Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven

I was sitting on my bed; exhausted, hateful and in pain. When was this going to end? I could feel it all over my body. I needed to end this. I reached under my mattress (as if that was a good hiding place) and pulled out my journal. I looked around my messy floor and decided that looking for a pen there, just wasn’t a great idea. With my luck, I would probably trip or make a loud noise that wakes George up. My room was so messy, I probably wouldn't find a pen there even if i tried. It was better, and safer, to get one in Gerard's room. I knew he had many. I took a deep breath, before I gathered enough strength to stand up. My body was screaming, telling me to lie back down, to just ignore the world and stay where I was. I ignored my stiff muscle’s cry for mercy, my sore backside screaming for relief and my swollen ankle’s song of agony as I made my way quietly down the stairs. I could hear George snoring from the kitchen, and with a relief, a relaxed a little bit more. I looked at the stairs down to Gerard’s room, and slowly made my way over there. As I reached the door at the bottom of the staircase, I took a deep breath and held it as I walked in. I couldn’t look at anything in there anymore. Let alone the bed. My worst nightmare had covered all the secure innocence of the room. Yes, the first time was the worst. I quickly shot a look at the desk and, as always, I saw several pens spread out. After such a long time, I have never moved anything around in his room. The feeling would just be gone. But right now, I felt that the feeling was way gone, and I could tear it all apart. An appealing thought, really. I made my way over to the desk and snatched up four pens in different colors. I then turned my heel and walked out as quickly as I could; up the two sets of stairs and into my room. Even though I had heard him snoring in the kitchen on my way up the stair, I had to look around the door to make sure he wasn’t there waiting for me. With relief, I made my way over to my bed, and lied down. I then opened my journal and started to write;

My seventeenth birthday is a month away, and I just know that I will feel the same for my seventeenth "birthday present” as my sixteenth. By my age, most people have cars, girlfriends, a pleasurable and satisfaction filled sex life, a job, a mom loving them, and a dad supporting them as they step out into the big world by themselves. What do I have? An envelope ripped into two pieces? Smudged ink that one time long ago stating my rescuing words? A father only wanting to make my life miserable? A brother who left me with a monster? Don't ever believe that "monsters don'e exist", because I am living with the proof saying the opposite. I just wish it were Gerard and me, exploring the world on our own, with no worries and no difficulties.

Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to make that happen now. Gerard is probably happy; studying art and singing in a rock band like he always dreamt of. Or maybe he already moved on. Maybe has a girlfriend, or even a wife. He might have kids already. I might be an uncle right now, and not even know it. When the little kids ask their dad why they don’t have an uncle, Gerard will answer; “You don’t have aunts and uncles. I’m sorry I never had a brother”.

I just wish he could find out just how much he still saves me every day. Just by letting me write about him in this journal.

I bitterly closed the book and stuffed under my mattress again. Tears were building up in my eyes, but I wiped them away fiercely. I just wanted to scream out loud. I felt angry all the time. The loneliness was killing me. The disappointment, the hate, the grief! It was too much for me. I looked at my door. Two doors to the right from mine, there was a bathroom. A bathroom that I had cleaned my own blood out of several times. Both intentionally and not intentionally. I looked down on my arms bitterly. The scars were stinging when I touched them, but at the same time, they were screaming for me to give them some more company. I sat up and looked around. I couldn’t see my scissors anywhere. I slowly sat down on the floor next to my bend. Even more slowly, I bent over; wincing in pain as I got low enough to look under my bed. There they were. A pair of scissors never looked as appealing before that moment. I sat back up, and gripped the bed. Very slowly, and quietly, I pulled it towards me and made a space between the bed and the wall. I then got up, and laid across the bed, stretching my arm and reaching into the space I made. I felt around, and finally found it. The cold metal begging me to use it. I pulled it out and put it on my bed. As I sat up, I hit the scissors and they slowly slid off the bed, landing on the floor with an edgy thud. I held my breath, trying to listen. Waiting for a sign that told me that he woke up. Trying to savior time to prepare. I sat there for twenty seconds before I could relax again. I sat back down on the floor, and carefully pushed my bed back. I bent over the bed to fix my sheet, when I froze. I could hear his breathing. Right behind me. “Movin’ furniture, are we?” I quickly turned around and sat on my bed, pushing myself as far backwards as possible, trying to get out of reach, but hitting the wall. I looked up on him, terror running through my body. He was leaning over me, and I could smell alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. “P-please…” I swallowed and closed my eyes for the next word I was going to say; “… dad”.

