08

03. Complicated Freak

JORDIE

Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.

• • •

Chicago, Illinois • October 15, 1973

Ain't no son of mine a freak.

Jordie repeated those words in his head until a swift flow was created. The words were losing their meaning every time he repeated them, either mumbling, whispering or hearing his mind's voice saying them. They became less and less clear for him. Just a string of words, echoing in his head.

Ain't no son of mine a freak. Ain't no son of mine a freak. Ain't no son of mine a freak!

His father was the voice inside his head, saying those words while spit flew from his pale lips and a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. He hit Jordie twice, one of the punches creating a bruise on his cheek that he already could feel forming into a bruise. He got no chance to check himself in a mirror, too busy being pushed out the door by his father, but he was sure he looked like a mess.

He desperately needed a drink and another man's hands on him. Now. He had to act like the freak his father made him believe he is. Because what else can he do at 3 am in the fucking morning with nowhere to go except a place where he can be that freak―a bar where he can fuck and drink until the sun will rise.

Jordie looked around him through the dried tears. He wondered if he'll see the street where he grew up ever again, but quickly realizing that he might not miss it that much. He hated these big expensive houses and the filthy rich people that lived inside them. He was one of those people his entire life, but not anymore, since he's officially homeless and with no more than 10 bucks in his pocket. That will terrify him tomorrow when he'll wake up with a headache and aching bruises on his body, but right now the thought alone made him feel almost relieved.

He walked by the house with the number 46 and stared at it as he past by it. The lights were open and even though he couldn't hear anything coming from inside the house he was sure it was filled with raised voices, especially from Mr. Daniel's wife that just found that her husband had fucked more than on one occasion a 17-year-old.

Jordie almost grinned viciously at the thought of what might be going on inside the house, because that scum deserved the shame and divorce papers he was going to have to deal with. By tomorrow, the entire neighborhood will hear the news―that Lennon Daniel was having sexual intercourse with Charlie Seine's son, Jordie. He could imagine so well all the gasps and open mouths of the people that were about to find out and the gossip that will fill every house on this street. His father was going to be buried 5 feet deep in his shame, too, so much he might just have to move. But he couldn't care less. He kicked him out and called him a freak when Jordie did, in fact, confess to all the rumours about him and Mr. Daniel and simply for just being gay. He wondered what must've hurt his father more―the fact that his son was fucking his friend or simply his sexual preferences.

Jordie ran his hand through his hair as he walked while staring at his boots. Maybe his father had the right to be upset with him for regularly visiting a married man's bed, maybe he had done wrong to several people by that, but he had no right to be upset for what Jordie liked and did not like. He always knew his father will blow up once he finds out his son is gay―he simply doesn't live in the right world to have a gay son when appearance is the most important thing―and that's what Jordie couldn't stand. His father's anger, his poison-filled words, his disgust.

Ain't no son of mine a freak.

Well, sorry, dad, he is, Jordie thought. A very complicated freak.