"Straight"

I'm on display for all you fuckers to see

I have to go to my father's trial today and I'm scared as hell. I don't want to see him, not after everything that happened. I'm supposed to be released from the hospital next week, so the doctor said it was okay for me to attend the jury in a wheelchair, just to be safe.

A nurse pushes me out of the hospital in my new form of transportation, and it feels like I haven't been outside in ages. The air is chilly, and I pull my hoodie around me tighter. Phil and his family help me get into their car and we drive away from the place that has held me hostage for two months. 

I'm so glad to be out of there. 

Once we reach the court and head inside, I start to feel sick. What's going to happen? What will I have to say? Do I have to talk to my dad? 

I begin to shake slightly and Phil holds my hand comfortingly. 

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Don't worry. He can't hurt you."

It takes a long time for the trial to start and I'm on edge the whole time. When order is finally called, I see him. That man who tortured me for so long. He is wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, escorted by a buff, tattoo covered man that I'm assuming is an officer. 

For a split second, our eyes meet, and I can sense a mixture of feelings inside of him. Anger, regret, hatred and... guilt? Then the moment is over, just as soon as it had come.

As the trial starts, I don't really pay much attention to what's going on. All I can focus on is the pounding of my heart and the way Phil grips my hand reassuringly. Then I hear my name and I freeze up, eyes wide. 

I don't know who wheels me up to the witness stand, but someone whispers, "It's okay, Dan." Suddenly I can see the whole court and I'm afraid I might have a panic attack. 

Pull it together, Dan. You can do this. As soon as this is over, you'll be free from everything. 

"So, Daniel, you are the son of Benjamin Howell, correct?" my father's lawyer asks smugly. I nod timidly, praying to God that this will be over with quickly. 

"Have you ever considered that he never meant to hurt you? He was under the influence of alcohol, so you can't actually blame him."

"Objection!" Phil yells from one side of the room and his mother hurriedly shushes him. 

The lawyer doesn't even glance in the boy's direction, he just keeps his icy glare on me. 

"I-I'm fully a-aware that he was usually intoxicated wh-whenever he hurt me, b-but that isn't a-a good enough r-reason to almost k-kill me. I'm his s-son, for God's sake," I stutter back with a growing feeling of defiance in my chest. 

The lawyer gave me a strange smile, almost a sneer, and continued his attack of questions that were poised to offend or trigger me. I didn't let any hurt show in my expression, I just stared back defiantly and answered his questions as well as I could. 

Before I know it, I'm being wheeled off the witness stand and back to my seat, only then noticing the way my hands are shaking. 

"Are you doing okay?" Phil asks me worriedly, pulling me into a protecting hug. I shrug, not sure how I feel. He gives me a loving kiss and it seems to calm me down a bit. Then that moment of peace is shattered by my father's horrifying shriek. 

"No! I did not raise a faggot! You disgusting piece of shit! I knew you weren't worth my time!" 

I jump and immediately cling to Phil's arm as the officers around my dad restrain him and quiet him down. Phil wraps his arms around my shoulders in a protective stance and glares at the man who used to be my father. 

I fight the tears that are trying to force their way from my eyes. I refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of all these people. And especially not in front of him. 

Once everyone calms down, the jury continues, and pictures of my mother in the hospital are shown as further evidence. I knew she was in the hospital, but I didn't know her injuries were that bad. Apparently, she was hit in the head really hard, and had quite a few other injuries, but the worst of it is that she's lost most of her memory from the damage. I haven't seen her yet, and I don't plan on it either, but I've heard that she's been diagnosed as mentally deranged and is being transferred to a mental hospital after her physical wounds heal. 

My family is so broken. 

I space out until the end of the jury, where Benjamin A. Howell is deemed guilty. 

And for some reason, I don't feel like I've been freed.