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Crown Of Thorns01 Gay lit

Crown Of Thorns Chapter 1

You know, things just aren't right with the world. Thoughts raced
through my mind as I felt the pain in my ribs. I closed my left eye
because it hurt too much to open it. This did not stop the beating. I
received blow after blow. In never changed. A small transgression and I
would be pounded into a pulp in the name of discipline.

"I'll teach you, you son of a bitch." My dad constantly yelled at me.
For anything and nothing. He really didn't get drunk. I hear that's what
brings on beatings. Well not with me. I could feel myself rising into the
air, by now I had closed both my eyes. We were moving, and then I could
feel myself flying through the air. The impact wasn't so bad the floor
broke my fall. The door slammed shut and I could hear him stalk off. I
lay there, in a heap of pain. One eye swollen shut the other bruised but
still functional. My ribs hurt along with everything else. I felt content
to lie there on the floor.

Did this happen to every child. I don't think so, just me. I guess
now, your just dieing to know me. My name is Julian Cross. Unlike my
brothers I am small for my age of 15. They are all huge guys, like 6'4"
and in the 200's, weight wise. All of them football players. I on the
other was the ugly duckling. I guess I was more like my mother. I am 5'4"
and 125 lbs. I act and play the ocarina. That is probably an instrument
that you have never heard of. Well it is an ancient medieval flute
instrument. Made of clay. It is really cool. Well, because there is no
way in hell that my dad would ever pay for lessons of buy one for me, I
bought one myself and learned to play it myself. I went to the renaissance
fair with my mother a few years back and found it. I collect them now.
And if I do say so myself, I am pretty good at it. I approached the band
headmaster and he has opened a spot for it. I had to keep it hidden for
years. My dad would never approve and my brothers would crush it just to
get me angry. I busy myself with many extracurricular activates to spend
as much time at school as possible. It works. I don't get beat and I stay
away from my dad. He doesn't give two shits if I live or die, so it makes
no difference to him where I am as long as I am home before my curfew. I
don't get that, doesn't want me around, yet gives me a curfew.

I know, you are all dying to get to the story, but I just want to get
all this shit off my chest. Besides, it explains my situation. I have
made a few friends, but I keep them at bay, if they get too close, they
might find out where I get the bruises and might even want to come over.
It has never come to that. I don't have a lot of friends as a consequence.
It probably would help to know that my mother died in a car accident two
years ago in '98. I lived without a scratch on me. Dad and my brother blame me. Lets just compound this with the fact that I am gay. Ha, isn't
that a trip. If I ever let that slip, it would be another reason to beat
me; in fact, I think that they would blow my head off. Basically, I am a
closed book. I don't open for anyone and I never have.

So, I lie there, in serious pain, probably with internal bleeding and
that entire medical shit. Do I expect anyone to care? Not really. After
an hour or so, in my heap I struggle to get up. I trudge to my closet and
pull out the ace bandage I swiped from the nurse's station at school and
wrapped it around my torso. I usually have to do this; it has become a
custom of mine. With more supplies that I swiped I cleaned the bleeding
wound on my lip and put an instant ice on my swollen eye. I slowly pulled
off the rest on my clothes and lie in bed awake and in pain.

So yea, things weren't fair. I would now face a Saturday of rest and a
Sunday of backbreaking work. My dad gave me a break on Saturdays because
he doesn't want to be caught with child abuse. But on Sundays it was all
work. My brothers would practice and I would clean.

I envied my friends. They would have perfect lives and I would have to
fake mine. During Christmas they would talk about all the cool presents
they got. A DVD player, a computer, a bike. I would pretend that I got
those things but in reality I would have the privilege of a meal instead of
scraps, and maybe a pair of socks. Painful tears began to roll down my
face.

Why not call the cops or run away. Well, my dad is the only family I
have and to where. My choices are a foster home or stay with my family.
My brothers would kill me, and as soon as my dad got free he would too, if
my brothers didn't finish me off first. I am alone in this struggle. I
slowly fell asleep.

Each night I had the same dream. A strong guy my age would carry me
from my sorrow and pain into love. He would hold me, like it was meant to
be. The only contact between us would be gentle touches and gentle words.
There wasn't even sex involved in this dream. Just love and caring. We
would sleep and he would protect me as we drifted off.

I woke up with a start. I actually smiled, there; in my sleep I was
truly happy. The world awakened was a different story. I looked at my
clock, 12:00 noon. I pulled myself from my bed and walked up to my mirror.
I flinched at the reflection before me. A bandage around my torso, a fat
lip, bruises across the board. The swelling in my eye went down
considerably. I could open it and that is a good sign. I sunk into the
chair sitting in the corner and looked out the window.

I reflected on my dream. I recall what the guy looked like. He was my
age with golden hair and emerald eyes. He was a god. Built, defined, but
had a gentleness to him. My age with a deep tan, and a smile that could
cure wounds. My dream guy. I could see kids playing in the park. How
much I wished that I could go out there and enjoy these last days of fall.
But questions would be asked. I broke another ice pack and reapplied it to
my face. I slumped in the chair and let time slip by. I had nothing to do
really. Eventually I picked up my book I was reading. I had to hide that
too. Fantasy novels always took me away. I could really be there and do
the things that the characters did. Fight dragons and go on adventures. I
wish so much.

