To Be or Not to Be | hamilton

two : john

{use of word fag, abuse mention/implied}

John stilled as the phone rang. With a shaking hand, he reached for it, bracing himself.

"Where were you, fag?"

John hesitated. His father was drunk, clearly so, and he had slurred his words as he staggered toward his bastard of a son. "S-school..."

"It's three P.M., faggot!"

There it was. The tingling oddly behind his retinas, the slight pain as he held back impending tears. "Da-"

"I'm not your father, bastard. Where were you."

"I was at school, Henry! I'm in college now. We don't come home that often."

"What did you call me?" His father- no, his legal guardian- was suddenly calm, and it was a deadly calm, like the calm before a storm or the eye of a hurricane.

John knew then he had royally fucked up. He prepared himself, both physically and mentally, for the verbal assault that was bound to follow.

}{

"John, m'boy, what happened to your eye?" His psychology teacher, Charles Lee, looked at his pupil's eye and winced the following day.

Shit. "I... I uh... I fell."

"That's what you said about your arm when it was broken, and when you had bruises and shiners. You can't break all of you by falling again and again. What really happened?"

John hesitated. He hated lies, he hated living, but he needed to lie here. His father would kill him otherwise, and after all, his father was only making sure he was protected by staying in line. Besides, it wasn't a complete lie."I did it, Mr. Lee."

"You didn't," he whispered. "John..."

"I-" John backed toward the door, his breathing quickening. "I..."

"John." Charles' voice was flat now, the fear only slightly there. "John, listen to me. This... this is inhumane."

John closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," his voice was broken.

"John... I'm sorry too. For not noticing. You don't show self-h- oh. John, who truly caused this?"

Shitshitshit. "I told you."

"No, you didn't." As he was talking, the bell for first period rang, but neither the student nor the teacher moved; the tension was palpable. "John... please tell me. I want to help you. Nobody needs to know, except me and you."

Students began to filter in as John moved away from the door, and John cursed himself for making psychology his first class of the day.

Charles Lee wrote the instructions on the board, and the students complied, pulling out their textbooks and paper. All but John, who one look from his teacher warned him that their conversation was not yet over. "Excuse me for just a moment. Mr. Laurens? Meet me outside." The two went outside, John's face going hot as he felt students stare at him.

"John."

"Mr. Lee...?"

"This is either you picking fights or you being abused. Which'll it be?"

"N-neither."

"Ah, so it's the latter? I thought so. You father acted oddly when I met him. I'm assuming he's neglectful as well? But why was he here..."

"Please don't tell anyone, sir, he'd kill me, nobody is supposed to kn-"

"I didn't say I would tell anyone. But this isn't okay! You're being abused, and by the looks of it, neglected. If this gets worse I will report it. Tell me all he's said and done."

"He's protecting me, and he needed me over there yesterday to... help him out with something." Again, only a partial truth. John was needed at the house the previous day, because he was the only one sober enough to go get more alcohol for them- and he knew if he didn't go he would be beaten, psychologically and physically, to an extreme he'd never been to. But of course, with Henry being Henry, a little dose of pain was in for John as well, which was only to be expected.

"Bullshit." John's eyes widened; he'd never heard a teacher cuss. "That's a lie he's spewed to you to make you not tell anyone, to make it feel normal."

"Isn't it normal?"

"No! It's not, and it's unacceptable. John Laurens, please, for my sake and yours, tell me what he's done."

John looked at his pleading face- the face of genuine concern- and spilled the beans, along with his held-in tears.

}{

John didn't return to his dorm that night. He knew he needed a place to sleep, but he couldn't be with Mulligan and Lafayette when he was like... this, because they still didn't know about John's home life.

So John instead found a dormitory that looked long since abandoned- hell, shingles were falling off the roof and the paint was peeling- and went inside it, having found it unlocked. Surely nobody lived here, right?

He cautiously stepped forward, finding a couch nicely positioned between the kitchen and a television. He laid on it, allowing himself to fall asleep.

John didn't hear the door opening.