Maybe

Chapter 5

Whenever I think back on that night I met the count, I see two broken souls. I didn't know much of him except his love for poetry. And knowing that someone out there was willing to assist me was surreal.
Trying to come clean about everything that had been going on only made things worst.
I learned from a young age that talking and confiding in my parents was the worst decision I've ever made. They were like my enemies, if you thought about it.

When I arrived home there was a black box on my bed. I opened it and laying inside was a black smartphone. Attached to it was a note with a simple message, "Here lays your Hermès."
Quite whimsical if you ask me.
I needed to be careful with this cellphone. If anyone ever found, if what the count had said was true, safety was our outmost priority right now.
I took a quick shower, changed, and stepped out of the bathroom.
I quietly made my way to Emma's room, a little routine I had created ever since she was born. She was safely tucked in her crib, sleeping.
Knowing that she was in danger made me feel cold. Who would want to harm a baby? But then again, who would also harm a 10 year old child?

That thought made me remember just how fucked up everything came to be after one single moment happened.
My parents were complete homophobes, and once they found out I was gay, I want to say that's when my own personal hell started.

I was very loved by my parents. My time was spent playing and laughing with them. I was taken regularly out to amusement parks and they would spoil me rotten. Buy me whatever my bratty self would want, eat whatever I wanted, and be loved regularly.
It all changed. It was the summer of my tenth birthday and you could consider my childhood golden, until that turning point I came across a small figure named Jimmy.

He was my gardener's son, also the same age as me. Jimmy would come to assist his dad with the yard work every Saturday and it was merely a matter for the both of us to become friends.

One afternoon him and I were simply playing cards, when I had the upmost curiosity as to how it would be like to kiss him. Well idiot me tried it.
I got punched in the face by him and ran away. I oddly felt heartbroken, but it wasn't even close to a comparison what that mindless act would bring.
Jimmy told his dad, and by chain of command, my parents found out.
My mom took out a belt, with little metal studs on it, and started to beat the shit out of me.
My legs, torso, back.
Everything was black and purple. I bled in some areas, but my dad was the one to deliver the biggest blow. I was locked in the attic for two weeks without any connection to the outside world.
Isolation can really mess with you, not the punches or beatings. You're forced to think, to contemplate, to feel scared. I only received 1 meal a day, with some water.
After the two weeks were up, my parents sent me off to my grandparents house were surprise surprise, John used to live as well.
Word got out I was gay, and he wanted to "break me in".
He really did break into me, and whenever I think back on the first time, I feel disgusted and dirty.
I was only there for 3 days so by the time I came back, I thought everything would go back to how it used to be. That I had been punished enough.
But that was not the case by any means.
My mother being the most evil about my return.
I remember when I told her the first time it happened. She slapped me, and said that God was going to punish me for saying such lies.
After that she started to chant a verse from the Bible, while I was made to kneel on the bottle caps of some soda pops. I still have the scars, and sadly some run deeper than others.

Once inside my room, I closed the door, and turned on the smartphone. As soon everything loaded, a text message popped up from a contact named The Count.
Odd, he really does take the whole acronym seriously.
Please reply once you see this message
C.

I hit the button to respond and replied with a simple, Thanks for everything.
I was grateful to him, no one would have stepped up like he did for me, why would they?

There's nothing to be grateful for, goodnight.
C.

Oddly texting him made my heart race. I didn't know why, but it was just making me feel sweaty, and my heart pumping.
I checked the specs of the phone, and clicked the contact icon. In it was already Linda's contact. It made me feel better that her and I would have some form of communication, especially with the whole shit that happened last year with John. It just fucking sucks 17 year olds deal with so much bullshit. I couldn't feel pity for the both of us right now, we could do that later, like maybe in two weeks.
But a lot can happen in that time, and well, it fucking sure did.