"Straight"

stuck in the closet, figuratively and literally

I don't know how long I've been in the closet, but it feels like hours. I heard lots of noises in the house earlier, and then there was screaming and crashing and finally silence. I know who was screaming. It was my mum. And my dad was shouting as well, but it sounded like he was hurting her. 

It was awful. 

I cried the whole time they fought, and when the silence took over, I knew that my mother had lost. Now I'm here, laying on the floor, in the dark, continuing to bleed as my father watches TV downstairs. That bastard. 

I weakly turn my throbbing head towards the faint light coming from beneath the door and all I can make out is the black and white flag printed on my cut up wrist. That damn symbol got me into this mess. If I wasn't straight then I would've been able to confess my feelings to Phil a hell of a lot sooner and then I wouldn't have run away when those kids saw us kissing. 

Speaking of Phil, I wonder where he is... probably hates me now for running away, honestly. No, he'd never hate me for that. He's too nice. I really do think I love him. He's all I've ever wanted, and now I'll probably never see him again. I'm going to die in this damned closet that I've been stuck in for eternity. 

The doorbell rings. I flinch, then groan at the pain it caused. I listen carefully to the sound of my dad stumbling across the floor and then the front door slowly opening. 

"What do you want?" I hear my father ask the unknown visitor roughly.

"U-um, I'm sorry, but... is Dan here?"

Oh shit. Dammit, Phil! Just go away before you get hurt!

"No, now fuck off." 

The door slams shut, but then there is a loud knock and I hear it open again, accompanied by my father yelling at Phil to go away again. 

"But, sir, do you know where he is? He ran away and I can't find him and I'm worried and I need to apologize and-"

"Shut up! I said he wasn't here and I really don't care if he's gone. Get off my property!"

The door slams again, and this time it stays shut. I hear my dad stomp up the stairs, and at first, I'm scared he's going to hurt me again, but he passes the closet and goes to my parents' bedroom.

Good, at least Phil is okay. Now I can die in peace. 

But nope, life has other plans and the universe just said SIKE and now I can hear that little shit-hole-of-an-angel opening the back door through the thin floorboards. 

If my dad hears him, Phil will be dead meat, and I can't let that happen. How do I always end up in the worst situations. I'm beginning to get very lightheaded, and I seriously hope that I can stay conscience so Phil can find me easier. 

I listen to his quiet footsteps on the stairs that progressively become louder. My heart pounds as I struggle to move, tapping on the closet door and trying to get his attention. 

"Ph.... Phil... Phil..."

I erupt into violent coughing and I think my chest just exploded. The pain in my ribs shoots through me and I spit out a dark, thick liquid. Blood. Crap, that isn't good. 

"Dan? Oh my god, Dan, are you in there?"

I hear him trying to open the door, knowing that he'll fail. I'm so terrified that my dad is going to come out of his room and see Phil. We're both dead if he does. 

"G-et... out..." 

That's all I manage to say before the coughing returns and more blood fills my mouth. Through my convulsing, I hear Phil whimper, "I can't get it open, I'm so sorry. I'm gonna call the police, okay? I'm going to get you out of here, I promise. You're going to be okay."

Even though I can't see him, I know he's crying. Suddenly, there's crashing and a yelp. 

"What the hell are you doing in here?! Get out! Get out now, you little shit!" the voice of my dad roars. 

I hear running and stumbling and doors slamming. 

Next thing I know, more blood is coming up my throat and it feels as if my ribs are slowly snapping in half. I hear my father's stumbling and he hits the closet door, grumbling at me to shut up and stop being such a disturbance.

Once my coughing finally dies down, I close my eyes, praying for death.

***

Some time later, I realize that I must have dozed off or something, because the next thing I know, I'm being jerked awake by the sound of sirens. 

Did Phil actually call the police? Am I going to be saved? Will I even live long enough to find out? Any amount of energy I might of had earlier is completely gone now. I feel the weakest I've ever felt in my whole life. 

My head is spinning and my vision is blurry, causing me to feel sick. Blood is all over the floor, I know that because I'm laying in it. 

Suddenly, there's a loud commotion downstairs and yelling echoing through the house. The sirens outside make my head throb even more. 

It must be the police. Thank God for that. I can't really comprehend what's happening, and I'm pretty sure I'm slightly delirious, but then there's light flooding the closet and I'm wincing from the brightness of it. 

Faintly I hear people yelling things like "I found the kid!" and stuff, but it all feels so far away. They must've busted the door down or something because there are bits of wood everywhere now. 

I feel myself being lifted up by some unknown person, and I flinch from the contact, groaning in pain. 

I can sense more blood coming up my throat but I try to force it back down. There's so much going on around me but it's all a blur. I'm suddenly bit by the cold chill of the outside air and I'm being laid down on something, probably a stretcher. 

Somewhere in the distance, I hear Phil crying. I can tell it's him because he keeps saying my name over and over again. 

Don't cry, Phil. Please don't cry.