Hi! This story is for reading purposes, some parts real, some not, and some very real. I'll turn it into a series, but that depends on the feedback I get on it. I hope you enjoy it. It won't be about sex, or just sex. I've been reading some stories on Nifty, and found that they're all going straight to the sex part. I haven't seen a decent story in a long time, and thought it'd be nice to bring back the good stuff. A story about love, hate, and anything I can come up with. Enjoy!
Alone: The Beginning
The sound of rain is so soothing, so peaceful. I used to be able to just sit and watch it rain, listenin to the soft pattering. It's beautiful. Sometimes I wonder how people can take these simple pleasures for granted in life. The rain always helps me to clear my mind, ever since I was a little kid, it always helped me to get to sleep. It was like a lullaby. People always relate rain to miserable days, but I don't. I love it. Even if it's my only friend right now, sitting alone in the park on a bench, by myself. I'm soaked, completely soaked. And it's so cold that I'm shivering uncontrollably. But it's nothing compared to the pain I fell inside. My heart feels like it's had a knife stabbed right through it. And it hurts. Nobody in this world wants me, and I've just stopped caring. Some people scurry past me, with their unbrellas held hight, trying to get out of the rain. I'm sure they've got nice warm homes to go to, where people love them. They look at me strangely, as I sit there with a blank face, staring at the rain hitting the grass. It must be really strange seeing a 15 year old sitting in the rain without a raincoat, or umbrella for that matter. And looking so calm must've really freaked them out, because some words were exchanged, and they increased their pace.
Life's just not fair. Some people are so lucky, and some just life lives that are pointless. God's always hated me...and heck, I hate Him! I didn't ask to be born, or live. It seems that a large part of my childhood was trying to keep my parents happy, so I didn't get into trouble. I was always terrified of them. Sometimes they'd shout at me, and just break my spirit, and sometimes I'd get hit. I used to think that that was just the way it was, that every kid had to endure the same thing from their parents, but I was wrong. I found out that some kids had very loving parents. What I don't understand is why they were always so angry with me. I never did anything wrong, and I was so little for heaven's sake! Everything I did seemed to fuel their hatred for me. I tried to be good, I tried to stay out of their way. My teachers at school thought I was an angel! There was nothing I could do to make my parents love me, nothing. I didn't know what I did wrong.
Sometimes when I was sick and unable to go to school, I'd get into trouble. My mom would say something like, "Always pretending to be sick! I'm not calling the school for you Aiden, you can do it yourself!" I'd say sorry, and God knows I meant it, but my mom would tell me to shut up. And then she'd have to call work and tell them she wouldn't be coming in, and have to stay at home because of me. I can't help it if I'm sick...I mean...I didn't mean for it to happen. I LIKE school...I love it. I absolutely enjoyed it. I burried myself in school, enjoying everything it had to offer. I was always top of the class, and I always did my homework. I loved the attention my teachers gave me. I was the most polite, well mannered little boy there was! There's also the satisfaction of doing work, and getting the praise that you deserve. There's nothing like a teacher telling that you've done a great job. It always makes me smile.
There was this one time when I told my fourth teacher, Mr. Nick, that I was feeling unwell. He called up my mom and told her the situation, and I was scared to death! All I wanted him to do was to give me an asprin or something! I just had a sore throat is all. Mr. Nick told me that my mom was on her was to pick me up! I sat at my desk trying to come up with a reasonable story that my mom might believe. I must've looked worried becuase Mr. Nick came up and asked me if I felt okay. Anyway, my mom showed up and my teacher told her again that I wasn't feeling well and thought it best if I went home. She smiled, and said "Of course," and I was so relieved when I saw that she wasn't angry. She must've been in one of her better moods. But as soon as we exited the building, she said to me, "Aiden, I'm sick of you always trying to get out of school!" She said some other horrible stuff about me getting in the way of what she had planned for the day. I tried to apologise, but she didn't want to hear it.
I was never allowed to have friends over. I never knew why. And there were times when I'd invite a friend over, and all hell would break loose when they'd left. My mom was never impressed with my marks from school. I'd think she'd be proud of me and love me when I came home with something I did very well on. But it was never good enough. I remember how she'd always say, "How come other people get such smart children, and I get an idiot like you!" And...it hurt....it always hurt. And it hurt so much that my eyes would tear up. I loved my mom so much, so why did she say such things?! And I always had to stand there and take whatever she dished out, telling me how stupid I am. She always compared me to her girlfriend's son, who is a genius. And she'd say that she'd didn't want me. It hurts sooo much when someone you love so much says something hurtful to you. After my eyes well up with tears, I'd sniffle and start to sob softly. And my mom would say some nasty things about that, calling me a baby. "You see, that's why all your cousins call you a cry-baby!" Which wasn't the real reason. I cried because my cousins enjoyed teasing me for some reason, and the fact that I was the youngest. But it hurt nonetheless.
