Date: Sat, 18 Feb 2006 23:30:01 -0800 (PST) From: Kylie Maddison Subject: Looking Deeper 3 Looking Deeper Chapter 3 A Boy and His Murky Past "Trey! Trey! Get up now!" I groaned hearing Blake's voice shake me out of my not-too-peaceful sleep. "Damn it, Blake! Let me sleep!" "You skipped school, Trey. Not cool." "That's it? You woke me up to tell me I skipped school? Okay, so I skipped, can you go now?" I finally opened my eyes and immediately regretted it. Blake was standing over me and he did not look pleased, if his glare was any indication. But he just sighed and turned to leave, and I was grateful for his consideration. "Fine, but we're talking about this later!" Damn. I laid back down again and closed my eyes but after a few minutes of just laying there, I decided there was no way I was going to get to sleep again. I sat up slowly, and as I did I noticed something felt...not right. I wasn't sure what it was at first but then I realized that the walls that once were adorned with my favorite band posters were now bare and my room was clean. That's odd, I thought; I never clean. What was going on? I stood up slowly and began to inspect my room. I went over to my desk and opened the drawer that held all my lyrics, poems, and writing I'd done over the past year. Empty. I panicked. I became a madman the way I began to tear through my things. By the time I was done my desk was overturned, my bed was stripped bare, my dresser looked properly vandalized and my clothes were strewn all about the place. I was in a state of despair and my chest was heaving heavily. It was then that I glanced over at my closet; it was slightly open and my heart nearly stopped entirely. My closet was where I kept my `stash'. Gay porno mags, vidoes with men going at it like dogs, and I even had a dildo. Of course, I'd never had the guts to actually use it. Mikey had bought it for me right after I came out to them. It was supposed to be a joke, and I kept it locked away with all my other contraband, thinking Blake wouldn't dare to go through my things; he respected my space too much. For a moment I thought, more like hoped really, that he had somehow forgotten about my closet but as I walked over to it with a sense of foreboding and opened it, I knew he hadn't. I slumped to the floor, feeling numb. He'd gone through my things, violated my right to privacy, and now he knew. He knew. The full force of that knowledge hit me like lightning and I was left momentarily immobilized. Fear began to course through me as I considered the possibilities of Blake knowing I was gay. I never thought about telling him. Hell, just the thought of telling him made my skin crawl as I had no idea how he'd react. He'd never spoken out against gays but I also know he wasn't about to embrace one either. Would he shun me? Kick me out? Call me a dirty faggot and beat me? WHAT?! It was really driving me crazy as I knew had no idea, and I knew I would have to face him soon. I broke down. I cried. No, more like sobbed. I couldn't take this. All the emotions that had been building up over the past few years; ever since my parents up and left me suddenly were put into overdrive. Usually, I put on a happy mask while I was being torn to shreds inside and I never cried. Crying was for wimps, and I was no wimp. Yet here I was crying over something like this. Why? I couldn't really explain. I could watch my mother die as she held on to me, protecting me from our tormentor and not shed a tear. I could watch as my father plowed into her body over and over again, much like Big Joe does to me, and not shed a tear. I could watch my mother breathe her last breath while my father ran away from me and still not shed a tear. Yet, something like this happens and I'm a crying, sobbing mess. Or maybe this was like the iceburg to the Titanic; like something that seems so indestructable, so strong and yet one tiny inconsequential thing occurs and a ship sinks, an empire falls, or a broken 17 year old finally lets out what he's been holding inside for so long. I needed someone. No, I WANTED someone. Anybody who could relieve some of this hurt inside. I was sick of lying to myself and pretending everything was okay when it obviously wasn't. I was sick of having people like Big Joe and my father constantly torment me. Even if they weren't there, they still had this sick, perverse power over me and I was tired of it. I needed to get away, but I couldn't leave my room because Blake would be there and I couldn't face him yet. There was only one other way out. My window. I knew I could climb out my window. Since I live on the first floor of my apartment complex, I could escape with no