Everything Has Changed

Ch. 9

TW: homophobia, homophobic slurs, and abuse.

~Harry~

I stumble into the house with a smile plastered on my face, close the door behind me, and lean back on it with my eyes closed and a smile plastered on my face. Tonight was one of the best I've had in a long time and I haven't been this happy in just as long. I allow the events of tonight to replay in my mind on repeat.

"Where the hell have you been faggot?" the ever-so-familiar booming of Jack's voice sounds through the house, breaking my blissful daze. I take a deep breath and round the corner towards the living room, bracing myself for what's to come. There, in the recliner, he is sat with a bottle of beer in his hand and it's, clearly, not his first bottle. He sluggishly tilts his head to the side to get a good look at me and scowls at what he sees.

"I just took a walk after pictures, it's not a big deal," I lie and hope he believes me. Based on the look on his face, he knows I'm lying. I take a small step back out of the room, hoping he doesn't notice, but it seems that I'm short of luck. He leaps out of his chair and grabs my arm as I try to turn and sprint to the security of my room. I wince again at the pain that erupts under his grip, and I slowly turn back to him knowing this will be easier if I comply.

"Don't lie to me, boy. You were with your faggot boyfriend, weren't you?" He yells and I try to display mock confusion across my face. Technically, I don't have one yet, but he doesn't need to know that.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Jack," I deadpan and try to pull away, but he just grips my arm harder. My eyes lock with the fire flaming in his and I can already tell this isn't going to end well. He smirks at me, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out the old picture of me and Louis from when we were fourteen. My heart drops at the sight of my most treasured picture in his hands.

I swallow as I feel my hands ball up in fists. "How did you find that? Why were you in my room?" I ask, anger boiling under the surface of my skin. Then panic starts to take over when I realize what else he could've found. His sinister smirk only solidifies my fears.

"Well, when your mother isn't here, this is my house so I think I have every right to know what's happening under my roof. And I can't say I'm happy with what I've found," he says and his eyes darken in a way that has me considering my chances of being able to run out of the house. I can't help it when I start trembling. "You know, I thought that Gemma moved out. Would you know anything about the makeup I found in your room? Or maybe the blouses in your closet? And don't get me started on the disgraceful items I found in your dresser," he ponders and my whole body goes rigged. I rip the photo from his hand and stare at it in disbelief.

No.

No no no no no.

I twist my arm to try to get out of his grasp, but he just grips it harder causing pain to shoot up my arm and I can't tell if he broke it or not. I scream out in pain and then that's when he lets loose. The first hit lands across my right cheek, forcing my head to whip to the left. His fists hit me repeatedly after that in more places than I can count with no regard for making them easy to hide.

He throws me to the ground cursing me and starts kicking my stomach while I try to curl up on myself. "You fucking faggot, there's a reason your mom is never around. Your father would be disgusted by the man you've become. I wouldn't even call you a man if what I found in your room is anything to go by. Your father would be so disappointed. I'm sure he's happy he died so he didn't have to see who you've become" he emphasizes each word with a kick or a punch and with every word another set of tears trail down my cheeks.