March from Darkness | ✓ (to be edited)

FOURTEEN

My eyes opened groggily, my mind still half asleep as I slowly stumbled out of bed and almost face-planted onto the wooden floors of my bedroom. I stretched quickly, almost violently, sighing in relief as my back popped in several places. I stumbled into the bathroom, grabbing a big towel and a small towel from the cabinet on my way, and turned on the shower to as cold a temperature as I could stand. I quickly undressed, not allowing my hands to stay near my skin for too long, and hopped in, shuddering at the feeling of icy water pelting bruised skin.

I grabbed the washcloth, rubbed some normal soap on it, poured a tiny bit of my brother's bodywash on it, and scrubbed my skin hard, reveling in the feeling of the scratchy cloth irritating my skin. At least that would distract me from the pain of my bruises. The stupid bastards at school had made sure to not make any on my arms, face, or neck lest they be noticeable, but they had done a bang-up job on my ribs and back; I was surprised nothing was broken from a few better-placed kicks.

Aside the fact that the coldness made my bruises feel better, it also served another purpose: the hot water tended to carry the scent of the bodywash and let it linger in the room after I was done, something that I couldn't let happen.

I momentarily hesitated before quickly washing my stringy, too-long hair, rinsed the soap from my body, and turned off the taps. I ran the big towel through my hair, rubbing them together and pulling out the tangled knots that formed from the strands. I quickly brushed my teeth, avoiding the mirror at all costs, and ran back to my room to get dressed.

It didn't take long, the longest part of the process was probably trying to convince myself that wearing these clothes hopefully wouldn't have to last much longer. I forced the top over my head, and then forced myself to put my legs through the jeans; I hated how the clothes clung to me, but the top was still loose enough that it covered most of my unsightliness.

I didn't bother sitting down to breakfast with my parents, I wasn't in the mood today. I quickly grabbed my lunch, my backpack, and set off to school with the excuse that I had a project due at the beginning of the day and I didn't want to be late like I tended to be. They accepted it without question, and I began my lonely three-mile walk to my personal hellhole, ready for yet another day of cruel jests, beatings, and disgusted looks given to me by not only students, but by the teacher and principal, as well. I didn't understand why they were like this. I guess we just lived in an intolerant pocket of Vermont.

Suddenly, I was back in my house; the sun was setting, and I had called my parents and siblings to talk with me. I had to tell them, it was eating me inside to hide it from them. They were generally accepting people; they went to church, sure, but they were supporters of gay rights. That didn't stop me from being nervous, didn't stop my heart from pounding out of my chest.

"What is it, baby?" my mother asked, her gorgeous green eyes, of whom mine were an exact copy, filled with concern.

"Mama, poppa, Karien, Sirsi," I started, but then stopped. My words were caught in my throat behind a lump of terror. All I could force out was "Please don't hate me," my voice thick, but not with tears.

"You know we could never hate you," Karien said, his big blue eyes wide with worry while his large muscular frame sat taller. "You know we-"

"Please don't say that just yet..." I warned. Sirsi's eyebrow shot up into her dirty blonde bangs, and she studied me for a moment.

"Why would we hate a 15 year-old?" she questioned before her eyes shot open wide. "Oh my God! You're pr-"

"No!" I stopped her before she could continue, the very thought of what she was going to accuse me of made my stomach lurch. "No, I just..."