Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven
Routine.
The day before Gerard left, he had told me about his plan. He had told me that he would be leaving me. It didn't take long for my eyes to well up, and my nose getting watery. Soon enough, I was sitting on his bed crying, while he started to gather stuff he did and did not want. I had been crying for a while before I heard him let out a little gasp. He was quickly sitting on his knees in front of me, his hands rested on my lap and his own tears damping his long eyelashes. "Please, Mikey. Don't cry", he had pleaded with me. I could feel the first traces of betrayal make their way up my chest. "I don't want you to leave, Gerard. I need you here. Mom need you here!" I wanted to yell, but even as the naïve and selfish 14-year old I was, I wasn't about to get my brother in trouble if George found out what my 16-year old brother was planning to do. Gerard let out a sigh, before looking at me with pain swimming in his eyes. "You just can't" I whispered, in a final attempt to keep him there.
I had learned that when Gerard set his mind on something, there was nothing that could stop him. I knew that this was one of those times. Gerard let out another small sight, standing up. He stood there for a couple of seconds, waiting for me to look up at him, but when I didn't, he put his indexfinger under my chin, bringing my bloodshot eyes to meet his. "I don't want to go, Mikey. You have to believe me. I'm not leaving because of you, or mom. If anyhting, you guys are the ones who would make me stay. But please understand, Mikey. I have to go. There is no other way for me. I can't survive this. I know you can, at least 'til I come get you. You're stronger than me. That's why I want you to promise me something, Mikey." He raised his free hand and used his thumb to carefully wipe my tears away. He then looked deep into my eyes, waiting for some kind of confirmation. I gave him a small nod, and this made him force a smile as to reassure me. "Never let him see you cry. Do not give him that pleasure. When you hear our mother scream, don't cry. Just stay in this room -", he made a hand gesture around the room, "- this is whete you are safe. This is you little dungeon, where nothing can get you". He wispered the last couple of words, giving them more depth and meaning. I nodded seriously, knowing he was right. He then gave me a hug, before we spent the rest of the night as pleasantly as possible. He had half a chocolate-bare stashed under his matress. We shared it and read comics the rest of the night.
---
"Michael" George grunted. I could hear him slowly coming up the stairs to my room in the loft. He was on step number twelve. In eight more steps he would be in my room. I knew, because I had counted many times before. Every time I heard him coming up the stairs, I counted. It was like a way sparing myself for as long as possible, preparing myself for what I knew would come. Not knowing what else to do, while waiting for the dreaded moment he came in to my room, I just layed in my bed, stiff and scared. This time was no different than all the other times. He would come into my room, and have his way with me, touching me in ways no father should ever touch their son, or daughter. It was the same routine every time. His large, dark silouette was soon visible in my doorway, the stench of alcohol reaching me, his heavy breathing because of his bad shape. "Michael, come here and be a good boy for daddy" he slurred, in a very visible drunken state, and by his erection to judge, he had been drinking enough to get hard by himseld. At least I didn't have to do that part. His dark sweats were hanging loosely from his large hips, his big beer-belly falling over them. There was a couple of inches between his pants and his whiteshirt, where I could see his hairy belly hanging out. There was also a lot of hair sticking out on the top of his beer-stained shirt. His chubby face looked like some kind of a mis-shaped potato on top of a thick sausage-like neck. His bushy eyebrows were giving his small eyes shading, which only made his rinkles more visible. His nearly bald head gave away his age.
You see, when my mother married George, she was a love-sick, pregnant teenager. Her boyfriend had left her as soon as he figured out that she was going to have Gerard. Being utterly depressed and ashamed, she went to an age-restricted bar. George had seen her yelling at the security guards to let her in as he passed her in his car. He had offered her a ride, and told her that he knew of a better place. Naïve and desperate, she went with a man who was nearly 20 years older than herself. Long story short, they ended up getting married, have Gerard, and then having me two years later. Gerard was lucky. He was only this horrible man's son by paper. I was his son by blood, which made it all so much worse. Me and Gerard still looked at each other as equal. He has shared all my pain, and he told me that I wasn't George's son either. George didn't deserve to have a son. He told me that we didn't need a biological father, and from that day, George was George. I still felt the shame rise every time I thought about it. How could I possibly be related to a monster like this one?
It had gone all the way to the point where I had to suck him off. At first, when my brother left, it was almost impossible to live. George would hit me, kick me shove me, throw things at me and even cut me. I had many scarres from those days. Many marks, all the time reminding me of my life. He would tell me it was my fault his 'punchbag' left, and therefore, I had to be his replacement. Now however, me being a 'punchbag' was like going on vacation. I would rather be beaten to death than meet his sexual needs every night. It was all a part of the routine. He would come up the stairs, calling my name, and force me to do unpleasant things. In the beginning he was saticfied with touching me. But after a while he got braver, making me touch him. The day I turned 16 I gave my first blowjob, “as a happy birthday from father to son” he had said. After that, he stopped. He didn’t go any further. Not that I complained. He just made me do things to him. This was no different, I could tell.
