Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Part Two of the Vignettes Series
Please read my story Photos aka Fingerprints first,
this will make a lot more sense of if you do!
Disclaimer: I don�t own and I don�t make money off of
them. This is more for me than anyone else, because
its my story.
I have to give a special thank you to Elina who beta'd
this and made massive corrections. Without her this
would have been completely incomprehensible.
Warnings: contains loser families, mentions abuse.
Family
�Rock a bye, baby�, you hear a mother to her baby
crooning as your flight descends. The baby has been
howling the whole flight, and you�ve got one hell of a
migraine. The fact you�re visiting your parents
doesn�t help any either. Somehow that song, along with
�You are Sunshine� always make you cry. At least that
stupid �Sunshine� song makes sense. When you were
little you thought it meant someone would take you
away. It didn�t happen, at least not physically. So
why �Rock a Bye�?
Echoing Footsteps
The taxi drives through the streets that you walked on
as a teen, not that long ago. Though local guides
would be quick to pick out some more pleasant
historical sites, all you notice are the more
recently-built places that speak of pain. There�s the
church you were tossed out of after seeking hope.
There�s the high school where you suffered daily for
four years, and from where you were once beaten so
badly you still bear the scars. Here�s hell and you
know it way too well.
The Chat
You walk to the door of your old home. Though, if home
is where the heart is you better run on back to Vegas.
Just can�t walk through that door, because if you do
you�ll be who you were. And that is someone no one
should ever have to be. You grasp the cold knob, close
your eyes, draw a deep breath, and enter.
They are sitting there, waiting, smiling and
expectant. Welcome homes from all around and hugs, of
course. Suddenly you�re not so sure of yourself. These
people... How could they have let it all happen to
you? They�re so nice, so perfect. And if they are
perfect, you must be wrong, and that means... Your
thoughts begin to make you dizzy, so you decide to
stop thinking for a little while. It�s easier that
way.
After dinner you settle down to a game of cards just
like you used to. Maybe you should wait until next
time to bring it up; maybe next time you�ll be
stronger, maybe not. You brace yourself and let it
out, �I need to know something��
�Not that damn gay thing again," your father yell,"
You�ve made us ashamed. Come home if you want, but
don�t bother us with that crap. And if you come, come
alone" Actually yells is kind of mild, you�re pretty
sure that the people in New Zealand now know your
family situation.
You�re mother chimes in, �We can�t handle it. Don�t
you know what this has done to us? Don�t you know how
selfish you�re being?�
To say you're shocked would be a major mistake; that�s
way too light for the stroke you�re having at this
point. Pain radiates from your chest, a dense
throbbing pain. You can�t breathe and aren�t sure you
want to anymore.
�That�s not what I wanted to talk to you about,� you
manage to sputter after a few speechless seconds.
�Oh then what is it?� your dad says, having instantly
transformed from evil vampire to some guy out of a
sitcom. He looks at you with curious eyes, obviously
happily surprised.
�I want to know why things happened at school the way
they did. I really need to know. Why didn�t any of the
teachers stop people from beating me?�
He remains silent for a moment and just stares at you.
It seems like an eternity, though you know it's just
been seconds, before your father answers �Well, kids
will be kids. Besides you were always so different, if
you had just been a normal person ..." His voice
trails off as he thinks for a second of how to put it.
Then, as if there's no simpler truth, "It was really
partially your own fault. �
�I have scars, Dad, and need medication just to make
it through the day! What about the time they assaulted
me?� Wow. That sounded just like the needy teenager
you are so trying to project. Damn.
�Those medications are for sick people, not for people
who chose pain. Most of your scars are under your
hair, no one can see them. As for that assault, well
what did you expect?� Your mother�s voice is harsh and
grating.
�Why didn�t you stop it? You never went to the school.
Why didn�t you try to stop them?� Now you�re starting
to cry, and all can you feel is self-loathing. What
did you expect� Just not to be beaten. Weren�t you
worth protecting?
"You could always deal with things. We never worried
about you," your father says as if it justifies
everything. But then again, he's not even bothered
with reasoning anymore. His voice grows more
impatient, more intense, louder with every syllable he
utters. He spits out the words as he rants, "Besides,
you were always an embarrassment! We had to constantly
explain all those bruises and broken bones. It's not
like we could have helped you! Parent's just didn't
get involved in my day!"
Your mother glares at you. �It doesn�t matter anymore.
If you think that was hard, then how about when your
coworkers or friends learn about you? They�ll destroy
you. You�re too damn sensitive to live that life of
yours! We thought you were at the point where you
could be happy, but now you have bring this up!�
Leaving for Las Vegas
You�ve been walking for hours when you grab your cell
and call the lab. �Hey, I�m switching my ticket, I�ll
be back in tomorrow night... Yeah, I�m okay. You know
family crap... Yeah its all good, see ya later.�
As you hang up you start to laugh, first quietly then
hysterically. It ought to be a cold and rainy night.
With lots of wind. You should be more pathetic looking
and the houses more ominous, or something. Your world
is really being blown up and you would think that
everything should go along with how you feel, but it
doesn�t. Isn�t there someone up there who works in
special effects department?
But no, it�s a great day! It�s a warm summer evening,
with shining stars in the sky. Happy freakin� families
everywhere and God must be smiling down right here in
this little slice of Americana. Family and God. Two
things you�ve had drilled into your head. They are the
absolute, above all other things, and they�ve both
been stolen now. A family that would rather see you
beaten, nearly killed, than admit things were anything
besides perfect. A God that makes people and then
tosses them straight to hell for love. All in a world
that wishes you�d never been born.
Suddenly, you are so tired. You�re not feeling hurt or
sad, or even angry. You don�t feel anything at all.
Just a kind of exhaustion you can feel in your bones.
Stumbling onto Main Street you catch a taxi back to
the airport. Homeward bound. Running from a place
where you�re not wanted to a place where you�re not
known.
Oh crap... Your meds are at your parents place, and no
more for another month on your insurance.
God, what were you thinking?
Does it really matter anyway?
