Roadtrip Oneshots

Jandy, Lost On You (Part 2)

I guess you could say the content to this is worse than part one? But again, read at your own risk.

I love you guys x

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Jack

'Get the hell out of here!'

His voice echoes in my ears, and all I can do is stand and stare, tears streaming down my cheeks, at the man I used to call my father.

'Dad, please...' I sob, try to get him to see how much it hurts. But his glare quietens my sobs, and I try to hold my breath; it only serves to make my breathing heavier and harder.

'How could you do that to your mother? To me? To your family? To everyone here loved you?'

I take a defiant step toward him, despite the tears, and me struggling to breathe.

'So what? I like boys. I'm gay. Is it really that bad that you'd disown me? Your own son?' I ask, hold a hand to my side when it hurts to breathe. The desperation kicks in, and I whimper a little.

But as quick as I can blink, I'm slapped to the floor, pain in my head, white in my eyes, blood on my hands.

I blink the white away, and watch my father leer over me, spit in my face.

'You are no son of mine.'

'Dad,' I whisper, 'dad please don't do this-'

I shout in pain when he kicks my chest. I feel a rib break, or two.

'Leave. I never want to see your face again.'

And then my dad's gone. I hear the door slam shut, and the key turn in the lock. I think of my belongings in my room. I think of the horrible things my family will do to them.

I think of what'll happen to me. Alone. No where to stay. In a place where everyone knows everyone.

Everyone will know about me. Everyone will know not to help.

I have to get out of here.

But I stay on the floor until I can properly see again. I wipe the spit from my face with my sleeve, dry the tears too. They keep falling though, as does my heart into the chasm in my chest.

I pick myself up grunts and groans, nearly slip and fall back down; I catch myself, and feel something hit my leg in my trouser pocket. With a frown I slip my fingers into the pocket and retrieve my phone. It buzzes relentlessly, and I don't bother to check the messages.

I already know what they'll say... although it's not the phone itself I'm interested in.

My fingers fumble with the phone case, and it pops off after a few seconds. My card falls to the floor, and I scoop it up frantically.

This is all I have now. After everything I had here... all I have left is a few thousand pounds on my card.

I smash my phone to the floor, and when I reach the front gate, I turn back. Despite it being daytime, all the curtains are drawn, and I think I can see a shadow hovering behind one of them. I recognise the silhouette as my mother, and I sniffle, shove the card deep into my pocket.

And then I turn and leave, heading straight for the airport.

***

It's funny, how a life can change so quickly. So abruptly. Not always in a good way either.

In my town, everyone knew me. Everyone knew what I was. But on this plane, no one has a single clue about what I've just run from.

I know I must look rough, having walking for hours to get here. Dishevelled. Tearstained cheeks. Dried blood. So I'd cleaned up as best I could in the bathroom before my flight boarded.