Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven

The pain in my head was the first thing to wake me up. The thumping going in tact with my heartbeat was horrible. I could litterally feel my head thumping. I let out a groan as I tried to get it away. After a couple of minutes with failing, I opened my eyes. The bright light that met me was enough to make me shut my eyes tightly for a second, just to get used to the light. I blinked a couple of times, before finally being able to look at my surroundings.

I knew from the second I woke up that I wasn't in my room. The floor I was laying on was too hard and cold. The smell of urine and old towels confirmed my suspicion. My eyes were met by the dirty, dark tiles of our bathroom floor. I was laying on my back, my head to one side, staring at the floor under the sink. I couldn't recall going to the bathroom, let alone passing out in here. I shut my eyes tightly as if it would help me remember why I was there. Giving up on that idea, I tried to haul myself off of the floor, but as I felt the major pain shooting through my body in every direction, I gave that up too. I just layed there for a couple of seconds, trying to gather enough strength to get off of the floor. Soon enough, I rolled around on my stomach and supported my own weight with my hands as I struggled to get on all four. As soon as that mission was accomplished, I sat back on my knees, catching my breath. The pain was still really bad, almost unbearable, but I wasn't going to stay on the bathroom floor forever. Reaching up and grabbing a hold of the sing, I was able to get to my feet. My legs were slightly buckling under my weight, even though I didn't weigh nearly as much as I could have. There was a middle-sized mirror on the wall above the sink, and I had to let out a groan as I looked at my appearance.

My hair was sticking to my forhead, dried blood acting like glue. My right eye was surrounded by a dark bruise. I had some kind of a mark on my neck. It didn't completely look like an intentional hickey, but it was definitely a mouth that had given it to me. I wasn't dressed in more than my boxers, giving me a clear view of myself. My torso had bruises in various colors, some darker and some were almost yellow. I could see small specks of dried blood where his hitting had broken the skin. with my thin arms hanging at my sides, I could see that he had grabbed them hard, red marks from his nails still visible. So now I knew what I looked like, but I still couldn't figure out how the bathroom became my bedroom for the night. I lifted my arm slowly, and ran it through my hair, pulling it away from my forehead. There was a small cut by the hairline, but it was easy to cover with my fringe. As I ran my hand further back, I noticed that my hair was slightly damp. I shrugged it off as sweat or tears, but then I saw how the sink was half full with red water. No doubt from my blood. Before I could ask why, it all came back to be as a horrible flashback.

”Swallow it” George ordered me, his voice low, and his face flushed. He still had his hand tangled in my hair, and he was still breathing heavily. No surprise, he had just made me suck him off. Instead of doing as he said, I spit his cum out, in an old t-shirt I found on my floor. I was not going to swallow it. But, maybe I should have, because the simple act of me spitting it out, earned me a fist in the face. I whimpered in pain, but I knew better then to cry. I never cried when he hurt me. George took my arm in a strong and hurtful grip, before dragging me to the bathroom. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it!” he yelled at me. I nodded, and whimpered as I tried to pry his hand away from my arm, something that made him even angrier. He tightened his grip, and turned on the water in the sink. “You need to learn, Michael. You need to learn that I have autority, and I am the one with power to punish you. You need to do what I tell you to do", he told me. As the sink was filling up, he pushed me against the opposite wall. “And I told you to swallow.” He whispered in my ear, before licking down the side of my face, making me gag. I let out a low whimper as he bit down on the side of my neck. He then jerked by forward so I was in front of the sink; roughly shoving my head beneath the surface of the water. I didn’t have time to take a deep breath, and the way he was holding my neck, and head, with his tight grip hurt beyond reason. It was a horrible experience. Soon, I didn’t have more air and, as in a reflex, I gasped for more. The wateer that filled my lungs hurt badly. I coughed, but all that was going through my system was water. I started to panic, and I tried to hip him, shove him, do anythingfor him to stop. Nothing helped, and as black dots littered my vision, I kicked his leg hard as a last attempt to get him off me. It worked, and the last thing I remembered was falling to the floor, recieving blows to my stomach and head.

After my flashback, I had to sit down somewhere. I couldn't believe ha actually wanted to kill me for not swalloing his load. I supported myself on the wall as I took the few steps over the the toilet, sitting down. After letting the shock sink in, I took to studying the rest of my body. I streched my legs out and saw colorful bruises across my skin. I reached my indexf finger down and poked one of the bruises, feeling the pain, but still liking it. I looked around and spotted an old, dirty towel in the corner. I got off the toilet seat, still supporting my weight to the wall, before walking over to the door, grabbing the towel on my way over. I wrapped the towel around me, hiding me exposed body, before opening the door as silently as possible. I couldn't hear George snoring in the livingroom below, so I took it he had gone out for the day. Tip-toeing down the hall to my room, I noticed how nice it was having a quiet house for once. I didn't feel safe, but I liked it when it was quiet like this. It didn't happen often, I usually always heard George's snoring down stairs, but not this time.

