Categories > Celebrities > The Used > Tales About God (Or The Closest Thing)
Hola, sorry I took this long. This chapter was actually finished a week ago, but my beta didn't beta it. and now it's beta-d. Pour vous...
Chapter 8
My backpack slid off my shoulders and for a long moment, I only stared, wide-eyed and speechless. My dad stared back at me with an unnaturally stony expression. I wished I would just die on the spot. That way, I wouldn’t have to see my father’s face. He seemed almost disgusted by me…like I was a fucking cockroach and he was about to squish me to death. I wished he would and get it over with. My eyesight blurred and my ears popped, giving me the strangest feeling that I was starting to disappear. Maybe I’d turn literally invisible and I’d get out of this easy. Ha-ha, what a freaky-friendless-faggotish thought. The feeling was merely me, bursting into tears. I made an attempt to stop myself; calm the fuck down. I mean, guys weren’t supposed to cry this much. Hell, maybe I was just a woman with a penis. It wasn’t like I had any other man-like qualities. I didn’t even have any facial hair! Maybe knowing that would make Quinn like me. I sobbed harder upon thinking his name and now, had no motivation to console myself. How much gayer could I get?
I wondered what my dad must have been thinking; staring while his oldest son simply stood there and cried like a fucking wimp. I peered through my watery vision, trying to read his thoughts. It made me cry even more to notice that his face was blank. There was no sympathy, which was what I secretly yearned for. He couldn’t possibly be that emotionless…unless he absolutely hated me. I had always told myself he did, but now that it seemed certain, I had to question myself. What had I ever done to him? Respected him? Tried to make him proud of me? I didn’t understand why that was such a crime, even if I hadn't succeeded. He was supposed to love me anyway, right? I sniffed in dribbles of mucus into my nose and rubbed my teardrops into my skin. My eyes fell to the floor, to my father’s feet. His face, I knew, was still apathetic.
When he spoke, his voice was the same way, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Robert?”
“It’s not like you give a shit what I have to say…” I muttered a little too loudly.
I instantly felt a sharp pain across my cheek. My jaw dropped and my eyes stretched beyond their freakishly large size. I covered my throbbing cheek with my hand and glared at my father. If I wasn’t so skinny and weak (not to mention scared), I would have slapped him back …politely, of course. Instead I began to cry again. Out of pure determination, I tried to make my face look angry.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I tried to say, but I think only the ‘fuck’ part came out, which obviously pissed my dad off.
“Watch your mouth!” he snapped. Well, at least he wasn’t so indifferent any more. I could see the fury spread across his face, “You are going to tell my why you have these,” he shook my bottle of pills again, “…and you are going to tell me right now!”
“Are you fucking stupid?” I blurted out, before I could stop myself, “I have them so I can get high. My life fucking sucks, but it’s not like you give a crap about that! You just care that I’m a perfect little Mormon boy. Well, I’ll fucking curse all I want. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, shit, shit, shit! Just give me goddamned my pills back!” I reached forward, trying to snatch them away from daddy dear.
He kept the bottle high above me. Curse his tallness. The tears rolling down from my eyes slowed down. Letting out an angry sound, I kicked my dad’s shin.
A familiar threat came from my father’s mouth, with rather high volume, “Robert! You’re gonna burn in hell if you don’t stop this nonsense!”
“Hell can’t be much worse than this place!” I yelled louder.
“God will punish you!” he screeched in an unearthly pitch.
“Well I think your God’s a fucking idiot!” Immediately after the terribly sinful sentence left my mouth, I regretted it. My dad was fuming, and for once, I understood why. I had taken it one step too far. Quite frankly, I was scared shitless, wondering what he would do to me now. He was trying extra hard not to hit me, I could tell. I gulped.
His spoke through gritted teeth, “Robert,” his voice was shaking menacingly, “Get out.”
My hand slid down from my face, “W-what?”
“Get out of this house. You’re no longer permitted to live here.”
“B-but dad, I—”
“Get out!” he snarled and shoved me so hard I stumbled straight out of the house.
