Content warning: child abuse, physical abuse, violence, death
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"George, I'm leaving! I'll be back soon." Clay shouted.
"Okay, be safe." George shouted towards the door.
"Bye! Text me if you need anything!" Clay yelled.
"Okay bye!"
He heard the front door open, close, then heard it lock. George rested his head on the pillow.
It's been almost a month since he arrived. Everything was making sense, falling into place. Everyday felt more peaceful than the last. Oddly enough, he felt like he was finally able to grasp onto the bars of control. His life up until this point was flipping upside down, creating an opposite version of what it used to be.
Every wrong was turning into a right. Every mistake he thought he made actually served a purpose, helping him realize who he was. All the pain that he held on was slowly slipping from his hands, never to be seen again. He couldn't help but feel so stupid for holding onto the most unnecessary things. But as relieved as he felt, he knew deep down that this wasn't possible without Clay.
He wished he could figure it out, what all those feelings meant. He's seen many faces, felt the embraces of many people. But something was always different whenever he was with Clay.
Something different.
Why?
What is it?
Why can't the universe just give me an answer?
He'd basically given up at this point, leaving it in the hands of time itself; it would be best if he didn't question it, because no matter how hard he thought about it, he could never understand.
But now he laid in bed alone. Clay took it upon himself to run some errands for the day, claiming that it would be better if he stayed back at the apartment and get some rest.
Whatever that means.
He wrapped himself in the blankets, wishing he was cuddling with Clay like the night before. He closed his eyes, being left with his lingering thoughts.
They've lived under the same roof for some time now, and they've been able to get along well, sharing all the house chores and responsibilities. Lately, the idea of moving in with Clay wasn't out of the question. The idea of living with him made him smile.
It was almost like they were a married couple. George suddenly laughed to himself.
How interesting would that be.
He turned to his side. If he slept now, he would be able to wake up to Clay coming home. He closed his eyes again, feeling himself slowly fall asleep.
Knocking coming from the front door suddenly woke him from his deep sleep. He lifted his body up with his arms, making sure he heard that noise correctly. More knocks sounded from the door, but louder. George quickly jumped off the bed, feeling the cold wooden floor with his bare feet.
Shit, it's Clay.
He remembered how cold it was that day, George even lended him one of his favorite fluffy scarfs before he left.
I wonder what he got.
He made his way to the door. He wrapped his fingers on the door handle and opened it, letting in the freezing wind as it whipped past his fast.
"Did you forget the-"
"George."
The light that blinded his eyes when he opened the door finally dimmed, allowing him to see who was standing at the door.
"I-I finally found you, George."
He took a step back.
"It's been forever, y-you have no idea how long I've been looking for you." The man let himself inside, shutting the door behind him.
Everything stopped.
He felt his body freeze. His heart stopped beating, his lungs refused to let air in. The world that he stood on with his two bare feet crumbled, leaving nothing but a black hole to engulf him. All he could do was look into the man's eyes, hoping something would come and rescue him from the hell that was unleashed.
It's him.
It's really him.
It's him.
He suddenly became paralyzed with a fear that was unforgiving. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, he quickly lost all sensation of his limbs. Everything stopped working.
George shakily lifted his foot to take another step back.
"George?"
He took a sharp breath in, "W-why are you here?" he whispered.
"I need to talk to you." The man said.
George tried to take another step back but tripped, falling onto the floor. Once again, he looked up at the man from below. The man kneeled, reaching out his hand. George quickly covered his face with his arms, curling up in a ball.
The pain became unbearable. He shut his eyes, praying that it was a nightmare.
This can't be real. It can't. His heart dropped a thousand stories onto a field of nails, finally realizing what was happening.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." George screamed.
"W-what are you-"
"I'm sorry! P-please, I'm sorry." He continued to sob, "P-please don't hit me dad I'm s-sorry." George broke out in hysterics, unable to control himself.
The man took a step closer.
"George, I'm not going to-"
"P-please get away from me." Tears ran down his pale face.
The man grabbed him by the wrist.
He stopped breathing and opened his eyes, glaring down at the floor.
My whole life.
My entire life has been a nightmare. Every day and night tortured by him. He never cared, he never loved me, he never gave a shit about me, and for what? All of those hurtful words and scars he relentlessly gave to me every single day tore my soul into a million pieces, and I still can't fix it no matter hard I try. How could he have treated me that way? What did I do to deserve all of those fucking lashings?
Nothing.
Of course it was nothing. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fucking fault. I was an innocent kid that just wanted to see my mom, to hug her.
My mom. Where is she? I miss her. But how could I miss a stranger? But, it couldn't be my fault that she left me. What could I have done?
It's not my fault, it's his fault.
The worthless, unlovable piece of shit that he claims was me, wasn't me.
It's him. It's all his fault.
This ends now, I can't do it anymore.
George looked up, grabbed him by his shirt, lifted him up and threw him against the ground. The man groaned as he laid on the floor.
"What do you want from me." George's words spewed with hatred.
