Warning: This chapter is going to bring up very upsetting topics. Please do not expose yourself to anything that will negatively impact your well being. I apologize ahead of time; however, this is something that is necessary to explain the life that the character has experienced. I haven't delved into detail with the events that happened and I will not do so out of respect for those who have been a victim of sexual assault. As important as it is to be well informed of the tragedies that take place every day and actively work to keep everyone safe from those who prey on others, it is also important to me that no one who has been assaulted in any way, shape, or form be exposed to something that could trigger any kind of negative reactions.

I jerk my hand back and look anywhere other than the only human in sight. Who knows what his reaction is or what he is thinking. There's nothing I can do except acknowledge the despair that's closing in on me, blanketing the forest and sucking the oxygen right out of the air. It almost feels like a vacuum in open space. I can hardly breathe as my knees threaten to fold of their own accord.

I've done it. I've ruined everything. I can't do this again. I can't do this.

The heat rises through my face as my chest aches, my lungs betraying me as it feels like no air can pass my lips. Just before I feel the sun turn off, I can see the ground coming fast, but I no longer have any control of my body. I can't stop.

~~~

"What are you doing here anyways, Dante? You don't belong here." 

I stumble down the hallways in a fog, trapped in this hell that I put myself in. With all of the people coming out in this world, I was under this foolish impression that I could be a success story. This has been my life since middle school. I used to be quite liked. I wouldn't say popular, but there were people that enjoyed my time and places that I could easily be. Although I did avoid the fishing hole that everyone frequented, effectively separating me from some of the more popular circles. See, I don't swim, nor do I spend time in the sun. Sunscreen is a daily product in my life, but even regular application doesn't save my fair skin. I'm so pale that it is almost sickly. However, that is all in the past because now you won't find me anywhere near humans. 

I came out in middle school. It was really easy to come out to my parents because they never really cared anyways. They did enough to cart me to my eighteenth birthday, but I didn't care what they thought at first. It was a Friday, cold and snowing for the first time in a long time. I woke up, packed a bag of clothes for good measure, and put all of my prized belongings in the second bag. As long as I was prepared, I could easily walk away from this place and never look back. At least, that's what I thought. The chair I sat in felt more uncomfortable by the minute and without any warning, I just said, "Cheryl, Manny. I'm gay." The kitchen was so silent that I'm sure you could hear the hair brushing over my mother's shoulder as her head turned. It stayed silent, the sound of the clock ticking and coffee pot dripping as she looked at my father. "Well, he's your son." Here we go. The fight I expected, but hoped would breeze over. I could feel the red hot glare my father was giving me, but the courage to look him in the face was absent and I glanced down at the floor. It isn't like I expected for this to suddenly make them love me, but I was hoping it wouldn't become a thing. Little did I know that this was going to definitely be a thing. A really, really big thing.

After walking outside and resting on the front porch, I could hear them screaming about whose son I was and who would take responsibility for yet another one of my failures. They continued to argue through the afternoon, stopping and starting back up even at the dinner table. I take my seat as always, farthest from them as possible. However, I'm quickly made aware that I am no son in their house. I'll be expected to stop sucking them dry as soon as I graduate and turn eighteen. That's all well and fine, but what they hadn't told me is that they'd only cooked dinner for two. I wasn't incapable of cooking my own food. In fact, I'm used to it, but I've always had access to the food in my house. Over the next few weeks, that would change. I'd no longer feed off of their hard earned money. I was cut off. From that day on, I'd live off of the free lunches that my school offered, half hoping that my friend's might offer what they didn't want without knowing why I'd always accept.

When Monday rolled around, I made it to school early, opting to eat breakfast there with the small amount of change I had scraped from the couch when no one was paying any attention. As I left the line carrying my tray, I looked across the tables, finding an empty spot to eat alone. Spotting a seat at the far left of the cafeteria, I noticed Bradley coming across the floor with a smirk and a band of followers, people he's hardly ever seen without. Most people would be afraid of Bradley, but he didn't intimidate me much. His mother and mine were coworkers and friends and we sat next to each other in second period to talk about girls. I didn't have much to say, but I could easily tell him how attractive some random girl was, nod and agree. 

