Ch. 3

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So here is chapter 3, wow, two updates in a row!  New characters are introduced as well. On the right a picture of Shane --> Hayden Christensen

I hope you'll like it, let me know!

Is dedicated to ShintoMoon: thanx for fanning and reading the story. Also thanx to everyone else :-))

How do you like Dublin in Ireland?

Cheers xox


SHANE POV

I dragged my feet home, not caring if the rain was getting me completely socked, I couldn’t care less. The closer I got home, the slower I walked, not looking forward to step the doorway of the hell, my living bloody hell. How would that folks be tonight? Merciful or bloody cranky? Maybe I should turn back and go to Enna, but amn’t run away the entire life and have to stand those people until school was over. That was the story.

I opened the door and it was silent, so I dared to hope for a moment of quiet. What a bloody tool I am sometimes.

“Any craic, fag?” My uncle came from the kitchen, not looking well. Also my cousin, a moronic idiot with freckles and horrible garlic breath came from there, holding a can of beer.

Here we go, I told myself.

I bet my darling auntie just left those two knackers and parked her fat ass at some lad’s place. I cursed in my mind, without my aunt there was no bloody supper and I was hungry.

“Uncle Barry.” I nodded to him, hoping he would live me alone.

“Ain’t ya greeting me, too? Ah, bloody faggot?” That was my cousin Gary, his stinky breath was his business card. Now it was even more stinky, mixed to cheap beer and cheap cigarettes.

I told my parents years ago, probably 5 years, that I was gay, hoping they would love me and accept me and protect me. That didn’t happen at all, you know what I mean?  I should have let my sorry mouth shut, but what’s done is done and there is no turning back.

I got into bloody shit, because I didn’t know any better than whine and pity myself and got paid back with more shit. Enna found me and kicked some sense in me. I kicked some sense in myself when I realized what I was become.

Now, what’s the story? No story, gotta stand this hell hole until I graduate and then can leave for good. So I swallowed it day after day, not daring even once to feel sorry for myself. I let the anger, the resentment, the sweet taste of near freedom and the sarcasm lead my days.

The anger and resentment give much power and resistance, you don’t need to be a violent punk because of them. You can simply be an arrogant and do-not-mess-with-me lad and vent it out in some other ways. I used sex and soccer. So far they worked perfectly for me. You would be amazed to know how many guys are willing to have me, if you keep your mouth shut. Fucking hell, as if they could even threaten me or blackmail me. Too scared to do that, so they shut up, pretend to be homophobes and get fucked. Yeah, that was the story: I fucked them. I would let only older and more experienced guys have their way with me and it wasn’t anyway their way, but mine in any case.

“Gary.” I just said, trying to walk past them, to grab something to eat and then locked myself in my bedroom. See, that was the story. I was gay and I was disgusting, a living sin, so what? I got my own fucking bedroom. Classy.

My cousin grabbed my collar and wanted to shove me in the wall, but he was such a loser that couldn’t do even that. I pitied him. But my uncle wasn’t that lame, physically. If you know what I mean. He slammed me into the wall and I was afraid it wouldn’t stand the impact. I swallowed and clenched my jaw and abdomen preparing for what was coming. He smacked me under my jaw and then punched in the guts. I stood there, waiting for them to finish their fun.

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