet with whomever was on the list for the day. My father, being a war general, was always a busy man. Not that I had minded, I prefered my own company now. I had been raised to hide from contact with other people and keep my head down low. My mother had told me it was because I needed to be careful with who may be good or bad, but my father told me it was because he was ashamed to call me his son.
I always believed in the latter.
With a quick stretch I rolled out of bed and prepared myself for the day, dressing myself in the only clean shirt I had left. I winced when passing the mirror, noticing the bright red and stinging cuts marking my body. The cut on my cheek continued to sting the worst. Biting my lip and ignoring the pain I washed it with water and soap, grimacing as the old blood swirled down the sink mixed with the water. The putrid copper scent made me gag and I pulled away to dry off, unable to try again with my arms. Maybe later.
After I read my fathers leftover newspaper and fixed myself a bowl of cereal and milk, it was an hour later that the door was locked behind me and I began to walk towards the beach, my equipment under my arm. My so called mental disabilities kept my off the enlistments of war, leaving me with a common day job, which of course led me to working for the men who were off fighting. I was a shoe shine man, making my own buisness and money on the docks every day. My mental state was declared unfit for me to be in the war, but I hadn't minded being away from the fields. It of course only brought more dishonor to my father but I liked the fact I wasn't suited up for his every wish. Although, that only brought in more bruises for me.
I waved and spoke a few hello's to the few regulars of the area that I saw almost daily. Today I decided to set up on the pier for a change, different from my regular spots across the boardwalks between the beach and the roads. I prepared my booth and relaxed, waiting for the day to come to an end.
"Shoe shining! Come get yer shoes shined! Got a nick, gone in a click!" I repeated, waving my rag in the air. Passerbys looked towards me with grimaces or looks of pity before looking away and continuing on. People with clear disinterest based on my appearance disgusted me and made my teeth grind and fists clench in frustration. Taking a deep breath I started my favourite method of relaxing as I tapped my fingers against my knees, making rhythms in my mind. I hadn't realised I closed my eyes until the sound of a voice above me startled me.
"Ahem." He said, looking nervous as he stared at me. My breath got caught in my throat and my eyes slightly widened as I took in his dashing appearance, my heart skipping a beat. The man stared back at me, his eyes golden in the sunlight and his hair, the longer length making mine, was brown and looked soft. Looking at him made me feel like I was suddenly happier, like I was okay. It took a moment for me to realise we were staring at each other, but his eyes hadn't been meeting mine. No, they were on my cheek.
With a quick gesture I shook my hair out to cover it before recovering with a smile. "Good morning, sir. Interested in a shine?"
"Y-yes please." He stuttered. I felt the need to giggle, this guy was too adorable for his own good.
Wait.
I tried to shake off my strange demeanour and held out my hand to help him into my chair. He soon took it, his fingers cool in mine as I felt electricity spark.
Faggot.
I lifted his legs onto the stool beside me before I got myself down lower lifting my legs onto a stool. I instantly began to work away, focusing my mind on everywhere but this man. Of course it didn't help that I was touching him the entire time.
"How old are you?" The man suddenly asked. I fought the shiver in my body and sucked it up, blinking before replying.
"Uh, 22, sir."
"And your name?"
This time I looked at him while I replied. Why was he asking? Was there something else going on behind a friendly conversation? My curiousity for the boy got the best of me as I replied. "Kellin, sir. Kellin Bostwick."
"As in General Bostwick? Is there a relation?" He asked and perked up, sitting forward. Shit, shit shit shit. What did this guy want?
"Uh, n-no." I said, but cursed myself as the words came out in a pathetic whisper. The man raised an eyebrow at me before leaning back down. I let out a breath and worked quickly, eager for this guy to get out. But something about him intrigued me and I felt torn and the feelings inside.
"Sir, your shoes are shined." I spoke, and the man jumped. Oh great, I've already scared him.
"Oh, I uh, uh. Yes of course."
The man got up and I wanted him to sit back down. He pulled out three notes and handed them over with a smile.
"No, sir. Only a dime, sir." I laughed at him. So this guy must be some social climbing hotshot.
"You uh...did good." He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was nervous. I felt the need to decline him again but my need for cash was greater as he reached the dollars closer to me.
"Oh, sir, thankyou!" I grinned, feeling the need to hug the kind stranger. He smiled at me and my heart began to melt, his teeth glistening white against his tan skin. There was just something about him. But all too soon he turned and was gone, weaving through the tight crowds. I could have gushed about his appearance all day if I hadn't realised what I forgot to ask.
"Wait!" I shouted, shocked at my own voice. My feet were suddenly moving and I ran to the man.
"Did I forget something?" He said confused, his head cocked to the side.
"Uh, n-no. I just-- what's your name? And how old are you?" I sputtered, my curiousity getting the best of me.
"I'm twenty-five, names Vic Fuentes." Vic smiled at me, making me blush. Butterflies arose in my stomach as I leaned forward and touched his shoulder. I hadn't even realise I had done it until I saw the confusion in his eyes, making me pull back with a grimace.
Faggot.
Knowing he was probably too weirded out to see me again, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pants and walked back to my booth feeling shameful.
The rest of the day was quiet, with only a few customers after Vic, and all I could think about was him. As I was closing up my booth I was preoccupied on my walk home as I went over and over the encounter in my mind, and hating myself each time. Was I attracted to this boy? No, no I couldn't be. That would be....no, of course I'm not.
Just as I was placing my key in the doorway I heard voices from the other side of the door, my father's booming voice making me drop the key. I paused to listen in.
"News from the sea patrol detected a fleet heading to the California shore. By the day after tomorrow we need to acquire a squad for the battle."
"But General-"
There was a pause, the sound of shuffling feet.
"I repeat, we will begin to gather troops tomorrow. Do you understand Commander?" My father boomed, his voice making me quake. It was his angered voice, the sound I'd been accustomed to fear.
"Y-yes, sir."
"What was that?"
"Yes General Quinn!"
I took a deep breath and stepped aside of the door. Usually hearing of another battle made me a bit excited knowing my father would be gone for an extensive period of time. But something told me otherwise, that maybe it was time for a change.
That maybe I should fight.