As he approached, I gave him the best false smile I could muster; however, his stony eyes and wicked smirk did not falter. This would mark the first day that anyone has ever hit me, but I assure you, it wasn't the last. As my tray scattered across the floor, I felt my heart drop as my stomach squirmed and I felt the hunger of the last two days settle in deeper. A fist connected with the side of my face and before I was aware of what was happening, I found myself on the ground, the victim of countless feet as I huddled to protect my head and stomach. Soon, teachers were pulling them apart, but the feeling lingered as Bradley spat, "Faggot!" across the cafeteria on his way to the office with his small mafia behind him. I could feel a haze drifting through my mind as I am pulled up by my arms to follow. The rest of that day was horrible as I had been sent home for fighting. I didn't even raise my hands. I didn't get to eat lunch . . .

Three days later, I'm allowed to come back to school. The pain across my body is not fading yet, but Bradley and his goons are out of school until next Monday, so I should be fine. I make it to breakfast, my mouth watering as I move through the line. I don't even remember what the food tasted like as I ate, but it hardly made me feel full. Food was food, though. I'll get lunch later. Every class I went to left whispers of my name around me. Every student had something to say. Very few students gave me encouragement, maybe four or five. More often than not, it was torture. I lost what little friends that I thought I had. I lost my family. I lost my life. Everyone suddenly had painted a target on my back and over the years, it would escalate until I'd be hospitalized. Whether it be from weakness and malnutrition or fights that I didn't even participate in, there were enough visits that child protective services were involved. Those were the better weeks, when I would be given food.

I walked home from school more often now, avoiding the bus and all of the bodies on the bus as I trudged home. I had recently turned sixteen so I spent my walks putting in and checking on my job applications. This seemed like an impossible feat, but soon became possible as I had finally found a place willing to hire a student with limited hours. The antique shop was more suited to an older crowd. They'd still talk, but were less vocal to my face and hardly physical at all aside from the occasional hand on my shoulder. A few weeks had gone by and I had felt a little more normal.

As I became able to provide for myself a bit, I felt much better eating when I wanted and enjoying a quiet space in the library. As luck would have it, there was a guy who came in most weekends to use the computers. He was so attractive that I couldn't stop daydreaming, drifting back and forth until I had spent an hour trying to read one page. His charisma with the other people who approached him was smooth and every action seemed well thought out and graceful. His presence would seem to lift the spirits of anyone in the library, including yours truly. Admiration from a distance had been my method and it worked quite well.

I continued my walk through the rows of bindings, searching for a book that I hadn't read yet. Books were a sweet escape from the place that haunted me and in this library, the books were aplenty, but one that I haven't read yet was scarce. As my fingers brushed across the worn bindings of the books so tattered and abused, I heard a voice at the end of the aisle. I ignored it, the idle mumbling of someone reading off titles, but you can't really mistake his voice for anyone else's. Not until it is right behind your neck. "The Pauper of Old School, perfect." The sound of his voice was closer than I ever wanted it to be, pulling me out of my skin and delivering me to a place that felt foreign and filled with an emotion I've never felt. However, as he reached above me and plucked the book from the shelf, the brush of his chest against my back brought me crashing back to reality. Suddenly, standing there felt like I had been standing in a place that I needed to escape from before he realized who I was. Our current nonexistent relationship was exactly where I wanted it to be. I scuttled away, refusing to look back or even acknowledge his casual hello as I made quick work of packing my things and booking it towards the closest exit. Making it out of that building felt like I had immediately dodged an awful encounter, saving myself from embarrassment and keeping my one safe spot in the world as sacred and secluded as I wanted it to be. However, that would soon change.

