I Loved You First (BoyXBoy)

Chapter 1

Someone once said that some people use their own hurt as an excuse to hurt others. There’s a part of me that understands the humanity of it. People want others to feel more pain than was inflicted on them; for others to realize – to learn – that doing something wrong to someone is agonizing. And that they chose the wrong person to pick on. Who do they think they are? – was the most frequent phrase. Revenge is an existing word, ugly and rotten. People may deny this, afraid to be stained of the dark, dark ink, but it’s reality. It may be a subconscious choice, a defensive mechanism, but other times it’s a deliberate act.

On the other hand, someone wise also said that hurting others hurts oneself. That the amount of pain people knowingly inflict on others causes them pain, too. So in this regard, aren’t people back to hurting others because they hurt? Then they are caught in a vicious never-ending cycle of being hurt and hurting others, which is why Forgiveness was made – the only way to break-free from the chain of wounds.

This realization came to me when I gradually knew him, a pale young boy who looked as if he was ready to run any given opportunity. The revelation was slow. Pain was inflicted first, hearts were crushed, tears were shed, and only then was the lesson learned.

To be completely honest, I was thrown off my balance the first time I saw the boy. A scowl was set on his face, the crease in his forehead and the dip on his lips provided him a wide space from people trying not to get too close to him. I knew in an instant that he didn’t like being around so many people. It was ironic, really, because he was a helper in the Kindergarten of a local elementary school. Why would he go work in a crowded environment?

I knew that we wouldn’t get along. I was a fairly easy-going person if not a bit serious, but I didn’t have any idea how to deal with someone who clearly didn’t want anything to do with me. I kept our acquainting in a strictly professional way. I was just picking up my little five-year-old daughter.

As usual, Fizzy was talking a mile a second from the backseat of my car on the way home. Fizzy, or Felicity Knight, was actually my little sister’s daughter. She was 2 years old when her parents died in a car accident. I decided to raise her as my own when no one in her father’s side was willing to take her in. My Mother was aghast in their attitude. Can’t say I wasn’t. A week later and the documents were done, marking Fizzy as my adopted daughter.

We arrived soon and I pulled my truck into our garage, the black sedan already parked in one side, informing me that my Mom was home.

“Momsie! Momsie!” Fizzy jumped her way in the warm house and went directly to the Kitchen where she knew her Grandma would be. “We made a boat in School earlier!”

“Fizzy!” I shouted from the doorway, cutting her chatter and my Mom’s amused voice. “Give me your coat!”

“’Kay!” She bounced back to me and removed her coat before going back to the Kitchen, her tale continuing.

I shook my head and hung up our coats before following her in the kitchen. There stood my Mother, apron donned, and our dinner cooking. She was short, barely reaching my chest. Or maybe I was too big. I was over six foot, after all. Her hair was graying on some areas and her skin was a little baggy now. But she was still beautiful; her eyes still sparkled in mischief.

She turned her blue eyes to me and smiled, “How was your day in the shop?”

“It was the same,” I said, pulling out a chair and setting Fizzy down on it. “I got a new contract for the next five years secured, by the way.”

“What?” There was a pause. “Oh my God! Honey! That’s great!”

I laughed. “Yes, it’s from the Fire Department. So we have Fizzy’s school fee secured until she graduates College.”