Hopelessly Devoted

Chapter 37- Explosions

"Love you too, Baby."

With that, I happily get out of the car, backpack in tow. I don't have my car, as I'd left it at the school, but it wasn't that big of a deal. I can always walk to school and get it.

As my keys jingle in the door, I quickly turn around to see Sean waving goodbye before driving off. I wave back and enter my house.

"It's about time you fucking showed your face."

My father is sitting in the living room on an armchair with his phone. His face is blood red, and the veins popping out of his neck and forehead make my body run cold.

"H-Hey, Dad. What-"

"Don't you dare fucking call me that."

He practically leaps out of his chair and stalks over to me. I don't even have a chance to react before I'm pushed up against the door with his hand around my throat.

"Don't fucking call me Dad, because there's no way in hell I'd EVER have a f*ggot for a son."

Oh

My

God

WHAT?!

My eyes must have bugged out of my head, but it was an automatic reaction. How?

Suddenly, my veteran father pulls me away from the door before ROUGHLY slamming my head back against it. Thanks to my many years of beatings, I was able to keep down the scream I so desperately wanted to let out. Although, I did hear a big crack sound reverberating in my skull, so I definitely wasn't ok.

"How fucking DARE you even THINK of showing your fairy ass in my house!" He sneers in my face. He's yelling so much that spit is starting to fly, reminding me of Ape-Man.

"Even worse, you show off your disgusting abomination in public!"

He pulls up his phone to show me the photo of Sean and I kissing in the hallway. I may be scared out of my mind and in pain, but I'm not so dumb that I can't figure out who's behind that unknown number.

My father rears back and kick me in the stomach. Perks of being short, my stomach is well within kicking-range even when standing up. The blow knocks the wind out of me, giving him time to chuck his phone onto the couch and drop me to the ground.

"To top it all off," Kick to the stomach, "You come home," punch in the face, "Wearing what I KNOW is that other f*ggot's clothing," Kick in the face, diversification!," as a motherfucking DRESS!"

He keeps beating me as he continues his tirade. "Shoulda known you were a f*ggot when I saw you hanging out with those d*kes! I bet you all just sit around, talking about your disgusting asses. Fucking abominations!"

At some point, I can't help but start crying. Not just at the beating, although that was definitely a factor, but also at the fact that the only family I had left was the one delivering the pain. After all we'd been through, after we'd been left to continue on without Mom, you'd think he'd cherish our relationship even a little bit.

Well, I guess I thought wrong.

It seemed like hours before he stopped hitting me, but was probably ten minutes. By that point, I was bleeding profusely onto the wooden floor of the place I thought I could call home.

"Don't you dare think your f*ggot ass is living in my house." He picks me up by the collar of my hoodie, kinda like a lioness would pick up her cub but with a lot more pain. The way the collar was grabbed forced the front part to dig into my neck, cutting off oxygen.

Turns out I didn't need to worry about oxygen for too long, cause I was promptly thrown out of the door and onto the concrete path in front of my father's house. I was followed by my very heavy backpack which was thrown so that it'd land directly on top of my broken body.

Without another word, the door slams behind me, closing off the last thread of a relationship I'd had with my father.

Groaning, I somehow manage to get myself into a sitting position. I can feel myself about to pass out, and I know I can't walk, so I need to call... someone.

Who? 911? I don't think so. I don't think I'll be able to stay awake long enough to give them the address and stuff. Plus, a bunch of sirens and cars barreling toward this street would surely piss my father off more than I already had, and I don't need more injuries right now.

Beth or Jackie? They'd come for me, sure, but they'd never be able to get me into a car even with both of them. My girls are strong, and I'm small, but I'm still a teenage boy and I'd be providing absolutely no help.

I know who I should call. But I kind of don't want to. I don't want him to get upset or do something stupid. He'd gone berserk on Geoff earlier for something comparatively light, what would he do to my father?

A bout of dizziness runs through my head, so I suck it up and grab my phone from the side pocket of my backpack. I guess the one good thing about my choice in savior is thatI only need to press Number 1 on speed dial to reach them.

"Hey baby, miss me already?"

I'd laugh, but now's not the time.

"Sean," I croak out, voice hoarse from the strain of my screaming and crying. "He found out. He hurt me, bad. I'm outside. Please, can you please come take me to the hospital?"

A moment of silence passes through our phones. I can't blame him, it's kind of a lot to process in a single second, but now is not the time for patience.

"Sean, PLEASE!" I start to beg, tears flowing down my face.

"FUCK!" He snaps out of it. "Fuck, yeah, Luka I'm coming. Fuck, please hold on for me, baby, I'm on my way."

I smile softly to myself. I love him.

I feel my eyes starting to droop shut, and an overwhelming need for sleep threatens to consume me.

"K." I half-whisper sleepily. "I'm about to pass out now so I'll see you whenever I wake up. Love you."

I turn my phone off and stuff it away in my bag. 

I manage to lay my head onto my softer-than-pavement backpack right before the darkness took over.

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All right, enlistees assemble.

All on the team that's heading to beat Luka's Dad's ass, line up here.

All on the team that's heading to beat Geoff's ass, line up here.

All on the team that's heading to both teams to provide refreshments for prolonged ass-beatings, line up here.

All on the team that's heading to give endless cuddless to Luka, fuck off, that's Sean's job.

ILY!