“Dad, I didn’t mean it. I swear to God…I mean, I promise. You can’t…” I stopped in mid-sentence to think of something to fill in the rest of my sentence. I couldn’t find anything appropriate so I just stuck to good old ass-kissing, “Dad, I’m sorry…I…I love you…”
He turned his back to me before answering. Knowing him, this was purposely done so that I didn’t see the tiny hint of sadness that had shown up in his eyes. I could hear a bit of it in his voice, though. “Bert, you’ve been given a lot of chances to change, but you just don’t try.” He bent down to pick up my backpack from the floor. He pivoted on his heel and pushed it into my chest. I staggered back a few steps overdramatically and deliberately tripped over my feet. I landed on the floor and tried to make my eyes really big and cute. I had to find some way to make him feel sorry for me. His hand was now on the door knob, “If you can’t follow my rules, then you’re not a part of this family any longer.”
I suddenly knew there was no chance of me going back into that boring, white house (my boring, white house) so I made a feeble effort to get ahold of my pills. There was no way I’d survive out on my own without those. However, the door slammed in my face before I had the opportunity to even get onto my feet. Now would have been a logical time to cry; like really cry until I collapsed out of exhaustion. Then, my dad would have to take me back inside and nurse me back to health. Or something. But unfortunately, I had no more tears in store. I sat there dumbly, staring at the door, trying to soak it all in.
Well, this was it; this was what I wanted. I was finally out of my suffocating Mormon room, which apparently did have an escape route. I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted to do (homo sex). I didn’t have to follow any dumb rules. I was alone…I didn’t know what to think. I mean, I felt exactly the same as I’d felt all my life. I’d always been alone. And maybe I always would be that way…alone and fucking miserable. It was a depressing thought, which made me feel very heavy…tons heavier than my one-hundred pounds. Sighing, I crawled towards the steps down the front porch. It seemed stupid to just stay there so I clumsily got to my feet. I grabbed my backpack by the strap and dragged it along as I walked…aimlessly, of course. No pills, no Quinn, no house …a voice kept repeating those words in my head, like an annoying little chant.
I had this weird pleasure from hearing it though. Yes, my brain was that fucked up. I continued to walk, following the sidewalk. There were people outside; joggers, walkers, old women, little children, non-little children…but I don’t think any of them saw me, which was pretty sad because I was like this giant black blob. Kinda hard to miss. I don’t know how long I walked, or how far, but when I finally stopped, the sky was painted a deep shade of blue and crickets chirped from all around. I scanned my surroundings. Maybe I was on Monet Street or something, I couldn’t tell. Every single road looked the fucking same. I dropped my backpack on the ground and foraged through the zippered compartments until I found my cigarettes. They were nowhere near as useful as my pills, but they were better than nothing. I took a drag, but ended up choking on it. Falling to my side, I moaned and coughed, coughed and moaned. Why couldn’t I just die already? I shut my eyes tightly. Through my squeezed eyelids, tears came out. Now I started crying. I guess it just took a while for everything to come crashing into me. I groped around until I found my backpack. I pulled it close to my chest and coughed one last time. I’d like to say I died after that, but I only fell asleep.
I had a really twisted sort of dream in which there was this cute little boy, with ginger-blonde hair and he was stuck in a hole. For some reason, he seemed really familiar. I think I was looking down at him or something; watching him cry and scream. It was weird, because while I knew how terrified the kid was, I didn’t try to help him out. And I swear, there was this one point when the boy looked straight up at me; he could see me. His eyes were a piercing tint of blue. I remembered getting really scared, but I wasn’t sure why. After that, I wasn’t sure what exactly happened. I had backed away from the mouth of the hole, but I could still see the kid. Dirt was slipping down from the nearby grass. I could hear the little boy try to scream but the dirt poured into his mouth; into his lungs. I knew he was being buried alive and yet, I did nothing. The whole time, he was sobbing; whimpering for help. His eyes were hurting and I somehow could feel him falling down…losing his breath. I suddenly shot up, panting like I’d just seen the Grim Reaper.