Finally getting to my room, I let out a defeated sigh. I always let out a defeated sight when I got there. The room that once held so many happy memories and days without worry, was now ruined. The walls were a faded pale blue, with various tiny holes and pins in them. There used to be so many pictures and posters on the walls, the amount growing in the same speed as I was. One day Gerard would tell me about this one band, and the next he would have gotten me a large poster of that band, hanging it by my bed, forcing me to listen to their music so much that I couldn't help but liking the band. There used to be books in the now empty bookshelves; books with different characters and storylines. I used to have stuff like Grimm's fairytales, but right next to it, the Harry Potter books would be, out of order and worn out from all my reading. My desk that now was filled with broken glass and dirty tissues used to me scattered with Gerard's drwaings. He used to come into my room to draw, because apparently he didn't have enough drawing space on his own desk, it already being full of drawings. He would sit there, drawing way past our bedtime. Sometimes I sat up with him, talking to him and asking questions, and other times I would fall a sleep, just letting him sit there and draw.

But now? My room was like a tomb. Filthyness littered the room, dirty clothes, used condomes from George's regular hooker-visits and more various trash was spread all over. All my old cd's were smashed, along with my cd-player, and all my books, Gerard's drawings, pictures and posters were ripped up, scrunched together, broken or just ruined in the corner of my room. I had tried to hide some og the things from George's evil hands, but as soon as he found out, he burnt the mose precious things; drawings Gerard had purposely been drawing for me, and not just a random doodle or a tattoo he wanted when he got older.

I hadn't realised that I was standing in the middle of the room, thinking and memorizing, before I got to looking at my closet, remembering what I was supposed to do. Being careful not to step on anything gross or sharp, I made my way over to the hole in the wall that was missing doors. I looked through my clothes, constantly sighing as I couldn't find anything decent to wear. I had three pairs of jeans that fit me, two of them were previously Gerard's, and I only used those for school. I always tried to look as good as I possibly could at school, even though it didn't make a difference. I turned away from my closet, and looked around the floor. Finally, I spotted a pair of sweats on the floor by my bed, and walked over; taking the same caution not to step on anything. I bent over, and picked the sweats off. They used to be black, but after washing and wearing them too much, they were getting a slightly brown color. I lifted them up to my face, and sniffed them. Concluding that they didn't smell too bad, I let the towel drop to the floor, and pulled them on. I then, carefully, walked back to my closet, held one of my hands over my eyes, before reaching my hand in, grabbing a random t-shirt. I let a small giggle escape my mouth, thinking about how I used to do that when I was younger and couldn't decide what to wear. An old, red t-shirt rested in my palmes as I opened my eyes, and I put it on with a shrug.

I finished dressing, before walking down the stairs. Even though I couldn't hear George snoring, didn't mean I knew he wasn't at home. I peeked my head into the livingroom as I reached the bottom of the stairs, and sighed happily as I couldn't see George there. The coffee table was filled with empty liqour and pill bottles, the floor covered in used condoms and old clothes. I hurridly turned away, before making my way over to the basement stairs. I walked down, and opened the door slightly. The safeness of the room surrounded me, and I let out another sigh of relief. I walked over to the desk, sitting down and smiling at one of his drawings on the wall over the bed.

The drawing was his version of Peter Pan and hook. They were fighting, and by the looks of it, Hook was the one who would win. I remember when he drew the picture. I was eight, he was ten, and at that time, our favorite game was to play Peter Pan and Hook. I would always end up being Peter, and he would alway end up winning. I told him he was winning because he was cheating, tickling mw with no mercy, but he just grinned and acted like that's what Hook was supposed to do in the books. I looked back at the drawing after my small flashback, and laughed at how he purposely had made Peter Pan look like an old man, and Hook looking handsome and young, with pale skin and short, black hair. I laughed again, as I remembered how I hated being the old dude in his picture, but he would just wriggle his fingers, telling me to shut up about it or laugh til I died.

I had to smile at the memory, before I sighed, stood up and went over to the door. I locked it, before making my way over to the bed. A nap sounded good right about now. I laid down on the bed, and imagined him coming crawling in the window, and guarding over me as I slept. As a guardian angel.

Notes