broken bones. I quickly opened my window, popped off the screen, and I was free. At first, I had no idea where I was headed. Where did I want to go? Who did I want to see? I knew that my friends would always be there for me, and this was no exception, but I didn't want them to see me in this condition. I didn't want to listen to their barrage of questions, and I certainly didn't want them to worry about me. That only left one option. Big Joe. I've heard before that battered men and women sometimes return to their tormentors, but I wasn't battered or broken, so it was okay. He'd just help me get rid of some of this tension. So what if he was brutal? It was just like he said: I deserved it. This hurt, this pain, I deserved it all. I had to admit it, even if something deep in my mind told me I didn't. Not really. But then I'd think of my mom and how I just stood there while HE raped and beat the life out of her. I couldn't even stop him as he tried to leave. I just stood there begging to God for help. But God was deaf to my pleas; it was that day I decided there was no God. And if there were, he was dead. At least, to me he was. After that day I've never really let myself cry. I can't allow myself to. Sure, I've gotten close at times but I always find other ways to relieve the pain. Big Joe is a good guy really; it's me that's wrong. I'm always making him angry when I should know not to. He always explains well enough what's wrong with me, and I know it's true. I'm a dirty, sick faggot. I DESERVE this. It was that thought that kept me going to the club where Joe practically lived. A part of me didn't want to get hurt again, and I was still a little sore from last night's rendezvous but something kept me going. I wasn't even sure what it was. Maybe this was some kind of escape? A way to forget my past and present? I don't know, but I do know that whatever I was looking for; I was in a hurry to get to it. I was speeding and running every red light I encountered until I finally got to the club. Since I often play here and people generally like my music, it was easy for me to get in. The bouncer barely gave me a second glance as I walked in; the tears still running down my face. I quickly made my way up to the second floor and pounded on the door. I was desperate to get inside. However, when the door flew open I came face to face with a very angry Joe. "What YOU want fag? I'm busy, I can't fuck you tonight." Big Joe hissed at me, but I refused to back down. "Please, Joe? I want-" I was interrupted by Joe's laughter but I was too upset to care. "I know what you want pussy. Damn, you really are a fag aren't you?" "Please Joe?" I ignored his question, and repeated my own. He laughed harder. "All right fag. As it just so happens my girl just up and left me and I'm needin' to get my rocks off so you're in for a good night tonight, pussy. But just so you know, I got company. I'm sure they won't mind though." The word `company' made me shiver as I realized that someone would be watching as Joe used and abused me for his pleasure. It made my tears fall harder, but thankfully, Joe didn't notice as he pushed me through the door. The `fucking room' looked like it always did. The walls were a deep shade of red, with little to no decoration on them. There were two fake leather chairs and one loveseat that matched the chairs. I was never allowed to sit on them. Then there was the poker table that was used for everything but playing poker. That was where Joe used me. He'd have me bend over it and put my ass on display for his and his `fellas'. When I was properly humiliated and on the brink of despair, he'd fuck me. Hard, fast, and long lasting. Usually I hated the fucking but tonight I needed it for some unkown reason. I wondered if I was losing my mind. I looked over at the poker table, avoiding the curious eyes of my onlookers, and shuddered. The surface was dark red, like it had just been soaked in blood. I was beginning to tremble, and I looked up at Joe's company to guage their reactions. To my horror, Clay was the only company Joe had, and he looked pissed at seeing me. That was no surprise; I didn't even like myself at the moment. I found myself about to run again. "Joe, this was a bad idea. I have to go!" I said, backing up all the while and I fled when I felt myself hit the door. I heard Joe's screaming about some `stupid faggot' but I didn't care. I didn't hear Clay at all. I ran as fast as I could to my car, but just as I opened the door, it slammed shut. I let out a yelp of surprise and turned to see who was blocking my escape and was instantly met with a pair of icy, blue eyes that seemed to penetrate my soul.