The Sound Of Your Heart

ONE

Five years ago, somewhere in Manhattan, the borough of New York City.

MILES

"Ahhh!" I screamed gently as Mom treated my bruise and wound on the left side of my face. I was in agony since I could feel every pressure she applied to the cotton ball she held.

I sniffled and tried to hold back the tears as she continued to treat my injury. I couldn't help but think of how I got hurt in the first place. My father struck me last night, and I now have these scratches and bruises on my face. Mom and I were sitting on our couch in the living room, facing each other. I could see Mommy's entire face; everyone was right; I looked exactly like her since I inherited her hazel eyes.

"I told you to stay still," she remarked as she continued to treat my bruises and wounds. I just did what she said; as the pain subsided, I looked up at Mom's face. Her eyes were filled with worry, but a gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She always had a way of making me feel safe.

I couldn't tolerate seeing her worry, so I took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, Mom; I didn't mean to talk back to him. I didn't want Dad and me to fight, so I was sorry for my behavior last night," I said sadly to Mom, causing her to stop what she was doing and look me straight in the eye.

"You know, my love, you don't know how much I hate it whenever your Father hurts you. It's been two years since you came out to us, and he still can't accept it. I'm sorry, sweetie, but I'm doing all I can to protect you. There, all done," she said as she finally removed the cotton ball.

"Now, let's put some ointment on to help it heal quickly." I watched with curiosity as Mom carefully applied the ointment to my wound. It smelled strange, but Mom assured me it was medicine to help prevent infection. She then covered it with a small bandage, ensuring it was securely in place.

"There, good as new," she said, planting a soft kiss on my forehead.

"C'mon, let me take you to school today," she said to me, so I nodded in response and stood up, picking up my bag from the floor.

I quietly followed Mom out of the house, and the floor creaked as I cautiously stepped through the front door. The air inside the home was stale, heavy with the remnants of arguments and broken promises. It was a house filled with memories, both good and bad, and it was poisoning the very foundations it stood upon.

I saw my dad right on the veranda adjoining our house; he was sitting on his favorite chair with a dozen cans of beer next to him, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. I could see his face contorted by anger, and although his words stung, they couldn't compare to the pain etched on his face. He glared at me like he was about to land another punch on me, so I gulped out of fear.

"I'll head to school now, D-dad," I told Dad nervously. I'm seventeen now, and I'm still scared of my father. Here's the reason why me and my Dad were close: we're like brothers, and we have a great bond together as father and son. But not until two years ago, when I accidentally outed to everyone and told them I was Gay and I liked boys. The bond between me and my father changed; he never saw me as his son anymore, and he constantly beat me until I bled.

"I don't care; just get your ass out of my property before I fucking lose my mind again!" He said it angrily while throwing an empty can in my direction. It bounced off the wall, missing me by inches. His words pierced through me like a worn-out blade. Memories of past pain, regret, and missed opportunities flooded my mind. How could I make amends for the countless times I let him down? How could I heal the wounds I had inflicted upon his heart?

My hands instinctively clenched into fists, my heart pounding, ready to fight back against his outburst. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw a man on the edge of his breaking point. Beneath the anger, I saw a plea for help.