*Ollie’s POV*
“Ollie, why don’t you just sneak into my house?” Tia asked, her eye’s bright with concern. She’s frowning that motherly frown, and I just return it with a perky smile. I learned a long time ago that the more you smile the less nosy people get. This rule didn’t apply to my worry-wart bestie.
“Tia, my house is fine. Besides, I’ll need to shower and get my school stuff for tomorrow anyways. Remember? I got to go to Henry’s..” I trail off, my smile attempting to disappear. I don’t let it go all the way of course-but it does thin. And I thought Henry was capable of not being a dick…
She sighs fretfully. “Text me?”
I wink “You know it” and I will text her.
She gives me a hug and I leap into her arms as she does. We act like this a lot-your average gay guy and girl friend cliché. She sometime’s calls me her wife, something that’ll pull a genuine smile from me-not that I’m all depressed and gloomy or anything-I’m not. I’m a pretty happy kid considering me circumstances.
When she sets me down-I’m way shorter then her-I stick my tongue out in departure and walk away from her front door. It’s around midnight and the stars are all fresh above me, a sight that does wonders to my energy. I feel pretty peaceful knowing my dad will be in a drunken stupor when I get home.
And tomorrows Sunday. Sunday means church. I’m not welcomed in church, considering I’m now known as the devils spawn and all that jazz, so he won’t wake me and make my day a misery. I probably won’t have to deal with him until tomorrow night.
When I arrive at my house, I can’t help but notice how ugly it’s gotten since I came out of the closet. It had been pretty ugly already after cancer took my mom-bless her soul- but dad just lost it when he found out I was a crime against nature. Maybe this summer I’d fix the peeling paint, mow the very dead lawn.
But I doubted it. I didn’t spend much time here. Bad memories.
*Flash Back*
I didn’t think I was capable of more tears then I’d cried since the day my mother died, but I was wrong. Today had been the funeral, tonight me and my father were beaten down, returning home from her long goodbye. I shouldn’t have had to say goodbye-I was only thirteen.
I couldn’t stop crying. My dad was drunk as he opened the front door, so he fumbled for the keys, the smell of rum wafting off him and making me want to gag. The door opened to let way to an empty and darkened house. We stumbled inside.
I was going to slink off to my room, where I could look forward to crying myself to sleep as I’ve done for the last week and a half, when my dad’s voice, booming and drunk, startled me into stopping. “You!” he cried out, like we weren’t the only ones here. I slowly turned to face him.
“Dad?” I mumbled, my voice thick with pain. His eye’s seemed to cut through me.
“This is all your fault!” he screamed. I was frozen in place. It was.
He started advancing upon me, slowly. He looked over his shoulder, as if hopeful mom would be there to stop him. She wasn’t and this fuelled his anger. My father, the man who used to love me almost hopelessly, punched me in the stomach. Hard. I doubled over, tears blurring my vision.
He raised his leg to kick me “Please dad.. Don’t.. please…” I begged. But the blow landed anyways.