“Michael, come here now.” he ordered. I gave a sigh, not wanting to at all, but I still stood up, walking over to him. There was nothing else for me to do! I didn’t have any place to go, he was blocking the way. I had realized that it would be stupid to fight him. Even in his drunken state, he was much stronger than me. I had tried to run many times before, and he always got me. Harder and harder each and every time. So I had given up, giving in to his needs, waing for it to be over with. That way, maybe the beating would hurt less afterwards.
‹ Chapter 1
I had learned that when Gerard set his mind on something, there was nothing that could stop him. I knew that this was one of those times. Gerard let out another small sight, standing up. He stood there for a couple of seconds, waiting for me to look up at him, but when I didn't, he put his indexfinger under my chin, bringing my bloodshot eyes to meet his. "I don't want to go, Mikey. You have to believe me. I'm not leaving because of you, or mom. If anyhting, you guys are the ones who would make me stay. But please understand, Mikey. I have to go. There is no other way for me. I can't survive this. I know you can, at least 'til I come get you. You're stronger than me. That's why I want you to promise me something, Mikey." He raised his free hand and used his thumb to carefully wipe my tears away. He then looked deep into my eyes, waiting for some kind of confirmation. I gave him a small nod, and this made him force a smile as to reassure me. "Never let him see you cry. Do not give him that pleasure. When you hear our mother scream, don't cry. Just stay in this room -", he made a hand gesture around the room, "- this is whete you are safe. This is you little dungeon, where nothing can get you". He wispered the last couple of words, giving them more depth and meaning. I nodded seriously, knowing he was right. He then gave me a hug, before we spent the rest of the night as pleasantly as possible. He had half a chocolate-bare stashed under his matress. We shared it and read comics the rest of the night.
---
"Michael" George grunted. I could hear him slowly coming up the stairs to my room in the loft. He was on step number twelve. In eight more steps he would be in my room. I knew, because I had counted many times before. Every time I heard him coming up the stairs, I counted. It was like a way sparing myself for as long as possible, preparing myself for what I knew would come. Not knowing what else to do, while waiting for the dreaded moment he came in to my room, I just layed in my bed, stiff and scared. This time was no different than all the other times. He would come into my room, and have his way with me, touching me in ways no father should ever touch their son, or daughter. It was the same routine every time. His large, dark silouette was soon visible in my doorway, the stench of alcohol reaching me, his heavy breathing because of his bad shape. "Michael, come here and be a good boy for daddy" he slurred, in a very visible drunken state, and by his erection to judge, he had been drinking enough to get hard by himseld. At least I didn't have to do that part. His dark sweats were hanging loosely from his large hips, his big beer-belly falling over them. There was a couple of inches between his pants and his whiteshirt, where I could see his hairy belly hanging out. There was also a lot of hair sticking out on the top of his beer-stained shirt. His chubby face looked like some kind of a mis-shaped potato on top of a thick sausage-like neck. His bushy eyebrows were giving his small eyes shading, which only made his rinkles more visible. His nearly bald head gave away his age.
You see, when my mother married George, she was a love-sick, pregnant teenager. Her boyfriend had left her as soon as he figured out that she was going to have Gerard. Being utterly depressed and ashamed, she went to an age-restricted bar. George had seen her yelling at the security guards to let her in as he passed her in his car. He had offered her a ride, and told her that he knew of a better place. Naïve and desperate, she went with a man who was nearly 20 years older than herself. Long story short, they ended up getting married, have Gerard, and then having me two years later. Gerard was lucky. He was only this horrible man's son by paper. I was his son by blood, which made it all so much worse. Me and Gerard still looked at each other as equal. He has shared all my pain, and he told me that I wasn't George's son either. George didn't deserve to have a son. He told me that we didn't need a biological father, and from that day, George was George. I still felt the shame rise every time I thought about it. How could I possibly be related to a monster like this one?
It had gone all the way to the point where I had to suck him off. At first, when my brother left, it was almost impossible to live. George would hit me, kick me shove me, throw things at me and even cut me. I had many scarres from those days. Many marks, all the time reminding me of my life. He would tell me it was my fault his 'punchbag' left, and therefore, I had to be his replacement. Now however, me being a 'punchbag' was like going on vacation. I would rather be beaten to death than meet his sexual needs every night. It was all a part of the routine. He would come up the stairs, calling my name, and force me to do unpleasant things. In the beginning he was saticfied with touching me. But after a while he got braver, making me touch him. The day I turned 16 I gave my first blowjob, “as a happy birthday from father to son” he had said. After that, he stopped. He didn’t go any further. Not that I complained. He just made me do things to him. This was no different, I could tell.
“Michael, come here now.” he ordered. I gave a sigh, not wanting to at all, but I still stood up, walking over to him. There was nothing else for me to do! I didn’t have any place to go, he was blocking the way. I had realized that it would be stupid to fight him. Even in his drunken state, he was much stronger than me. I had tried to run many times before, and he always got me. Harder and harder each and every time. So I had given up, giving in to his needs, waing for it to be over with. That way, maybe the beating would hurt less afterwards.
‹ Chapter 1
I kinda feel like cryinf since this hasn't been updated in so long, because it is SOOOOOO GOOD!
8/23/16