Abstract

Chapter 7- Adam's POV

ADAM'S POV

"I always knew you were a disappointment. But never did I expect you to be a fucking faggot." His words roll coldly down my spine.

I stop reading my book and try to even out my breathing. "What are you talking about, Daddy?"

He takes a seat on the edge of my bed. "Don't play dumb with me, Adam. I saw you kissing that friend of yours." He barked out a hard laugh. "What is his name, again? Right, it's Jace. How would his priest of a father react to the news that his son is fooling around with another male? He wouldn't be too pleased, I imagine."

My heart tests the the durability of my ribcage. "Please, Daddy. Don't do that. I'll do anything." I plead shamelessly. "I never meant to have feelings for another boy. It just happened."

"It's okay, my son." He cooed, pulling me to his chest. "You've been a naughty boy. There's a way to be pure again."

I nod and say, "Thank you, daddy. I'll do anything."

"Good boy," He says, unzipping his pants. He pushes my head to his lap. "This will be our little secret."

"I'm scared. Are you sure this is okay?" I ask.

Little did I know that my father sexually abusing me would be the least of my forthcoming fears.

Finding out I was Abstract was never intentional. How could it have been? I never imagined that something like controlling peoples' fear existed. My father did a very good job trying, though.

The things he made me do.

The horrible things he did to me.

I felt betrayed by my own body most of the time. He would pin me down and whisper lewdly on my ear about how he was cleansing me. The terror stuck in my throat made me choke almost as much as his tight grip around my throat did.

One day he took me to my mother's grave and started talking to her headstone, telling her how I have made him addicted to sin. He turned to me and told me how disappointed my mother was in me, that she was looking up at me from heaven and wondering where she went wrong with me.

I just wanted to make him feel the overwhelming horror and anxiety he made me feel. And as I stood next to him, with the familiar ache my body endured everytime I heard my bedroom door lock, I closed my eyes. I visualised him suffering, in agony.

His screams filled me with unorthodox satisfaction. The thirteen year old me didn't understand it then, but I now know that that moment defined what had the power to scare me. My deranged father no longer had that power.

With a dead mother and a father who was serving 25 to life, I was alone. Completely, utterly alone. I had these kind, foster parents, Mr. & Mrs. Baxter who had always wanted a son and when they heard about my story, jumped at the chance to save the useless soul of mine which was already fading away into spaces I couldn't fathom.

Every time Mr. Baxter would hug me, I'd picture him licking his lips and making me go on my knees. Mrs. Baxter just served as a reminder that I could learn to love her and she could just die. The heartache I'd losing to mother's would set me over the edge where I would just continue to fall with no hope of revival.

I feel into trusting my foster parents, though. Love and respect followed shortly after when it became abundantly clear that they weren't going anywhere. I don't know what I would have done if it weren't for them.

In addition to being unintentional, finding out I was Abstract also developed over time. Some boys always made fun of me at school because they thought I was 'a loser'. Psst. Whatever that meant. They always made me feel inferior. So it finally got to much. I closed my eyes and pictured them scared. It worked everytime. They never bothered me again when they discovered a pattern.

I always thought my ability to make people scared was a fluke, a mutation in my genes. I never mulled over it. I sometimes thought of it as a gift destiny equipped me with to deal with the type of life it paved for me. I never dreamt there would be others like me.

But there are. And some of them are close friends of mine, including Qaahir. They looked out for me and I looked out for them. We all were linked by the one thing that could make or break a person: intense emotion.

I met Zylen first. Well, he met me is a little bit more accurate. He told me he'd been watching me for a while, and while it slightly creepy, it didn't hurt that he was incredibly attractive. Which wasn't ideal, because I was still trying to talk myself out of the fact that I was bisexual. It helped that he didn't return my attraction. Stung a little, but helped.

Zylen had that air of mystery around him. He exuded it to be honest. And while I was all for meeting and hanging out with people who shared similar stories with me, it irked me how much I didn't know about Zylen Woods.

Regardless, I trusted him. I was kinda like his right - hand man. If he asked me to do something for him, I didn't question it. I did it without hesitation. As long as I didn't have to harm anyone, then there wasn't a thing I wouldn't do for him.

Which was why when he asked me to check out a girl named Aura Adams, I kept my questions to myself and got myself into Claremont High School halfway through the school year. With a little persuasion on my part, I became a transfer student at Claremont High.

Aura seemed like the type of girl who didn't know she was beautiful. Her hair was dark, almost black and her eyes were a green that someone could never forget. I observed her for a few days, trying to figure out what Zylen wanted in her. Then it hit me: she was the ultimate Abstract. Just like Zylen. The type that has gone their entire life feeling virtually nothing.

I became her friend and she started finding holes in the stories I was feeding her. Qaahir chickened out on me when I asked him to help me show her what we could do. So desperate times called for desperate measures. I showed her what I could do. Now she looks at me with fear in her eyes that I put there. But she needs to understand something very crucial: there is no escaping what is meant for you.