The man looked up with despair, "George, I'm here," he paused, "I'm here because I wanted to say that I'm sorry."
"What?" He felt his head pounding.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that I did to you. I love you George, I really do."
George smiled, then giggled. He looked at the man's face. George broke out into an intense laughter, hollering into the air. He leaned over trying to catch his breath. He looked up.
"You're sorry?" George asked.
The man's face turned red, "Y-yes, I am. I truly am. I regret everything that I did."
George balled his hand into a fist, "You're fucking sorry?"
"George I-"
"After everything you put me through, you're sorry?!" his breathing became heavy. Rage gripped him, unable to let go. Fury traveled through every vein and blood cell that resided in his body. He began shaking uncontrollably, his eyes wide open.
"You wanna be fucking sorry?!" George roared.
"W-what?"
George stormed into the kitchen, pulling the biggest knife he could find from one of the drawers. He walked back into the living room with the knife gripped by his white, veiny hand. He pointed it straight at him.
"What are you doing?!" The man cried.
"You're sorry?!" George laughed, "What are you sorry about? Are you sorry about beating me with your metal bat? Are you sorry about beating the living shit out of me with your hands until I couldn't even recognize my own face? Are you sorry about tying me up and throwing me in the closet for days? Are you sorry about making me sleep outside? What about the time you tried to drown me in the bathtub? W-what about the time you tried to kill me in my sleep?!" George cried through his words.
George smiled again, "Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it. But, it's over. It's my turn. It's finally gonna be all over. It's time for you to fucking die, dad."
"George stop! Please! I-I'm sorry! I'll do anything, please." The man broke out into hysterics.
George walked towards his father, watching as he frantically backed away from him. The man screamed on top of his lungs, begging for mercy. He shut his eyes, unable to escape the punishment that long awaited him.
The knife suddenly dropped onto the floor, piercing the silence with it's deafening clanking.
George dropped to his knees and stared at the knife. He covered his mouth with his hands, feeling the cold tears slip between the cracks of his fingers.
What am I doing?
What's wrong with me?
He looked up, meeting his father eye to eye. It was a mirror. He was looking right at himself. There was nothing that distinguished himself from his father, he was like a clone.
I promised myself that I wouldn't let this happen. How could I have done something like this?
I'm better than this.
I know I am.
George got up and returned the knife to the kitchen. He walked to the living room and stood over him. He lent out his hand, helping his father up from the floor and onto his feet. George motioned at him to sit with him at the kitchen table.
The air became dense, full with tangled emotions.
"Dad?" His father looked up, "Do you know much I suffer because of you?"
Tears welled up in the man's eyes, "Yes."
"Everyday is like a nightmare. I can't sleep at night. I can't hang out with my friends without thinking about you and what you did." George swallowed, "It's a fucking nightmare. I ran away so many times in foster care because I thought the adults were going to do the same thing you did to me. You ruined my life from the start, and now I'm trying to fix it."
Tears silently fell down the man's face.
"There's nothing that you can do or say to fix it. It's over."
The man looked down.
"Dad?" He looked up again.
"What happened to mom?"
He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact, "George uh," he sighed, "We were together for a couple of years after you were born. She had a lot of issues with drugs and stuff like that, and she decided to leave me. It was a really hard time, it destroyed me. She uh, went to go live with someone else and I didn't hear much from her. Listen George," he paused, squeezing his hands nervously, "when you were about five, she passed away."
His heart dropped.
"She had a lot of problems, but when I tell you," he suddenly became choked up. "Y-your mom loved you so much George."
He felt tears traveling down his face. The only thing he could feel was his numb heart.
His father reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a small, old photo and handed it to George.
"That's us in the hospital right after you were born."
Something inside him burst with euphoria, like a blooming flower.
"Mom." George whispered. He looked at the picture with his beading eyes. Her radiant smile. Her shoulder length, dirty blonde hair. Her beautiful, dark brown eyes. Her pale skin. Her asymmetrical freckles;
She was so much more beautiful than he ever imagined.
George broke down crying, wishing he could spend one day with her.
"She loved you. She really did. She would want to be with you right now." As tense as the air was, his words were comforting. "You don't have to forgive me, and that's not why I came here. I just wanted to let you know that I regret everything I did, that I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I should've loved you, taken you to football games, played with you, loved you in a way that a father should."
George looked up from the picture.
"I'll never understand how it feels. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I understand if you decide to never talk to me again. I will respect your wishes. But George, just know that I will always love you."
George stood up from his chair, "Thank you. I think you should go now."
Both him and his father got up and walked over to the front door.
"Goodbye, dad."
"Bye, George."
He watched as he walked down the steps, get into his car and drive off. He shut the door and walked over to the kitchen table. He sat down and stared at the old, yellow-tinted picture.
He could only wonder what life would've been like if she was here.
After some time, the front door unlocked and opened.
"Hey! I'm back! There are some bags right here if you want to-"
George ran and hugged Clay, quickly shedding tears. He felt Clay hold him back.
"What's wrong?!"
"Can you just hold me?"
"Yes, of course."
"Thank you."