Hello all. I know the last ch.2 was a little difficult to read due to everything was kinda bunched up together. So here is the newly editted version. Enjoy! Feedback = love.
Beautiful Tragedy: Breaking the Silence
Chapter Two
Starting Over
August, 2004
Everything started when I lost my dad. It was at a crucial time in my life, one in which I felt like I needed him the most. I was fifteen, the summer before my sophomore year. My father and I were inseparable. I had the perfect father-son relationship with my dad, the kind that some people wish they had. I was able to tell my father everything and he understood me. I knew for awhile that my parent's marriage was falling apart. He'd leave for work an hour earlier than usual just to avoid each other and come home extremely late. My mom accused him of having an affair -- which he denied. My father was better than that. As the summer dragged on, I witnessed my parents change. My dad wasn't the same person he was before; he was more closed off, depressed when he'd stay home on the weekends. My mom, who I never had a very good relationship with -- especially after coming out became even more distant with me. Maybe because I looked so much like my father and she was beginning to despite him.
My father's older sister Janna always tells me that I look more and more like my father every time she sees me. And in a way, I'm beginning to see it too. The same platinum blonde hair which for the last year I've continuously dyed black, the same tall, slender frame and the big ocean blue-grey eyes.
When August finally came around, I was more than relieved; school would be starting in just a few short weeks and I could finally get out of the house and away from my parent's consistent bickering. My mother and I went down to the local grocery store, (the only one in Easton.) to do our 2-week shopping. Normally she does this on her own and I just unload the car when she gets home, but this time my father insisted on me tagging along with her. He handed me a twenty dollar bill and told me to buy something for me. We returned to our house about an hour and half later to find my father sitting in his normal chair in front of the TV, the remote firmly resting on the arm of the chair beneath his right hand and a .9 mm hand gun in his other.
The sight sent chills throughout my body and I couldn't move -- I was frozen there; standing in the door way of the kitchen and living room looking at my dead father. My mother walked in with her hands full of groceries and glanced over at him, shaking her head. "I knew we should have got rid of that gun." She places the bags on the kitchen counter, her face and voice completely emotion-less. "It was only a matter of time before he did something stupid like this." She looks up at me and smiles.
I'm stunned. I can't believe my mother could be so heartless -- the man she had been married to and had a kid with just killed himself and she could careless. Once I finally was able to move again and walked over to my father and picked up the phone which was on the coffee table in front of him and called 9-1-1.
The bad thing about living in a small town is how fast word travels, I couldn't go anywhere without someone coming up to me and telling me how sorry they were for my loss. Now, for Easton being a very church-going-community-involved-small town, there were the people who were really sorry to hear about my loss and then there were the ones who just said it because they felt it was appropriate, but in the back of their minds thinking, "His father is going to hell for doing such an act. It's against God's will."
It was at that time in my life that I lost my faith. I stopped going to church, I didn't feel there was any point anymore. Almost everyone who attuned the little church on a hill knew what my father had done and everyone looked at me like I was inhuman. Especially once word got out that I was gay. If there was a God, why did he make my life so difficult? To test me? To see if I was able to handle being under pressure? I doubt it.
My mother continued going to church, she said she needed a place to go that would not judge her. Whether or not she knew they constantly judged me I am not sure. Even if she did have knowledge of how hard my life was on my, I doubt she would even care. After my father died, her life became about her. Her drinking became excessive. Some times, she'd go out and be gone for days at a time. Sometimes she'd leave me money, sometimes she didn't. We never had food in our house anymore, so I had to depend of myself and my friends. Maya, Chris and Janie would come over when my mom would leave and bring along with them loads of junk food and video rentals and we'd all just veg. Without my friends there's no way I'd have been able to make it through.
When school finally started, I got a lot of sympathy from my teachers and the principle. Ms. Junta, my English teacher who was also our neighbor offered me tutoring if ever I needed it. Ms. Junta's older than my mom, maybe in her late forties, with this out of control mass of curly red hair and gentle green eyes. I spent a lot of the following summer at her house helping her clean and rearrange furniture or just to hang out. She'd make dinner and have me stay over while my mother was off bar hopping, looking for some random guy to screw. I practically lived at Ms. Junta's place, until my mother got pissed off at me one day for coming home at almost midnight so she forbade me to leave the house for the rest of the summer.