My shirt was completely soaked, sticking to my skin. I breathed heavily as I wiped my brow of sweat and rested my head in my hands. That was probably the most frightening dream I’d ever had in my entire lifetime. Why? I clutched my hair. It was black now, yeah, but before I had dyed it, it used to be a ginger-blonde color…
I trembled and lay back down on my side. At least there was a pillow to soothe my aching head. I shot up again, finally realizing that I wasn’t on the sidewalk anymore. I was on a bed. I tore the quilted blanket off myself and snapped my head to the left. A dark figure loomed over my bed. I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Chapter 8
My backpack slid off my shoulders and for a long moment, I only stared, wide-eyed and speechless. My dad stared back at me with an unnaturally stony expression. I wished I would just die on the spot. That way, I wouldn’t have to see my father’s face. He seemed almost disgusted by me…like I was a fucking cockroach and he was about to squish me to death. I wished he would and get it over with. My eyesight blurred and my ears popped, giving me the strangest feeling that I was starting to disappear. Maybe I’d turn literally invisible and I’d get out of this easy. Ha-ha, what a freaky-friendless-faggotish thought. The feeling was merely me, bursting into tears. I made an attempt to stop myself; calm the fuck down. I mean, guys weren’t supposed to cry this much. Hell, maybe I was just a woman with a penis. It wasn’t like I had any other man-like qualities. I didn’t even have any facial hair! Maybe knowing that would make Quinn like me. I sobbed harder upon thinking his name and now, had no motivation to console myself. How much gayer could I get?
I wondered what my dad must have been thinking; staring while his oldest son simply stood there and cried like a fucking wimp. I peered through my watery vision, trying to read his thoughts. It made me cry even more to notice that his face was blank. There was no sympathy, which was what I secretly yearned for. He couldn’t possibly be that emotionless…unless he absolutely hated me. I had always told myself he did, but now that it seemed certain, I had to question myself. What had I ever done to him? Respected him? Tried to make him proud of me? I didn’t understand why that was such a crime, even if I hadn't succeeded. He was supposed to love me anyway, right? I sniffed in dribbles of mucus into my nose and rubbed my teardrops into my skin. My eyes fell to the floor, to my father’s feet. His face, I knew, was still apathetic.
When he spoke, his voice was the same way, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Robert?”
“It’s not like you give a shit what I have to say…” I muttered a little too loudly.
I instantly felt a sharp pain across my cheek. My jaw dropped and my eyes stretched beyond their freakishly large size. I covered my throbbing cheek with my hand and glared at my father. If I wasn’t so skinny and weak (not to mention scared), I would have slapped him back …politely, of course. Instead I began to cry again. Out of pure determination, I tried to make my face look angry.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I tried to say, but I think only the ‘fuck’ part came out, which obviously pissed my dad off.
“Watch your mouth!” he snapped. Well, at least he wasn’t so indifferent any more. I could see the fury spread across his face, “You are going to tell my why you have these,” he shook my bottle of pills again, “…and you are going to tell me right now!”
“Are you fucking stupid?” I blurted out, before I could stop myself, “I have them so I can get high. My life fucking sucks, but it’s not like you give a crap about that! You just care that I’m a perfect little Mormon boy. Well, I’ll fucking curse all I want. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, shit, shit, shit! Just give me goddamned my pills back!” I reached forward, trying to snatch them away from daddy dear.
He kept the bottle high above me. Curse his tallness. The tears rolling down from my eyes slowed down. Letting out an angry sound, I kicked my dad’s shin.
A familiar threat came from my father’s mouth, with rather high volume, “Robert! You’re gonna burn in hell if you don’t stop this nonsense!”
“Hell can’t be much worse than this place!” I yelled louder.
“God will punish you!” he screeched in an unearthly pitch.
“Well I think your God’s a fucking idiot!” Immediately after the terribly sinful sentence left my mouth, I regretted it. My dad was fuming, and for once, I understood why. I had taken it one step too far. Quite frankly, I was scared shitless, wondering what he would do to me now. He was trying extra hard not to hit me, I could tell. I gulped.
His spoke through gritted teeth, “Robert,” his voice was shaking menacingly, “Get out.”
My hand slid down from my face, “W-what?”
“Get out of this house. You’re no longer permitted to live here.”
“B-but dad, I—”
“Get out!” he snarled and shoved me so hard I stumbled straight out of the house.
