The Void Between Stars: Book 4 Of The Orion Series

Taking Care Of Yourself

The drive home was made in painfully uncomfortable silence. Our car hadn't been repo'ed at that point, so we didn't have the rusted out station wagon yet (we ended up not using that piece of shit, anyway).

Occasionally I'd glance at my parents through the rear view mirror. My mother stared out the window, a forlorn expression plastered on her face. My father looked ordinary, but his white-knuckled driving gave me a sense of what was brewing beneath. As such, the quiet ride was accented by my occasional sniffles.

What on earth would I say? "Sorry for masturbating, kissing some girls, and being bisexual"? Would they even want to know what exactly my sins pertained? I think I'd rather die on the spot than explain any of that to them in great detail.

As we pulled up to our tiny plot, gravel shuffling beneath our heavy tires, I was hoping for a heart attack. I, however, wasn't a forty-something year old man that hadn't seen a doctor in who knew how long (like my adopted dad, pre-heart attack, that is). No; I unfortunately was a twelve year old young boy who did well in gym class, and who had (until recently) gone for annual checkups.

We drove onto the pathetic patch of dying grass that sat outside our home. I whimpered without meaning to, cringing.

"Get in the house," my father said calmly. I glanced at him in the mirror. He was looking directly at me. "Both of you. Now."

Without any other choice, I did as I was told.

I could have run away right then. Yet I was scared to. Besides, where would I go? The police? Back to Linda? I was sure she would hate me too, knowing my sexuality. I sure as shit couldn't go running to Daryl.

I was alone. Completely, unequivocally, alone.

The door was barely closed before my father snarled at me. "Empty your pockets. All of them."

Petrified, I did. My wallet, some gum, my smokes, and lighter were put onto the table.

"And your backpack."

I shrugged it off and unzipped it. Trembling I removed every item, one by one. Evidently I was taking too long because my father grabbed it, ripping it out of my hands. I winced as my one nail bent backwards. My dad turned the backpack upside down, shaking it out completely onto the kitchen table. Once sure it was empty, he angrily tossed it to the side.

I heard the click as my mother locked herself in their room.

My father sorted through my things. When he found nothing incriminating besides the cigarettes, he clutched them in his hand, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me the few feet to the bathroom. He shoved me in, only after shoving the pack painfully into my chest.

"Dump them in the toilet," he instructed.

Shaking, I let go of the pack.

The back of my head stung. He had hit me with his open palm hard enough to make my ears ring.

"Don't clog the fucking toilet," he snarled at me. "Flush the cigarettes down and throw away the package, idiot!"

Face burning, I did as I was told. Even though there was nothing in there, the act of me reaching into the toilet and fishing something out was gross and humiliating. When I tossed the package into the waste bin, he grabbed my arm again and yanked me out of the bathroom. Gathering up the plastic bag, he shoved it at me.

"Go take the garbage out."

As my body quivered uncontrollably, I walked the bag to the dumpster outside. When I came back in, not even a minute later, I found my dad pacing back and forth. He stopped, looking at me with pure disdain. Wiping his mouth off, he glared.

"Lock the door."

Gulping, I locked it.

He then stalked forward. I tried to back away, but he grabbed me roughly by the bicep. Making me nearly trip, he half-dragged me to my room. Not even bothering to turn on the light, I was shoved onto my bed. Suddenly benumbed, I looked up at him.

"So you're a disgusting fag on top of everything else, huh?"

Even though the slur made me tear up, I didn't dare move. My eyes dropped briefly to his midsection as he began to unbuckle his belt.

"I should have known with all the pathetic crying you do," he spat. "You're completely and utterly worthless, you understand that?"

I flinched when he roughly pulled his belt free from his pant loops, it flailing wildly to the side. I was wondering if he was going to strangle me with it.

"If this gets out," he warned in a low, gutteral voice.

"It won't," I replied desperately, the first tears spilling over from my unblinking eyes.

"I will not have a faggot of a son!" he bellowed at me, and I flinched. "I raised you better than that these past two years!"

"I'm sorry," I told him, even though I knew I didn't mean it.

With those words, he narrowed his eyes. "Turn over."

"W-what?"

He grabbed me with his free hand, roughly twisting my torso and pushing my shoulder down. "Sorry isn't good enough for all the shit you've put your mother and I through. I said, turn over. On your hands and knees!"

"W-what? W-why-"

He backhanded me so hard I fell backwards. Dazed, he manhandled me until I was in a sort of doggy-down yoga position, my clothed ass in the air. "Because I'm going to fucking beat this out of you."

I found out two things that day.

One was how badly it hurt to be whipped with a belt, even over pants.

Second was if I struggled, it only made it worse.

~

Thankfully that's when my memory stopped. I sat up, swung my legs off the bed, and wiped off my face. Then I held my head in my hands.

"You're okay," I whispered to myself, even as a single tear coarse down my face. It came to a precarious halt on the tip of my nose. "You're in rehab. You're across the country. He can't hurt you anymore."

Then why did I feel so scared?

Every time he had called me a fag over the years, I did nothing. When he broke my spirit, I did nothing. When he broke my skin by hitting me, I did nothing.

The first time through rehab, I did nothing. Not really, anyway. I glanced at the clock, and it showed me that it was a little past two in the morning. Even just a couple hours ago, I did nothing by not being able to drag my ass down to the hospital wing and see if they had anything to help me sleep.

I was tired of doing nothing. I decided right then it was time for action. It was finally time for me to take care of myself and have my needs met. For all the years I didn't reach out for help, because I didn't want to burden anyone, I finally felt like I had had enough. It was time to be selfish, just once.

As such, I snuck out of my room and down the hall. Scott answered on the third round of my knocking. He was blurry eyed, hair sticking every which way, dressed in a bath robe.

"I just need a hug."

No questions asked, he pulled me into his arms.