It wasn't until my junior year that my mom started getting abusive. It was a month after I met Alex; we were standing out on the porch after our first "official" date. He had taken me to see the Phantom of the Opera. We stood there in silence for a good ten minutes, one hand in his pocket, the other holding mine as he looked into my eyes. The moon light was hitting him just right making him look even more gorgeous, his olive colored skin looked darker, more tanned in the dark. My heart was pounding for anxiety because I knew my mom was home, the ford focus was in the drive way and I knew I had to get inside before she freaked out. I let out a heavy sigh and pulled my hand away from Alex's, then turned to walk towards the apartment. "River, wait." He said reaching out and grabbing my hand again. I turned back to look at him, I could see my mom standing in front of the window. "Why are you so jumpy?" his hands coming down to rest on my wrists.
I glance over at the window again just as her shadow moves away. "My mom."
"Don't worry about her, alright?"
"B-but... she doesn't approve of me being gay and all -"
He places his index finger against my lips to quiet me then pulls me close. "Are you ashamed to be around me?" he asks, his voice taking on a serious tone.
"Of course not." I look at him and wonder why he can't just understand how my mom is if she sees us.
"Are you ashamed of whom you are? Riv? Cause if you are than you might as well be ashamed of being with me. You can't have a relationship if you don't accept what you are and are completely comfortable with it."
"It's not that, it's my mom."
He looks over at the window, then back at me. "Kiss me."
"What?" My heart skips a beat. Here? Is he crazy?
He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me seriously. "You heard me, kiss me."
I take a deep breath, knowing that there's no way I can win this. I look up at him and sigh as I move closer to him. I feel his hand come to rest on my hip as he pulls my hair away from my face. I close my eyes as I feel his warm, soft lips gently brush against mine. My heart starts pounding hard in my chest as he slowly pulls away from me. I open my eyes and look deep into those hazel eyes. "That wasn't so bad was it?" he says smiling. I take a deep breath before wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him again. His arms encircling my lower waist, pulling me closer as he kisses me back.
This time I'm the one to pull away. I smile at him and walk towards the front door, I feel like I'm walking on clouds. I open the front door then look back to see him walking back to his car. I close the front door and lean up against it, I feel so.... I don't know, I can't describe it. It feels like nothing can bring me down.
"Where the fuck where you?" my mom says as she crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me angrily.
Okay... almost nothing.
"I had a date." I answer locking the door.
"I know that, with a guy? Are you fucking crazy?" she screams as I walk into the kitchen.
"So what? I am gay. Who'd you want me to go out with?" I ask defensively.
"Your father would be so ashamed of you! Do you have any idea what people at church say about you? What did I do wrong? I blame your father for this." She says as I get a glass out of the cupboard and fill it with water.
"First of all, dad would not have been ashamed of me, he knew I'm gay and he accepted me. Unlike you. And second, if people at church bug you so much, stop going." I take a sip of my water. "Neither you nor anyone else is going to change who I am."
She looks at me shocked that I even dare to talk back o her. "You are just like your father!" she shouts as I set the glass down on the counter. "You think you're just oh so better than everyone else." I know better then to argue with her now. "Well I'm not going to put up with this. You are my son and as long as you're living under my roof, you obey me. I do not want you seeing that boy again."
I roll my eyes as I walk past her. "I'm almost 17, you can't control who I hang out with."
"HELL IF I CANT MISTER, NO SON OF MY IS GOING TO BE A FAG!" she shouts as her hand comes in contact with my right eye. I put my hand over my eye and look at her shocked. I can't believe she had hit me. I take a deep breath and walk towards my room without saying anything to her.
Once in my room, I sit on the edge of my bed, I can feel tears beginning to form in the rims of my eyes. I miss my dad. I miss having someone I can talk to. I take a deep breath as I reach for something under my mattress. I can feel my heart pounding and my heart shaking as I pull out a kitchen knife. I reach over and turn my CD player on, Slipknot's Wait and Bleed starts playing as I stare down at the knife in my hand.
I'm sick of feeling pain... I hate feeling like no matter how hard I try to accomplish things to make my mother proud of me they never work. I bite into my bottom lip nervously, feeling the cold metal ring against my teeth as I slowly roll up my sleeve on my right arm. I look down at the knife before gently pressing the blade against my skin. I shudder slightly as the cold blade slices slowly across my arm. I hold back my frustrated tears as I place the blade just below my wrist and cut deep into my arm, making a four inch long cut down my arm. I close my eyes tightly and bite into my lip as I feel a sharp sting, then the warmth of blood running down my arm. I open my eyes slowly and look down at my wrist, which is covered in blood. I reach for the blanket on the bed and slowly wipe the blood for my arm, wincing slightly as the cotton makes the cuts sting. I lay down in bed, bringing my knees slowly up to my chest, my cut up arm lying under my pillow. I wipe the tears from my eyes and just lay there in the dark listening to music. Will I ever be able to accept being me and stop worrying about what people think?
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