Come Back to Me [Boy x Boy]

Chapter 7

Jesse P.O.V

Before I go to sleep, I sneak out of my room for a hot shower. A bath in bleach would be preferable, but I know that isn't safe. Hot water will have to do.

I hang my cord over the shower curtain so it doesn't get as wet. As I begin to take my clothes off, I notice small bruises on my body. They're shaped like fingerprints and the sight of them makes me nauseous. That bastard left more bruises on me than I thought.

There's a large bruise on my cheek that still stings with pain. There are several fingerprint bruises on my hips and thighs. There's also a few bite marks that I must have blocked out of my memory.

The sight of myself makes me nearly gag. These marks on my body are cruel reminders of what happens to weak, alone teenagers like me. People see someone who can't escape and can't fight and decide to take advantage of it for their own sick pleasure.

The water is blazing hot when I step in. I want to turn it down, but my brain says to keep it hot so I can sterilize myself. The hot water is burning my skin, but it almost feels good.

The difference between the water and my tears is difficult to tell. Both are hot liquids traveling down my cheeks. I believe I'm crying once again.

I scrub my skin roughly to get the feeling of that sick bastard off me. My scrubbing is so rough that I'm actually scratching myself, not that I care at the moment. My only concern is getting clean and getting rid of this awful feeling.

I know the feeling will never fully go away, but a hot shower is a start. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to move on from today. Hopefully, today will become a distant memory that sinks into the inescapable abyss of my mind.

I turn off the burning water and sigh. My skin still feels hot as I dry my body with a towel. After wiping the steam from the mirror, I see my skin is now covered in scratches; blood trickles down my body, diluting with drops of water.

I walk to my room with a towel wrapped tightly around my waist. Before any of my family notices, I sneak into my room and throw on some baggy clothes that my partner left behind. Not only do they conceal my wounds, they give me comfort.

I walk back across the hall and hang up my towel to dry. My body is drained in every way possible. If I could, I would join my partner in his peaceful slumber. Unfortunately, I can't do that.

My knees give out once I'm relatively close to the bed. A soft groan escapes my mouth as I pull a blanket around me.

My door opens and I feel someone sit down on the edge of my bed. I know it's Connie.

"Will you tell me what's wrong after dinner?" she asks, implying that dinner is ready at the moment and that I am required to attend.

My mind wants to give an answer, but my mouth won't comply. I can't tell Connie what happened. She gives me enough attention and sympathy as it is. I don't want to trouble my family any further. I'll get through this alone, just like I do everything else. This is no different.

"Come on," she urges while pulling me out of bed.

We walk downstairs slowly before reaching the kitchen. I remain silent as I pour myself a drink and sit down at the table. Both my fathers give me worried glances.

Connie sits next to me and dinner begins. The table is quiet. The tension in the air is so thick that I could cut it with a knife.

"Jesse, do you want to talk about the hospital?" my father, Jack, asks.

I quickly shake my head. No, I don't want wish to talk about the events that took place earlier today. I know that if I try to say anything close to the truth that I'll break down in tears. Then my parents will know that something horrible happened to me.

"We're worried about you," my other father says.

"I'm fine," I lie softly.

"Jesse, please," Connie begs softly.

The topic is beginning to frustrate me. I clearly stated that I didn't wish to speak about this afternoon, but that's all my family wants to talk about. I hate being the center of attention, yet I'm constantly forced into it. It's irritating.

"I said I'm fine," my words come out with a bit of a hostile tone.

My family goes quiet and the room is silent once again. I get up and take my plate to the kitchen. I open the dishwasher and set it inside. My stomach no longer needs to be filled. I've lost my appetite.

"Jesse-," my parents say in unsettling unison, although it is only a coincidence.

"I'm not hungry," I mumble before walking to the staircase.

My body has already been pushed to the limit today, yet I only continue to push it. This kind of stress is not good for me, in any way, but it feels inescapable. The only way I know how to avoid it is by cutting myself off from everyone until I forget about it.

I walk up the stairs as quickly as I can, wheezing for breath when I reach the top. My lungs burn and ache from the hell they've been through today. They have it hard enough as it is; exercise and screaming only makes them work harder, pushing them to the limit.

My feet barely lift from the floor as I walk to my room. I'm exhausted and haven't been able to rest since I got home. My body is giving up on me and if I don't get to my room I'll end up collapsing in the hallway.

Luckily, I make it to my bedroom before collapsing into my beanbag chair. The memory foam conforms to my shape and helps me maintain a comfortable and easy position. I can finally rest.