Drawn Love

Drawn Love-Chapter 10- I snapped

-Sometimes, it comes down to choosing, and in those times, you have to know what you really, truly want. You have to know what your priorities are. And you have to learn to fight for them.

Jasper’s P.O.V.

 

“Never again Jasper.” My father’s voice came over the phone, “Never again will you even come near that boy.” He screeched and I could hear my mother’s muffled voice trying to calm him down, but I knew she agreed with him.

“I don’t understand what I did.” I tried to defend myself.

Of course I knew. As soon as he said the first words without even a hello, I knew. I knew someone saw Nikolai and me. I knew they tittle tattled to my parents. I also knew that they would try and force me to give up on Nikolai.

I knew.

“Don’t you play dumb with me, boy! My son will not be a faggot!” he screamed again.

That was about the time that I tuned him out.

Slowly but surely my answers became short and clipped. I answered with a yes or a no, not even paying attention to what I was answering to. I knew there was no way in hell to avoid what was coming after this conversation.

I leaned back onto the headboard of my bed, my hand coming to slowly rub my face. Up and down, several times, until I could feel something wet on my palm.

Tears, that’s what it was.

My father stopped speaking. I hung up. My cellphone fell out of my hand.

The tears started to fall.

One. two. Three. Four. Five.

My cover was wet from them. A small puddle-like dark spot on the blue cover.

It was like my world had stopped right then and there. Everything became irrelevant to me and my attention was focused on the huge iron ball that began forming in the pit of my stomach at the thought of ‘disowning’, ‘faggot’ and ‘breakup’.

With a shaky hand I found my cellphone and dialed the number I already knew by heart.

“Hello baby.” Nikolai answered on the first ring.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I could even breathe.

So I did what was most rational to me.

I threw the phone at the wall.

Throwing the covers off me, I screamed. I also screamed as I threw the pillows off my bed and ripped the sheets off as well. Books, notebooks, notepads, sketchbooks, everything I could tear I tore, tears streaming down my face.

I began throwing things at the wall one after another. The small decorations, statues, drawing utensils, my computer chair. I damaged the wall immensely, but I didn’t care.

Honestly, I stopped caring about everything.

I tore my shirts, ruined my pants, tore my underwear. I spilled paint and tore at the empty canvases with scissors. Even my laptop was thrown at the floor. I wasn’t sure if it broke or not, but I honestly didn’t give a damn either.

I didn’t care that the neighbors would get worried. I didn’t give a shit that someone would call the police. I didn’t give a flying fuck that I might’ve hurt myself or even damaged my property.

And above all else, I didn’t give a flying fiddly fuck that my parents would get mad at me.

Let them. Let them be mad. Let them rage. Let them storm. They can be as mad as the fiery pits of hell, and I wouldn’t care. I wanted them to be mad. I wanted them to feel the same anger that I felt right this moment.