You might think that my mom was trying to toughen me up or something, but I was just a little kid for heaven's sake! And where was my father? He was hardly ever home, always at work. My mom's harsh words cut into me, and it broke me down completely. And I never had time for friends outside of school either. Impossible as it may sound, it's true. My mom enrolled me in maths and english tuition classes two times a week. Swimming lessons, piano lessons, and later on flute lessons as well. I had absolutely no time for anything, and it simply wasn't fair. The 'best' years of my life were wasted on always practising something. Sometimes a friend would come to my house and ask if I could go over to his house, but my mom would tell him that I have a lot of work to do. And I felt so bad turning my friends down all the time...and soon enough, I lost them all. And I was truly alone.
Then came highschool. I was in 7th grade. I met a boy named J.T, and we became friends. We went over to each other's houses, and it looked like we would become best friends. He got called up to the school counsilor one day, and when I asked him about it later, he told me it was because his grades had gone down. My mom always spoke in high praises of my friend J.T., cus yeah, he was smart. My mom made it every opportunity to rub it in and make me feel inadequate. Like I don't matter to her. She asked about him one day, and I proudly told her that he had been called up and talked to because his grades had degraded. My mom came back to me a few days later in an argument, and said that the only reason he was getting bad marks was because he was hanging around me too much....I cried myself to sleep that night. It hurt so much. I couldn't deal with it, it just hurt me to no end. And I began to hate my mom. The sad thing was I actually believed her.
After pleading to my dad, he eventually agreed to let me change schools. I didn't want J.T. to suffer because of me, so I did the only thing I could. I left. I went to another school, but any friends I made I kept secret, just so my mom couldn't make me feel bad about myself. But life began to change...it took a dramatic turn. I found out that my dad had been having an affair, and my mom had known for quite some time. They argued night after night and often ended with my dad leaving the house angry, and my mom crying.
On one particular night, my mom was sitting there crying. I could hear my dad slamming the door to the house, then getting in his car and driving off again. I stood there behind my mom, not knowing what to do. It suddenly got quiet, and it was too late for me to sneak away to my room. I checked my surroundings, and in a voice no louder than a whisper I asked, "Mom?"
She stopped and looked at me, her eyes red and filled with tears. "Ar..are you...okay?" I must've looked really worried and scared, because she gave me a look that spoke volumes to me. It was a look of regret and love. "Oh baby.....I'm so sorry....I'm so sorry!" she cried, and held her arms open. Without even thinking, I ran to her and I hugged her just as tightly as she hugged me. It felt so good to be hugged! So warm...so loving! I cried in her arms, and I knew everything was going to be okay between my mom and I. "I'm so sorry baby, I'm sorry," she whispered, "can you ever forgive me?" I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. "Yes mom, I love you."
Thunder crackled, so loudly it made me jump. I was now shivering uncontrollably, so much that I had to clench my teeth together to prevent them from chattering. The rain had really begun to fall heavily, so fiercely that you couldn't see more very far. The sky was completely grey, a dark grey....almost black. Suddenly, I didn't like the rain anymore.
My mom asked my dad to sign the divorce papers, but he refused. He was too proud to do it. If anyone were to leave the marriage, it would be HIS decision, not my mom's. He said he didn't want to, and they stayed together. My mom suggested marriage conselling, but he said that they'd be alright and they didn't need it. Mom took it as a good sign, and that they'd be able to work it all out. It'd take some time, but they'd both try. My mom, became a real mom to me. She was now normal to me, and we talked all the time. And in many ways, she tried to make up for all the lost times. But it was enough for me that she was alright. She focused all the problems in her marriage onto me, but she realised it...and now it's over.
My dad on the other hand, grew very bitter. I thought it was just a transition he was going through having to clean up the mess he made, but I found out it was so much more. He didn't like the fact that his secret of having an affair was now in the open. He felt that he's the man and should be in charge of the household. Now that he had been tainted with it, he felt that he was no longer in charge. He thought that no one would ever trust him again....respect him. So he did what he thought was the only thing he could do to make himself fell like he was in control. He regularly beat me up. He found reasons in everything I did, and used them as an excuse to hit me, so it would seem like there was a disciplinary problem or something if I were to tell someone. Sometimes I was hurt so badly I couldn't go to school because my body was so sore from the physical abuse.
The first such incident happened when I was 13 while I was washing the dishes. My mom had a dinner date with a couple of her colleagues at work, and my dad and I had just finished ours. My dad was behind me as I washed the plates, and he looked over to one of the dishes drying on the rack.
"This one's still dirty..." he said to me.
"Yeah, I'll fix it up after I finish with these," I replied, not thinking much of the remark.
"No...no, do it now. Just wash it again now," he said a little impatiently. I could see his reflection in the window in front of me, and he rubbed his forehead. I shrugged my shoulders and rolled my eyes before picking up the dirty plate, and washing it again. "What? Why are you rolling your eyes at me boy?!" he said above normal tone of voice. Boy?!
"What?" I asked, unable to comprehend the situation.
"Why did you roll your eyes at me? You think you're better than me or something?!"
