Gay, Hell Yeah I Am! (BoyxBoy)

Chapter ten

Sorry it took so long to update. Well here you go. :) 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kyle's P. O. V

Oh shit, I'm screwed.

I didn't waste a second longer and lunged for the door, only to get shoved back forcefully onto the bed by Zack. He pinned me to the bed as I struggled to get out of his hold. Grabbing my wrists he pinned them above me.

"Get the fuck off me, dammit," I shouted, struggling in his hold.

"No, not until I see what it is that your hiding," he replied calmly and threw one leg over me, then sat down on my stomach, straddling me. Some vague part of me commented on how wrong this was, how sexual this was. My face heated up at the thought.

I shrugged off the thought and paid no mind to them as I focused  solely on trying to stop Zack from striping off my shirt. I kicked from underneath him and threw my weight around as much as I could, and from the look of frustration on Zack's face I was successfully stopping his attempts.

"Stop moving," he commanded, but I didn't listen.

"No, now get off me!"

Jeez he's so freakin persistent, why can't he just leave it alone? It's not like he actually cares about me enough to worry for my health, or anything for that matter? So why won't he stop insisting on this?

"You're so stubborn," he yelled, anger vivid on his face.

"Look who's talking, just leave me alone."

"God, fucking dammit," he growled, "Fuck it." He grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled, ripping it open roughly leaving no piece unharmed.

I gasped, horrified. "What the hell are you doing, that's my shirt!"

"Well if you had of let me take it off before, then maybe this wouldn't have happened. But it did, so deal with it."

I glowered at him as he tore off the last of my shirt and froze his eyes on my chest. He paled at what he saw, his mouth opening and closing, no words coming out. He reached out tentatively with his free hand and lightly traced the large, ugly purple bruises that covered my chest and stomach.

"Wha? What is this?" He whispered, his eyes shown with the horror he felt.

I looked away in shame, tears burning in the back of my eyes. I could feel his fingertips moving across my bare skin, undoubtedly tracing the bruise on my ribs, the one on my collar bone, and the one on my inner waist, that one larger than the others, darker. Almost as if I was hit harder in that area. But I knew the reason why it looked like that.

The bruise was from being repeatedly kicked in that spot relentlessly, even when I was sobbing and begging for him to stop. That night had been worse than usual and I would never forget the pain I suffered that day.

"Kyle, what is this? Who did this to you?" His voice was pained, concerned, and I thought I could hear the carefully controlled rage underneath all that concern. He finally let go of my wrists and I pulled them down to my chest to cover up some of the bruises.

"No one," I whispered, not looking at him.

"It was him, wasn't it? Your dad did this to you didn't he?" He demanded, his voice rising back to a shout; you could now clearly hear the anger in his voice.

This time I looked him straight in the eye, mine watery but unwavering, his frantic. I licked my chapped lips, wetting them before speaking, "It's not his fault, it's not like he could help it. It was the alcohol that made him do that, not him!"