Past? What Past?! [ F I N I S H E D ]

Past? What Past! Part21

"What? You think that only girls get beaten and abused? You think that you're the only ones that can hurt? You think that you're the only ones that can feel like shit sometimes? Well you aren't, Abi, you aren't. I can feel too," he shouted. I really looked at him and saw his eyes were brimming with tears. "I have a heart, too," he whispered as the first teardrop fell from his eye.

I didn't know what to say! I mean, he admitted to being abused - what? What was I meant to say to that? I - I was shocked. What?

"I - you - Brant -" I struggled to find the words that he needed to hear. "Sorry - no, not - I - What -" I stopped and just thought. Then I said: "tell me about it."

"I don't want to," he said stubbornly.

"Yes you do."

"I don't know where to begin!"

"Yes, you do, Brant. You can trust me. Telling someone makes the pain easier. I know it for a fact."

"Okay," Brant sighed, "I'll tell you, but you won't like it, and I won't leave out anything. Unless it's too painful."

"That's fine," I told him, laying a comforting hand on his.

"Well," he started. "The thing is, I've never been loved." He paused. "My parents never wanted me, I knew that from the beginning. They'd always ignore me and when I asked for something, I'd never get it. Sometimes I thought they just had a hearing problem or something, then I thought maybe I didn't really exist and I was a ghost or something. So I started cutting myself, to see if I was really alive - I did that every time I felt ignored. Then, when I got older, my Dad would hit me, and it would really hurt. I'd cry out to my mother, trying to get her to help me. She wouldn't stop him though. She'd just stand there, and watch. She'd watch as my dad beat me and cut me. He told me I was worthless. He told me no one wanted me, he hadn't wanted me, I'd never be good enough."

"Oh my God, Brant," I whispered as he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. There were scars, criss-crossing all over his arm. The skin was slightly raised and paler than the rest of his skin. A teardrop fell on his skin, but it did not belong to him. My tears were falling. I was horrified by his story - by his parent's heartless actions that drove Brant to this.

"That isn't the worst of it," Brant told me, laughing harshly, "hell no. The worst of the scarring can't be seen. It's hidden in my heart and in my head. The physical abuse I could kind of deal with, but the physiological stuff always stays with me. But, I went through more. I've never told anyone about this, Abi, so you can't tell a soul - not even Aurora and DEFINITELY not Harry."

"I promise I won't tell anyone," I whispered.

"It was the sexual abuse that was the worst." I gasped. "My mother," Brant said. "My mother came into my room one night when I was thirteen. Told me I had been bad, that I had ruined her life. She told me I had to give her something in return, as I had taken her freedom away. Then she pulled down my boxers. She pulled up her night dress and there was nothing underneath. She -" he let out a choking sob, "she got me hard, and then she - she -"

"Shh," I whispered, "it's okay. If it's too hard to tell me, it's fine." I pulled him into an awkward hug, with Aurora caught in the middle. Brant rested his head on my shoulder and continued with his story, leaving out the details of the night his mother raped him.

"She came into my room every night after that, and the same thing happened. Every single night, until I snapped. I couldn't take it, Abi. I was so fucked up. I thought that this was what I deserved, that it was natural for people to have sex without remorse about how wrong it was. I thought that my mother was in the right, and that she got to sleep around - my father, me, the random guys that came to our house when Dad was working. I thought she was right." He let out another gasp of pain. "So I had had enough of the abuse. Dad was still hitting me; Mum was still fucking me. I didn't want to have to go through any more of the pain. I couldn't deal with it anymore. I couldn't look anyone in the eye anymore. I had heard people at school talk about their normal life, and I couldn't have anything to do with it, because I wasn't good enough. I had isolated myself from everyone and alienated them. I had become a loner. I wasn't deserving enough to breath other people's air - that's what I convinced myself into thinking. One day I went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out two packets of Paracetomol - two 16 capsule packets, each capsule 500mg or something. I then went to the garage and got out a big bottle of vodka. I don't know why it lived in the garage, it just did. So I went out, and I went to a park, and I took 36 Paracetomol capsules, and I had them with the big, two-litre bottle of vodka. Then I collapsed. I started throwing up, I suppose - I don't know, it was all a blur. Someone saw me and phoned an ambulance. I got taken to the emergency department, and I wouldn't tell them what I had taken. I told them I wanted to die - I didn't want their help."

He paused, "so the crazy people came to talk to me. They talked to me about everything - my childhood, my parents, my school, and my friends. They decided that I was suicidal. They told me it was my parent's fault - that they abused me and it had driven me to such extreme measures. They sent me to live with my grandmother because I had always been happy with her. She was good for me - she made me smile for once. Gran lives in Plymouth. That's why I moved there last year. I don't go over to Ireland anymore. I miss the place I grew up in, but I don't miss the people. I hate the people there. My parents ruined my life. So, now you know. We're similar."

I couldn't say anything. I just thought about Brant's story - about his past, and about his parents. He had been through so much. He would never be whole again. He was more fucked up than I was. He shagged people because it was in his past. He admitted to me that he thought what his mother did to him was natural and right, and so he banged girls because he thought he was being normal.

"Abi," Brant whispered throatily. "Abi," he said again. I looked at him. I looked right into his eyes, which held so much pain. I couldn't bear seeing him so sad. I cupped his face in one of my hands. He was so vulnerable. "Abi, I smaoineamh I ngrá leat."

I didn't bother asking him what this meant. I just knew I had to stop the pain he was feeling, whatever the cost. I brushed my lips across his forehead and he sighed, closing his eyes. I then pressed my lips lightly against his, telling him everything would be okay.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you."

"We will be landing in the next five minutes, please make sure you have your seatbelt on and prepare for landing. The weather is bright but cloudy in Exeter. Thank you for travelling with British Airways!" said Shelly over the speakers.

Now, I had to choose. Harry whom I loved, or Brant, who I was beginning to think I also had serious feelings for.

© Zoe A Proudfoot

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Right, Part21 - da dah!

i'm aware this part is kind of short-ish. so, i kind of lied. but i thought this was more appropriate.

so i'm starting part22 after i see to my gerbil, tin-tin, as i think he's got tail rot, which is a bit gutting :(.

thanks again to my irish friend: light :) she knows she's amazing, but i'm going to reinstate the fact. YOU'RE AMAZING!

okay, well ... see ya next part ;)!

xxxx