Nathan's Story - just gonna say this is gonna be a little unpleasant so I'm sorry if it's a bit too sad, graphic, or triggering (not in the way everyone's saying it now, but I suppose that works too...)
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Nathan's POV
When I was growing up, I knew a lot about the darker side of relationships.
I knew about rape, abuse, jealousy and abandonment.
My father raped my mother. He was kind to her, then forced her. I'd heard the stories from them. My father would tell them to me as a bedtime story, like he was proud of all the terrible things he'd done.
And I knew it was wrong.
I understood that it wasn't normal or right.
He'd hit her, yell at her, and sometimes, he'd hit me too. He didn't want me, and my mother didn't seem to notice me. She'd stare at me blankly, like she knew I was there, but stared right through me none the less.
She stared at me like she didn't recognise me at all.
So when she left, I didn't feel much of anything. Nothing. It was like I just didn't care. She didn't, so she ran away from what she lived with.
She ran away from the one thing that kept me sane.
Even if she didn't notice me, she'd stand up for me.
I'd hear them through the walls of my bedroom as they yelled at each other.
He'd say I was worthless.
She'd reply that it was his fault. She'd say I'd done nothing wrong and didn't deserve this life.
Then all I would hear was her screaming in pain. And I felt remorse.
I still hear her. Her screaming. Normally in my dreams. When I have no choice but to watch him beat her senseless. I couldn't move. I couldn't tell him to stop.
I could only watch in horror.
So, naturally, when I met a boy who's mother showed her love and affection-
I was jealous.
I watched as they laughed together, smiled together, joked together, spoke together and hugged together.
Why couldn't my life be like that?
Why can't I live like that?
Why can't I enjoy my life?
Why...
Why...
Why?
WHY??
It's not fair. That's was all I wanted.
I wanted nothing but to really live.
And yet that was the one thing so close, yet so far at the same time.
So out of reach...
When my mother left, he turned to alcohol...
And his abuse...
Turned to me...
It was my fault, he would say.
The worst part of all?
I believed him.
YOU ARE READING
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