Bruises

Prolouge

Warning: possible abuse trigger
As long as I knew my dad, he had fast hands. My momma' didn't see it very much cause' dad rarely let the bruises pass the hems of my clothes.
A little girl that lived in one of the houses near us told me she could hear me crying sometimes. She said I was goin' to hell for putting up with him.
I said I was going to hell for kissing a boy.
See I had this friend, Cas, who always wore nice shirts with the collar all fancy and blue sweaters that matched his eyes.
The day I met him I told him that he was pretty, but I didn't understand why he wasn't wearing normal clothes. He said that I was pretty but I looked dirty. I told him I was, and that my dad said that's what made me manly. He laughed at me.
I didn't get it.
When I went home that night my dad asked me why I was talkin' to a preppy boy.
I said that the boy was cute.
His hands were really fast that night.
The second day I met Cas he asked me why I had a black eye. I said that it was a shiner, and I didn't want to talk about it.
Cas didn't ask. I liked that.
For a long time we just played in his tree house and he made me read his books. I hadn't read before, but he taught me some.
One day he wore a green sweater instead of a blue one.
He said he bought it for me, it matched my eyes.
That was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.
I kissed him.
When I went home that night, I took Cas with me.
He had his hand in mine. I didn't know it was wrong. I didn't know it was wrong.
The next day I didn't go to school.
The day after that I did, but I had two stitches on the skin near my cheekbone.
I didn't know my dad was so creative.
A teacher asked what happened and I looked away from her.
She told me she'd call the headmaster if I didn't tell her.
She must've known my dad had quick hands.
She called the headmaster.
He seemed angry, which made me cry.
When he asked what happened I told him my daddy has quick hands but my momma doesn't know.
I didn't know why at the time but I stayed in the office until my mom picked me up.
When my dad came home he was angry.
I had never seen him that angry before, but he was smiling.
Around midnight he woke me up, I could smell beer on his breath.
He told me we were going on a trip and I better put my shoes on or I'll step on glass.
I didn't get my shoes on in time.
He pulled me into his pickup truck and looked me in the eye, he asked if I remembered the time I said I wanted a tattoo.
I nodded because I was scared to say no.
We drove all the way to a big house and a big sweaty man greeted us. My dad told me to lay down on a bed, it looked gross but I obeyed.
My dad held me down and the man started pushing something into my arm. The machine buzzed as tears streamed down my face but my dad still smiled.
When he was finally done I looked down at my arm with blood shot eyes and discovered the writing that occupied it. Sharp large letters were on the inside if my arm.
"Do you like it Dean?" My dad laughed, and the other man laughed too.
"I don't know what it means daddy." I had managed to say through sobs.
"Course you can't read. It says 'Faggot'." He had explained.
I knew what that meant.
On the drive back home I stifled my cries as my fathers laughter roared.
I scrubbed so much blood and skin of my arm that night you can still see the traces of scars 9 years later.
The next day at school a different teacher saw my arm.
He cried.
I bet his dad had quick hands too.
He took me to the headmaster.
They called the cops.
I never saw my dad again.
They made me wait around in the office again.
But this time they gave me a lollipop.
Then I didn't go home for three days.
I stayed with the coppers, who didn't like that name, so I stayed with the police. They took pictures of my arm and of my bruises.
I told the cops I felt like I was in the movie escape from Alcatraz and one asked the other if I was a lost cause. It's more embarrassing now than it was then.
When I got to go back home to my mom and little brother, people didn't look at me the same.
Old people smiled at me more, but parents glared at me.
I felt a bit like a rabid dog, that didn't really have rabies.
When I knocked on Cas' treehouse door, he told me to go away.
I didn't want to.
He didn't want me to either.
His papa just didn't want me around.
My mom gathered up all the money we could get and moved us to a small town in Kanas, where nobody knew us.
I didn't talk to Cas for 9 years.
Today that all changed.