But To Live Does Not Mean You're Alive (BoyxBoy)

Chapter One

I could not breathe, it is not  that I am out of breath though, I just felt like dying. Dying, the feeling not foreign to my knowing. They say that life is a gift, is precious, is a blessing.

But how come I get exempted? Or am I?

Who am I kidding, of course I am.

“Get up you faggot!” Dad spat at me while I was clutching my aching stomach from his constant punches. Maybe I broke my ribs too.

My body felt numb, so drained and exhausted that I feel like a penguin trapped in a desert.

“You’re not going to get up huh?!” Once again, the person responsible to the situation I am in right now spoke.

I remained still, not having the strength to comply with his demand. I was beginning to entertain the thought of me dying any second now. I mean, I look so broke. Blood flows freely out my mouth.

I sure do not look like someone who will live, do I?

I was still in full contact with the untidy floor when I turned to look at Dad. He met my gaze with his, whose eyes had disgusted look written all over them. His gaze was like a knife slitting my heart.

I was glad I was just being figurative though. He sneered. Again, I felt terrified.

Dad bent down, enough to let him grab me by my raven black hair. Tears started forming and threatened to spill from my hazel brown eyes.

Eyes that were begging.

Begging him to stop.

But he did not. I was tattering, trying not to fall when he pulled me up with his massive fist gripping tightly on my hair. I looked at him, with my eyes pleading for compassion.

Somehow by looking at him straight in the eyes, it gave me the hope that he would return to his old self. The father I once had.

The man of the family who was nothing but sweet, kind and caring to his family. The father who pushes the swing for his son while winding his free arm around his wife’s waist. The father who never set drowning to excessive amount of alcohol as his priority.

I missed my father, my old father. I guess there is little or no more chance of getting him back.

Right then, my hypothesis has been proven when his fist connected my jaw, causing me to groan from so much pain.

“You worthless son of a bitch, You are nothing but a mistake” ... “If only there’s a way”.. A way for what? Kill me? Oh god, what did I ever do to deserve this. Dad said so close to my face that I could smell the filth of alcohol from his mouth. He spat at me.

Then he sneered again and delivered several more punches, hitting me from head to torso. When he seemed contented or you may say tired, he shoved me back to the ground accompanied by a thud from the impact.