I didn't return to the library for a few days, hoping that would clear my slate and reset his interests in me back to zero. As I walked in, I scanned the room and found myself alone. My books soon found themselves scattered around my favorite table. This particular table sat in the back of the room, etched with the declarations of love between the initials of two names whom no one can identify and famous quotes from books that stole the soft hearts of many a wandering bookworm.

"Ahem. Hello, I see you come here often. Are you studying anything in particular?"

As a set of hands rests on the table across from me, my face becomes hot and I can feel this lump in my throat rise. "I just like to read."

Short and sweet, good job me. I pat myself on the back, mentally congratulating myself for getting the words out of my face at all.

"I've heard a lot of things about you, Dante. I see you here a lot, at the same table almost every time I come in. You are always buried in a pile of books and you seem so lost in each word, but do you know what is my favorite part? My favorite part is that every time I notice you, I find that you are staring at me."

There is no more blood available to keep my brain functioning. It has all drained to the bottom of my feet and made me feel sluggish and heavy. I'm so embarrassed that every word comes up to my lips, but I can't seem to part them anymore. I finally look up to find him staring directly into my eyes, the pigment in his eyes reminding me of a black abyss, sucking my soul into them and refusing to return it as he sits in silence, giving me time to catch up with myself.

"I-I'm so sorry. I-I didn't think-I didn't think you'd . . . "

The driest desert in the world has made itself at home on my tongue, drying my mouth and burning my throat. But he only chuckles, "It's okay. Don't worry. It would be a lie to say that I hadn't been glancing at you, either. I would like to introduce myself. I'm Kadence and if the rumors about you are true, we have a lot in common."

I close my book. I won't be trapped in another stupid joke. "I'm leaving," I say as I pick up my bag and walk away. He doesn't say a word as I walk outside. The walk home is always boring and I dread stepping foot in my house. Why did he have to ruin such a great place?

A hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks and I feel a jerk that throws me back against the wall. You'd think that my reputation for bullying would keep me from walking down the narrow alleys between these old and crumbling buildings, but I seem to only have book smarts. Kadence slams his hand against the wall above my shoulder, causing an involuntary flinch as I prepare for the worst, or so I thought. I clench my jaw, tighten what little muscle I have in my stomach, and stare into the eyes of this new nuisance in my life. "Why do you run away?" The agitation on his face makes him appear as a different person, an emotion that doesn't seem to fit the personality it is invading. His hand is already gripping my chin as he grinds his teeth, "You do not run away from me. You will have no one, but me. It'll be our little secret."

I shouldn't have spit in his face. I shouldn't have fought back. It's my fault that he took control of me. I didn't listen to every bone in my body when it screamed run. I didn't stay out in public and I left myself vulnerable. I didn't pay attention to the racing of my heart or the sweat on my palms. I had become used to the beatings, but this would turn out to be much worse than all of it. The moment my chest hit the brick wall and I felt his hand running down my back, I finally felt the fear that had been lying dormant in my gut. I felt it wake up and spread like fire across every inch of my body. I would never feel okay again. I would never feel clean again. I would never feel again.

I'm not okay . . .

I spent that night in the bathtub, soaking in soap up to my eyes. I didn't want to look at my body. I didn't want to see what he had done. I didn't want to be alive. For some reason, I couldn't cry. I felt like there was so much to cry for and so much to let out, but I had nothing left inside of me. I was empty.

I am empty . . .

~~~

I bolt upright, my heart racing as sweat beads on my skin and the stifling air brings me back to an unfamiliar room. As I take in all of my surroundings, I realize I'm on the couch in my new home. I drop back into the cushions, waiting for my breathing to become normal as I fight back the pressure behind my eyes, threatening to take over. I've moved away already so why do I keep crying?

I roll to my side, noticing a fire in the brick fireplace and I shiver a bit, closing my eyes until I hear a soft snore. I had forgotten what had happened. I cover my face, peeking through my fingers at the young man resting with his back against the warm bricks of the fireplace. I'm surprised he is still here. Does he not know? Is he that unaware?

I close my eyes, drifting into sleep again. A deep, empty, dreamless sleep. The memories fading back under the cover in the back of my mind.