"GET YOUR FAGGOT ASS DOWN HERE NOW, DECOTA" father yelled at me.
I got up from my bed and walked down the stairs. Opening the door at the end of the stair case that lead into the kitchen. I Looked at the dead blot lock on the door, yeah he locked me away when he couldn't look at me.
"DECOTA, NOW BOY! BEFORE I BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!" He yelled louder and more enraged than before.
He always yelled at me. He never loved me after my mother died...
He drank. A lot. Abused me. Did unspeakable things to me. Called me names. Mostly called me a faggot. But I didn't care I knew he hated me because I was homosexual.
I walked into the living room, seeing 'the pig' as I call him, sitting on the recliner with a beer in his hand.
"Yes, father?" I asked in a annoyed way.
"DON'T GET THAT TONE OF VOICE WITH ME YOUNG MAN!"
He said angered with me.
"Sor-" I was cut off by a punch/slap to the face.
Of course. I knew what was going to come. More of him kicking the crap out of me. Dragging me by my hair to the basement. Tying me up to the chains on the wall and leaving me down there with the rats and roaches like the piece of filth I am. Leaving me there for days on end. Me sobbing, praying, hoping someone would get me out of my own living hell.
He pulled me up by my hair and looked at me in the eyes.
"I...hate...you..." He said. I could feel his alcohol tainted breath on my skin. I tired not to gag as he talked but I couldn't help it.
" you think I'm disgusting, boy?" He asked as I gag.
I shook my head no, which he could tell was clearly a lie.
He...laughed
He...smirked...at...me
He
He grabbed my arm and pinned me against a wall. I let a tear roll down my cheek.
"How about I show you something really disgusting?" He said with a tone that made me tremble in fear.
He slid his hand under my shirt.
I thrashed around trying to get out of his grip, but it only tighten even more.
No this wasn't the first time this happened he did this before.Yeah he raped his own son. I just let it happen. No. No I didn't enjoy it. I never did. I felt filthy, like I do now. Like always.
He pulled out of me. Left me there crying like always.
My own father raped his own son. Raped me. Like the hundreds of time he did before.
I got up from the floor and picked up my clothes. I walked up to my room and layer on my bed, not wanting to live anymore.
Kill your self
A voice in my head said to me. I ignored it and feel asleep crying.
(Tell me how you like this so far. And sorry if this was triggering for some people ;-; ~Sugar)
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The barb wire fence (on hold)
RandomDecota Crawford,a 15 year old boy lost his mother to suicide. He lives with his abusive father. He had endured Physical,emotional ,verbal ,and mental abuse for seven years he's had enough...
