Here We Are (boyxboy)

Here We Are part 7

I stumbled back against the wall, my body quivering. My breathing fluttered a staccato rhythm in time with my pounding heart.

My father narrowed his eyes.  “Answer me, bastard,” he spat.  I looked down, closing my eyes, but I couldn’t escape the picture of my father, with his stubbly chin, dirty brown sweater, and the bottle of Jim Beam clutched in his hand leering at me.

“N-No, Dad,” I whispered. “I-I was going to come home.”

“Liar,” he spat. “You’re a dirty, worthless liar and I’m ashamed to have to call you my son. Sneaking off to another boy’s house, leaving your father without a word, sneaking behind his back! I’m disgusted with you.”

I bit down hard on my lip, ignoring the droplets of blood that welled up. He was slurring and stumbling hard. He was as drunk as could be, which meant nothing good for me.

“I oughta kick you out. You’re no good to me anyways. Should I kick you out?”

I stayed silent.

“Answer me, boy!”

I never got a chance to, because before I could open my mouth Dad’s bottle of whiskey connected with the side of my head. I fell to the ground, clutching my head. Blood dripped through my fingers.

Suddenly a thudding pain erupted in my side. I rolled, trying to avoid another kick in the ribs from my father. He kept going.

Kick. Kick. Kick. Crack. I screamed. I think he broke a rib… Dad dropped to his knees and started punching me, in the side, my face, my arms, my stomach, everywhere… He stood again and raised his foot. I closed my eyes as his foot connected with my ribs again and again. I felt another rib crack and yelled from the pain.

“Shut up, boy! Don’t be a pansy! You worthless, good-for-nothing mistake! You are nothing to me. You are worth nothing in this world. It would be better without you. So why don’t you go die, with all your other fag friends. I hope you all burn in Hell.”

He grabbed my shirt and yanked me up, his feverish, drunken brown eyes boring into mine.

“You should never have been born.”

He threw me to the ground, and the last thing I felt was his boot connecting with the side of my head before my world went blissfully, thankfully black.

Lucas’s Point of View

I sat numbly in the waiting room.

This couldn’t be real.

Was it?

I remember my mother, calling me, frantic because the neighbors had heard screams coming from our house and had gone to investigate, where they found Theo, broken and bleeding on the kitchen floor, a broken bottle of Jim Beam whiskey next to him. I’d ran all the way to the hospital, where mom had met me in the lobby. The reception nurse told us Theo was in emergency surgery to release swelling on his brain. We were led up to a waiting room, and it was where we’d been for the past five hours.

I buried my head in my hands. Theo. Theo. Theo. His name beat a rhythm in my head, pounding like a bird against my skull. Why had I left him alone? I should have refused to go to school…

The doors of the OR opened and a wan looking doctor stepped out.

“Mrs. Thomason?” he asked. Mom stood anxiously, dabbing at the tears that had been streaming down her face for the past five hours with a tissue.

“I’m Dr. Lewis. If you don’t mind my asking, Theo is your…?”

“Son’s boyfriend, but I intend to adopt him.”

The doctor, except for blinking once, remained completely unfazed, so I gave him credit for that.            

“Well, we were able to release the swelling in time to avoid any brain damage. He broke two ribs. One of them was completely shattered, and there were pieces that had torn some of his organs. We removed the pieces and stitched the holes. He had a few deep lacerations on his body as well that required stitches. His left wrist was also broken in two places, so we set that in a cast.”

My mother sank down in her chair, covering her mouth with the tissue.

“But is he okay?”  I pressed.

Dr. Lewis hesitated. “We aren’t sure. Physically, he should be fine, as long as his skull heals properly. But emotionally… “The doctor swallowed. “This may be disturbing for you, but we found evidence of sexual abuse during the operation, as well as scarring from self-harm. His records show he was hospitalized six months ago for a suicide attempt. Theo has obviously been heavily abused and will need a very stable home as well as psychiatric therapy… I just want to be sure you are ready for that.”

Mom straightened and lowered her tissue. “S-sexual abuse? It can’t… not Theo…” she bit her lip and looked at the doctor, tears brimming in her eyes. “Yes. I will do anything I can to help Theo.”

Dr. Lewis nodded, then looked at me. “You can go in to see him. He should be waking up soon.”

Mom followed me to the room, then kissed my forehead and said she was going to the ladies’ room to clean up. I knew she was giving me time alone with Theo, and I appreciated it.

I pushed open the door and walked in, tears brimming as I looked at the broken form of the boy I loved lying in the bed.