You Wouldn't Understand (boyxboy)

1 • His Hidden Pain

                "Kadence!" my mother's screeching voice called from downstairs. "Kadence, get your ugly pale ass down here NOW!"

                I sniffed back an upcoming tear before nonchalantly lifting my tired body up from my comfortable bed. Her mean insults always deeply hurt me, but I always try to stay strong so I wouldn't show it in front of her. But it was getting even more difficult for me to accomplish that.

                As usual, I saw my mom sprawled out on the couch watching some show on TBS. Like I had practically lived in my room, she had practically lived on that couch. She barely ever gets up from it. Her skinny legs were tangled into the thick blanket that kept her warm, and her short, thin curly brown hair was a mess as she propped her head with a pillow. Her face was scrunched up in a usual scowl.

                "Um, y-yes ma'am?" I said quietly when I was at the bottom of the staircase.

                She randomly flipped through a couple of channels, not even bothering to turn around to look at me. "Make your ugly self useful and bring me another beer from the fridge," her annoying nasal voice rudely told me.

                I let out a shaky sigh at her insult and nodded. "Yes ma'am," I whispered.

                I crossed the living room and walked over to the kitchen to sadly retrieve the alcoholic beverage from the cold refrigerator. My mom was always drunk and hung over on the couch, on the count of her constant drinking.

                Well, actually, she wasn't my real mother. No, my real mother decided to put me up for adoption when I was 11 years old so that she could go party all day and night, and not have to worry about having the responsibility to take care of her one and only child.

                Nope, my real mother was no different from my foster mother. She was just as alcoholic and strung out as well. The only difference was, my real mother was also a smoker, and my foster mother is not.

                Another difference is, my real mother never laid a hand on me not once; but my foster mother tends to slap and push me around whenever she gets the chance...

                "H-here," I hovered the cold bottle of beer in front of her face. She frowned and narrowed her eyes up at me before harshly snatching the bottle from my hand.

                She took a long sip of her beer, keeping her eyes glued to the television. I turned around to head back to my room to resume my napping, but her menacing nasal voice stopped me in my tracks.

                "Come here," she said.

                I gulped, slowly turning back around and hastily kneeling down to her level. She stared coldly into my eyes for a moment, and the next thing I know I felt a hard punch to my left jaw, nearly breaking it. The punch had a great impact on me, as it forcefully made myself fall to the floor.

                My jaw radiated with affliction whilst I held it in my hands. I was trying so hard not to cry. But I cried out in excruciating pain after I took a firm kick to my back.

                "You make me sick," I heard my foster mother swear through clenched teeth. "It makes me sick seeing your ugly ass step foot into my house. I told you I will NOT have a gay son in this household!"

                I finally let the suppressed tears fall from my eyes, silently whimpering. On a regular basis she would either call me ugly, gay, or worthless. She's the reason why I haven't looked at myself in the mirror in over a year. She made me truly convinced that I am ugly and worthless...

                "I'm not gay, Momma," I desperately whimpered weakly through my tears.

                But, as usual, she ignored my crying. Instead she kicked me in the back once again, harder than the first time. I screamed out in agony.

                "Get the hell out of my sight." were her last words before she drunkenly got up from the couch and marched to her room upstairs.

                And I was left here on the floor, hurt and alone. I seem to always be left more hurt and alone as each horrible day goes by, and I feel like I'm the only 17 year old boy going through this terrible kind of abuse.

                Probably no one out there knows what it's like to be in my shoes. No one out there would understand me...