Candlelit midnights

Stories to be told

A fictional story about a boy named charlie. Not based on my life.
Tw: homophobia, physical abuse, homophobic slurs

When I was younger
When I was very young my father was a kind man.
My mother always thought I was too much of a girly boy but he didn't think so.
He let me buy my stuffed teddies and watch shows meant for girls, he didn't care at all.
I don't remember when that changed but it did.
I started to wonder why I felt the way I should feel about girls about boys.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I didn't know my dad was an alcoholic, but he didn't stay sober for long enough to raise me.
I remember when I was twelve I told my dad that I had a crush on one of my classmates.
I was sitting on the couch when he asked me "I didn't raise a faggot did I?"
I could smell the liquor on his breath.
I swore up and down I didn't mean it, but he didn't listen.
I went to school with bruises the next day.

Secret
I didn't tell him why those bruises were there the next day.
He didn't need to know.
I wore long sleeves and jeans for a few days.
I remember the first time we kissed, I looked at him and he knew.
I hadn't felt this love since my father started drinking.
I swore I'd never tell anyone but one night it came pouring out of me.
He swore he'd never tell anyone, he swore he'd never hurt me.
Our love was a secret but I didn't care.
We were just friends to passersby, but to us it was more than that.

Aching
I had a friend named Sandra, I swore to him I'd never tell anyone but one night I did.
When I told him he became enraged.
He yelled at me, and in that moment I was that scared little boy I once was.
He stared at me and what left his mouth was to divide us in a way I didn't know we'd ever be capable of.
"What? You think I'm gonna hit you just like your daddy did?"