I was about to answer, when he grabbed my right shoulder and spun me around to face him. I know we had a rocky relationship, but we had never had an argument that turned physical. I don't believe we had ever had an argument! I dropped the plate into the sink when he spun me around. He looked me straight in the eyes, like he was looking for the right words to say. "You little shit!"
"Dad, what's wro..." SLAP!! His hand was a blur to me, and it hit me on the face hard! It was strange because I didn't feel anything at first, then a slight tingle of pain, and then it hurt. Like a red hot poker had been put on my face. I kept my hand on my face, as if that would help to make it better. I looked at my dad, and for a split second he looked shocked at what he did. But then his face changed, and I could tell that he liked what he felt about hitting me. It made him feel strong...like a 'man'. "Finish the goddamn dishes and go to your room," he said as he turned and walked away. I did, and when I finished, I ran as fast as I could into my room and closed the door and locked it.
My bedroom had it's own shower and toilet, and I went in and inspected myself. The right side of my face was all red, and it throbbed with pain. I ran some cold water on my face, but it didn't help much. What had happened? Why did he hit me? I didn't do anything wrong did I? I was just confused this time, but it didn't take long until my dad began to break my spirit. I became weak and helpless, and his attacks became more and more aggressive. And all the while I couldn't tell my mom for some reason. This was the happiest she had been in...well ever! And I didn't want to ruin what we had together. And I never told anyone what happened, because I didn't want to be made a freak. I wanted everyone to think that I was a normal kid, with a normal life.
The latest incident was today, Friday afternoon. I had had a good day at school, and was at home getting ready to unwind for the weekend. I was going to go out with a couple of friends later tonight as we were going to go see a movie. And it was just my luck that my dad happened to be at home. He had called in sick today. He usually worked 9-5 hours. I got to the house just as it started raining and went straight to my room. I changed my clothes and decided to get a couple of hours of sleep. I did this usually, cus waking up early in the morning for school, usually made me really tired by the afternoon. It was a habbit I had developed. And my dad opened my bedroom door which I had forgotten to lock. 'Oh shit!' I thought to myself. I had deliberately stayed out of his way so that he wouldn't have any reason to get mad at me, so what did he want now?
"You should be doing your homework...what are you doing?" he asked, his angry eyes glaring at me.
"I...I felt a little tired...so I decided to lie down for a while," I stammered.
"So what? You got the whole weekend to rest, get your homework done," he said.
"But I'm going out to a movie tonight with some friends," I started before I realised I made a big mistake, "but I'll do my homework on the weekend, I promise."
He came over to me and grabbed my throat and literally lifted me to my feet, almost choking me. I could smell the scent alcohol in his breath, and saw that his eyes were bloodshot. He truly looked like an agent of evil. "Da..." I tried to get him to stop, as I choked. "You show me some FUCKING respect!" he shouted. And he threw me back into a wall, my head hitting it hard. I fell to the ground, and grabbed my head with both hands from the immense pain. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, until I heard my dad's voice.
"Get up...you're so fucking weak! You're like a girl..." and he grabbed me by the arms, as I refused to let go of my aching head. And he threw me into my desk, the corner of it stabbing into the left side of my ribs. I cried out in pain, and my dad took that as a sign that he had done enough damage for now. "Now...what are you going to do? Hmmm? Homework?" And I paused. I couldn't help but screw up my face from the pain as I clutched my side. This is what it must feel like to be shot, I thought to myself. But the question still stood, and he wanted an answer. No! I had plans, and he wasn't going to ruin it. The damage had been done, so he might as well let me go out now right?
"I...I've got an appointment with friends..." I managed to breathe the words out. My dad looked really surprised. Call it a case of teenage rebellion.
"You know...you're right," and he grabbed me by my left arm and dragged me to the front door. I kept my right hand over my side, and it hurt even more as my dad lifted me. My back had to stay hunched so that it wouldn't hurt. "You wanna go out...go," he said. Was this some sort of trick? A game? He was letting me go. I took one step forward toward the door. I reached out my hand and turned the doorknob.
"You go...and you'll have no place to go home to..." he said bitterly. Big deal! Anywhere was better than this anyway. And once mom finds out that I'm gone, everything will come into the open. Then she'll know.
I turned the doorknob, and opened the door. The rain had started to fall a little more steadily now. Without looking back I took my first step out the door.
"Do it...leave. Your mother and I don't want you here," he said surely.
I looked him in the eye, and shot back, "You're lying..."
"Am I? The truth is we were much happier before you came along. Why do you think she treated you like shit for so many years? We never wanted you...you were just an accident. And look at you...you're like a faggot. You've never done anything we could be proud of. So why don't you just leave?" What scared me so much was that he wasn't talking out of anger or hate. He was telling me something...the truth.
"Fine," and I left.
So what do you all think? Good? Bad? I 'd appreciate some feedback, even if you just wanna say hi. I don't mind. Let me know what you think.
Send all comments, compliments, or anything you want to firstname.lastname@example.org
or click here