“Dad, I didn’t mean it. I swear to God…I mean, I promise. You can’t…” I stopped in mid-sentence to think of something to fill in the rest of my sentence. I couldn’t find anything appropriate so I just stuck to good old ass-kissing, “Dad, I’m sorry…I…I love you…”
He turned his back to me before answering. Knowing him, this was purposely done so that I didn’t see the tiny hint of sadness that had shown up in his eyes. I could hear a bit of it in his voice, though. “Bert, you’ve been given a lot of chances to change, but you just don’t try.” He bent down to pick up my backpack from the floor. He pivoted on his heel and pushed it into my chest. I staggered back a few steps overdramatically and deliberately tripped over my feet. I landed on the floor and tried to make my eyes really big and cute. I had to find some way to make him feel sorry for me. His hand was now on the door knob, “If you can’t follow my rules, then you’re not a part of this family any longer.”
I suddenly knew there was no chance of me going back into that boring, white house (my boring, white house) so I made a feeble effort to get ahold of my pills. There was no way I’d survive out on my own without those. However, the door slammed in my face before I had the opportunity to even get onto my feet. Now would have been a logical time to cry; like really cry until I collapsed out of exhaustion. Then, my dad would have to take me back inside and nurse me back to health. Or something. But unfortunately, I had no more tears in store. I sat there dumbly, staring at the door, trying to soak it all in.
Well, this was it; this was what I wanted. I was finally out of my suffocating Mormon room, which apparently did have an escape route. I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted to do (homo sex). I didn’t have to follow any dumb rules. I was alone…I didn’t know what to think. I mean, I felt exactly the same as I’d felt all my life. I’d always been alone. And maybe I always would be that way…alone and fucking miserable. It was a depressing thought, which made me feel very heavy…tons heavier than my one-hundred pounds. Sighing, I crawled towards the steps down the front porch. It seemed stupid to just stay there so I clumsily got to my feet. I grabbed my backpack by the strap and dragged it along as I walked…aimlessly, of course. No pills, no Quinn, no house …a voice kept repeating those words in my head, like an annoying little chant.
I had this weird pleasure from hearing it though. Yes, my brain was that fucked up. I continued to walk, following the sidewalk. There were people outside; joggers, walkers, old women, little children, non-little children…but I don’t think any of them saw me, which was pretty sad because I was like this giant black blob. Kinda hard to miss. I don’t know how long I walked, or how far, but when I finally stopped, the sky was painted a deep shade of blue and crickets chirped from all around. I scanned my surroundings. Maybe I was on Monet Street or something, I couldn’t tell. Every single road looked the fucking same. I dropped my backpack on the ground and foraged through the zippered compartments until I found my cigarettes. They were nowhere near as useful as my pills, but they were better than nothing. I took a drag, but ended up choking on it. Falling to my side, I moaned and coughed, coughed and moaned. Why couldn’t I just die already? I shut my eyes tightly. Through my squeezed eyelids, tears came out. Now I started crying. I guess it just took a while for everything to come crashing into me. I groped around until I found my backpack. I pulled it close to my chest and coughed one last time. I’d like to say I died after that, but I only fell asleep.
I had a really twisted sort of dream in which there was this cute little boy, with ginger-blonde hair and he was stuck in a hole. For some reason, he seemed really familiar. I think I was looking down at him or something; watching him cry and scream. It was weird, because while I knew how terrified the kid was, I didn’t try to help him out. And I swear, there was this one point when the boy looked straight up at me; he could see me. His eyes were a piercing tint of blue. I remembered getting really scared, but I wasn’t sure why. After that, I wasn’t sure what exactly happened. I had backed away from the mouth of the hole, but I could still see the kid. Dirt was slipping down from the nearby grass. I could hear the little boy try to scream but the dirt poured into his mouth; into his lungs. I knew he was being buried alive and yet, I did nothing. The whole time, he was sobbing; whimpering for help. His eyes were hurting and I somehow could feel him falling down…losing his breath. I suddenly shot up, panting like I’d just seen the Grim Reaper.
My shirt was completely soaked, sticking to my skin. I breathed heavily as I wiped my brow of sweat and rested my head in my hands. That was probably the most frightening dream I’d ever had in my entire lifetime. Why? I clutched my hair. It was black now, yeah, but before I had dyed it, it used to be a ginger-blonde color…
I trembled and lay back down on my side. At least there was a pillow to soothe my aching head. I shot up again, finally realizing that I wasn’t on the sidewalk anymore. I was on a bed. I tore the quilted blanket off myself and snapped my head to the left. A dark figure loomed over my bed. I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Sign up to rate and review this story