Where ☹ Muke

VIII ; you've got me shaking from the way you're talking.

« clifford »

He held my arm tightly in his hand as he lurched over top of me to open my door before pushing me out of the door as I landed on the ground with a bone-cracking thud. He slammed the door shut and drove off, just like that he left me laying on my back clutching my shoulder tightly as I silently cried.

Or so I though, that is until I heard a strangled sob wrack through my body as I held my shoulder harder ignoring the nerves shooting pain throughout my body -- all I did was cried harder. He didn't care about me, he didn't even like me yet somehow I believed he'd begun to change his ways, but all he did was played me.

Only to pull an act my mother always did, and he know she did it. He knew how she used to leave bruised across my face without any guilt, he knew how she gave me the same excuse every time somebody asked about my bruised. But he still did it, he's no different than her -- so why did I get my hopes up for somebody to love me again?

I lay there on the sidewalk allowing the scene to replay though my mind over and over like a broken record, because normally in situations like this I would call him up and whine to him. But this time I didn't have him to cry to, simply because this time he was why I'm crying.

For hours I laid their with tears streaming down my face as my body shook violently, my throat burning to allow bile to rise even though there was nothing for it to regurgitate -- nobody would notice I was crying unless they heard my loud sobs of profanities simply because of the downpour mixing with my salty tears.

I heard a car blasting a shitty country radio making me swallow my tears for a moment as I looked up to see a car speedily jerk into our driveway and watched my mother stumble out and slip falling into a large puddle. If it were anybody else I'd probably laugh it off, but this is my mother and well she still scares me even if she's "better."

My mind told me to stay quiet and make sure she didn't notice me but when I realized she hadn't moved from her spot on the ground I hurried to her aid. Taking both of my arms under his armpits I picked her up and dragged her to the sidewalk before gently placing her down. I crouched down pulling her into my arms bridal style and made my way to the porch.

As soon as I walked in I saw the dab of blood caressing her aging face and sighed, I hated seeing her like this. I shuffled into the living room and layer her down on the couch ignoring the feel of déjà vu as I covered his with a fluffy blanket. Seeing as the blood was still draining from the scrape on her forehead I walked back into the kitchen pulling off a few paper towels and dampening them.

I came back to her side and gently dabbed at the blood not wanting it to hurt her in any way possible, as soon as the blood flow was slowing to nonexistent I smiled slightly pulling the stained paper towels off of her skin and placed them onto the kitchen table. "I love you so much mummy, I wish I could help you." I sighed placing a feathery kiss on her forehead.

As I turned to walk towards my room I heard the door creaking open to reveal Daryl standing there with a soft face only to morph into stony, as he scowled at me. He looked towards where my mom sat unconscious on the couch back to me and back onto her. "What the fuck did you do you son of a bitch?" He screeched taking a single stride towards me.

I am that.

"Are you calling my mother a bitch?" I retorted taking a large stride towards him.

"I'm calling you a fucking prick, you bastard."

That's true Michael.

"Obviously because I totally had you around as a child right?" I snorted seeing how close we stood as his hot breath invaded my nostrils making my nose turn up at the stench of alcohol. If it were any other situation I'd make a joke about kissing to break the tension.

"You fucking ass." He yelled grabbing my shoulders tightly as I wrenched my eyes shut feeling my body began to shake slightly.

"I guess you do what you are?"

"Shut the hell up faggot!"

Maybe I should.

"What are you going to do? Shove your dick down my throat?"

His nostrils flared as he threw me on the floor and stepped a steel-toe covered foot down upon my chest making my ribs feel as if they'd recoil into my lungs. "Don't you dare try to pull some gay shit on me."

"Trust me Daryl nobody would want you."

Nobody would want you Mikey.

"That explains why your mother is with me right, that explains why she likes me better than she's ever liked you hell -- she still like me better even when I left her." He pressed his heel down harder making me wince at the pain.

"Sure does you twat."

He bent down so we were face to face once again, "get your gay ass into your room and don't come out until I say to." He basically growled throwing a punch to my eye only to stand back onto his feet and kick me harshly in the side. He kicked repeatedly until I'd begun to cry again making him laugh, "if you tell your mother anything you'll regret it."

I regret being horribly fat.

I regret being gay.

I regret being me.

I regret being alive.

I nodded attempting to turn on my side though it felt impossible to pull myself back to my feet, he grunted grabbing me by the shoulder I'd called on earlier making me help before he dragged me up the stairs to my room. My eyes began to widen as I realized something big, and no it wasn't my dick though that's big, my door still locks from the outside.