I opened them back up, and saw him standing up straight, a huge grin on his face. Maybe calling him “dad” for the first time in so long softened his heart. Maybe that was what he wanted all along? My thoughts didn’t go any further, when I felt a fist hit my face with enough force to push me off my bed. George grabbed my hair, and pulled me back up on the bed. He shoved mw down on my back and sat on top of me. I could hardly breathe. He must have weighed at least two hundred pounds. That amount of weight sitting on my 82 couldn’t be good. I tried to wriggle my way out, but was rewarded with another fist in the face. He grabbed my hand, and placed on top of his sweats, over his member. I almost threw up, as I always do, when I felt him stiffen under my touch. He leaned forward, crushing me even more, and actually stopping my breathing for a couple of seconds. “Do you see what you do to me? Do you see how you make me feel?” he said quietly, but still managing to spit in my face as he was talking. I just looked him in the eye, not saying anything. Obviously making him mad, he stood up, and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of my room, down the stairs and towards Gerard’s stairs. Horror struck me when I got where he was going to take me this time. He knew that was the worst place possible. I tried to pull my arm out of his grip as he marched down the stairs, but to no use. He opened the door, and forcefully shoved me, tripping me to the floor and held me there. Tears started running down my eyes, and he smiled in satisfaction.

He ripped off my way-to-big jeans and boxers at once, before he started touching me. All the time, I cried, and all the time I was fighting the bile rising, but I couldn’t help it. It is just that way. When someone touches you that way, too long, your body reacts without your mind wanting to. He smiled even wider as I slowly, but surely reached a full erection. He then kept working on me, holding me down at the same time. I wasn’t strong enough to get out of his grasp, so I had given up. I could feel his hands working on me, my mind wanted me to kill myself, but my body wanted to let go, and that was what was about to happen. I could feel the warmth in the pit of my stomach growing larger, and I hated it, but it still felt so good. I tried to fight it, but soon enough I was moaning; loudly. I was about to come; I was so close. But then it stopped. I opened my eyes in shock, seeing George grin at me. “I knew you liked it. You always liked it.” he said, before ripping his own pants and boxers off. Before I knew it, he shoved into me so hard and quick that I couldn’t help but to scream, making him laugh and grin wider. He fucked me so hard this time, I could barely breathe. I heard him moaning, touching me and fucking me at the same time. “Moan for me!” He yelled. I shook my head. I would never moan for him on purpose. His fist hit my face a third time. I could feel droplets of blood running down my sore face. “Moan for me!” He yelled again, even louder. I carefully mad a moaning sound, which made him go quicker. “More” he grunted. I could tell he was close. I started to fake the moans louder and louder with every thrust, and as I thought, I could feel his cum fill me up just a couple of seconds later. He pulled out of me, pulled his clothes back on and bent over me. “That is why you never get to call me ‘dad’ again”. I watched as he turned around and walked out the door and up the steps. I could hear him walking over to the living room and the old chair creek under his weight as he sat down.

I could really feel the tears pushing on, so I let them out. I turned over on my stomach, and looked at the bed. Then I suddenly saw movement in the small window mirrored behind me by the mirror above the bed. I turned around in horror, just quick enough to see a dark siouette move away from the window. Somebody had been watching the whole thing!

Notes