The day slipped by and I soon the sun sank below the horizon. I went to
bed early, I knew what was coming the next day. I was going to get plenty
of sleep. Like on schedule, I was woken at 6:00 in the morning and told to
clean the house and take care of the yard. My father went back to sleep. I
started my weekly cleaning. Early on, I cleaned the den; they would be
using that to watch football. This day too seemed to go fast and I went to
bed exhausted, but not before finishing my homework. Ahh, what a life of
mine.



I woke up early enough to see the sun make its first appearance in the
horizon. Without sound I got up and showered and prepared for school.
Grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl, I ran out the door before any of
the others would be up. I walked down the rapidly brightening street. The
bruises were almost healed and the swollen eye has become nothing more than
a mild black eye. I still had a pain in my ribs, but having experienced
this before shrugged it off.

As I came upon the school I headed for my little corner. Between the
building and the staircase there was a small patch of cement that I sit and
read on. It is a nice peaceful time. Again, time seemed to slip right by
and I could eventually hear teens laughing, cars parking, and the infamous
gossip.

"Hey Jules. How's it going?" I smiled as I heard my best friend Danny
give me his patented welcome.

"Good, I guess."

"Aww, what happened to your eye?"

"I fell, nothing more."

"What about the play."

"It should be gone by then and if not, you would be amazed at what
make-up can do." My friend Danny was the greatest person in the world. I
never let him too close, and I always kept my life closed to him, which
hurt, but was for the best. I was content to keep my mask on and pretend
to be a normal person.

"That's cool. What'd you do this weekend."

"The usual, clean, hang out."

"With who?"

"Huh?"

"Who'd you hang out with."

He never asked me that question before. "Umm, just a couple friends," I
stuttered.

"Do I know them."

"Why do I have to tell you, just leave me alone." I got up and stalked
off. I don't know why people wanted to be my friend. If I have to lie to
them all the time, just to cover my back.

"Fine," he yelled back at me. Danny and I stayed at bay all day, giving
each other a wide berth. Lunch came and went. As did the rest of the
classes. In 8th period, math class, I caught Danny staring at me. I
looked right at him. I could only see concern in his face. I couldn't
help it. I mouthed the words, 'I'm sorry' to him. He only smiled in
response. He met up with me after class.

"What happened this morning?"

"It has been a long weekend."

He pulled me off into a corner. "Now, I know that you didn't go out
this weekend. So, why would you lie to me?"

I couldn't hold it together. Danny was my best friend and I lied to
him. Over and over. "Danny, I am so sorry, please be a friend and
understand this. If I told you, you would be obligated to do something
about it. It would destroy everything that I know...my life."

"Ohh." I guess that was all he could say on the subject. The mood was
too down for, 'so how'd you like the football game,' as if that would have
helped. We just walked in silence to the theater. Play practice was
great. It got my mind off my problems. We were performing "Little Shop of
Horrors." I played Seymour Krelborn. The lead role. Danny played Mr.
Mushnik. We performed great together on most days. Today was not one of
those days.

"What is with you two today. Where is the," and with a physical motion,
"Pazzaz."

"Sorry Mr. Jenks. It has been a rough day," I said.

"What if you have a rough day on show night."

"I'll get over it. But tonight is not show night." He looked defeated.

"Alright, take five, then we will do the prologue. At least then we can
get some work done. Jess, Naine, Angela, here, now." Mr. Jenks was one of
those theater people with a commando aspect, but he was cool.

"Nice going, dillweed," Danny confronted me.

"Yea, well you weren't that hot either."

"Still you could have put a little 'pazzaz' in it." I tried to stay
angry with him, but when he said pazzaz, I fell apart. I just cracked up.
It was a good laugh, one we shared together. "I'm sorry I put you on the
spot."

"Its ok, I have been acting weird, but thanks for understanding, even
though I can't tell you."

"I know."



I walked home in silence. I knew what awaited me at home. You would
think that I would be used to it by now. Well, I'm not and as soon as my
house approached, I felt the butterflies in my stomach. I was at the brink
of crying, but I held firm. It would only show a sign of weakness. And
that, would get it worse.

"Where were you," I heard my dad say.

"At play practice, just like everyday."

"Don't you take that tone with me."

Pain to me is no longer a feeling, it is just a word. And so was the
thought as I got pummeled in the arms, legs, and chest. He stayed away
from any part visible. That word flooded my system, but it didn't feel
like much more than an ant. And this is going to sound really stupid, but
I started to laugh. I really started to belt it out too. This however was
followed with more punches. "What the fuck is so funny? You think you can
stand anything? How about a knife? Can you stand that?" He drew his
pocket knife and approached my skin with a downward thrust. He stopped
millimeters from it. "No, I don't think so." He got up off the floor and
gave me one more hard kick in the ribs then left me there. To die.



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