Healing The Scars From The Past (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 1 : A friend?

Each time I sat on that bench in the elementary school's playground, I remembered how humiliated I've been that day of September 2007. five years have gone by but all the hurt remains. How can life become so cruel when you are only eleven years old, some people will never know. As I think back about that day when my best and only friend told me to go away, I think I'd rather not know either. Why did I keep on coming back to that school yard if it hurts me so much, would you ask? Why couldn't I just move on and never come back? The answer is simple: hate. Yes, hate. Hate against Mike who decided one day that he didn't want me in his life after all this childhood shared together, hate against all the children who kept on harassing me even after five years, hate against my father who would rather be anybody's father but mine, hate against my mother who didn't say anything when my father slapped me twice, but still tried to be my mother afterward, hate against my teachers and the principal because they never did anything to make the harassment and the beating in the school yard stop, but mainly hate against myself for being such a worthless piece of shit, a nobody, a coward, a fucking faggot, as they used to say it... "Sigh!" Faggot. I didn't even know if they knew what the word meant when they started telling me that word. I didn't know. The only thing I knew was that the way the were spitting the word in my face. It made the word seem anything but nice to me. But the real reason why I hated myself was they were right. They knew they were right. Jeez, everybody knew!

Mike and I had been best friends for as long as I could remember, our parents being friends from college and neighbours for a couple of years before we were born. Even if Mike was more into sports and I was more into intellectual things like reading or drawing, we were always finding a way to entertain ourselves when we were alone together. We played Hide and Seek or Tag, jeez, he could have asked me to walk on water, I would have tried, just to impress him. When I was younger, I didn't know the nature of my feelings for Mike. For me, he meant the world. When we were walking to kindergarten since it was only a five minutes walk from home, he would always hold my hand. And I would always stare at his deep brown eyes like he was God's most beautiful creation. Well, that's what I thought at the time. Since he was taller than me (not very difficult, since today, I'm still smaller than a lot of girls in my classes), I always thought him as my older brother, even if he were only six months older than me. His dark features and his almost black hair were always amazing me. He was so beautiful... Beautiful, that was exactly the word for him. Inside and out. Well, that's what I thought. "What?" he would ask me each time his stare crossed mine, a little smile on his lips. "I like you!" would be my answer. When you are six years old, these words don't hold the weight they do when you are eleven. His smile would broaden and he would squeeze my hand to let me know he was there, then tell me "I like you too, Lucas." I remember the day in first grade when he told me we couldn't hold hands anymore. We were in the middle of the playground before the classes began. I felt like crying. It was almost as if he were telling me he didn't like me anymore. That might have been true, since the next time I told him I liked him, he just told me to stop saying that. After that, he started playing soccer every break he could with the sports freak. I couldn't complain, since I didn't play any sport because I was so worthless, as coach Wilson told me every time he could. I was not so masochist to get humiliated more than I already was, so I just watched. As long as Mike was playing, as long as we were still friends, as long as he would still come to my house to play Tag with me, I would be just fine watching him play from afar.

Then, there was the mistake. The big mistake. When we were eleventh, one Saturday night of September, I was sleeping over at Mike's place. My parents, along with mike's, were playing some bowling (boring, as we called it) every Saturday night since before we even existed. As we were considered too young to watch for ourselves, it was Maggie, Mike's older sister, who would keep an eye on us every time since she was fourteen. She was always looking at me like she wanted to kill me. I really don't know why she kept on treating me like shit. Actually, I didn't like her that much either.