Date: Sat, 18 Feb 2006 23:30:01 -0800 (PST)
From: Kylie Maddison <kylie2mc@yahoo.com>
Subject: Looking Deeper 3

                           Looking Deeper
                               Chapter 3

                  A Boy and His Murky Past

"Trey! Trey! Get up now!"

I groaned hearing Blake's voice shake me out of my
not-too-peaceful sleep.

"Damn it, Blake! Let me sleep!"

"You skipped school, Trey. Not cool."

"That's it? You woke me up to tell me I skipped
school? Okay, so I skipped, can you go now?" I finally
opened my eyes and immediately regretted it. Blake was
standing over me and he did not look pleased, if his
glare was any indication. But he just sighed and
turned to leave, and I was grateful for his
consideration.

"Fine, but we're talking about this later!"

Damn. I laid back down again and closed my eyes but
after a few minutes of just laying there, I decided
there was no way I was going to get to sleep again. I
sat up slowly, and as I did I noticed something
felt...not right.

I wasn't sure what it was at first but then I realized
that the walls that once were adorned with my favorite
band posters were now bare and my room was clean.
That's odd, I thought; I never clean. What was going
on?

I stood up slowly and began to inspect my room. I went
over to my desk and opened the  drawer that held all
my lyrics, poems, and writing I'd done over the past
year. Empty. I panicked. I became a madman the way I
began to tear through my things.

By the time I was done my desk was overturned, my bed
was stripped bare, my dresser looked properly
vandalized and my clothes were strewn all about the
place. I was in a state of despair and my chest was
heaving heavily. It was then that I glanced over at my
closet; it was slightly open and my heart nearly
stopped entirely.

My closet was where I kept my `stash'. Gay porno mags,
vidoes with men going at it like dogs, and I even had
a dildo. Of course, I'd never had the guts to actually
use it. Mikey had bought it for me right after I came
out to them. It was supposed to be a joke, and I kept
it locked away with all my other contraband, thinking
Blake wouldn't dare to go through my things; he
respected my space too much. For a moment I thought,
more like hoped really, that he had somehow forgotten
about my closet but as I walked over to it with a
sense of foreboding and opened it, I knew he hadn't. I
slumped to the floor, feeling numb.

He'd gone through my things, violated my right to
privacy, and now he knew.

He knew.

The full force of that knowledge hit me like lightning
and I was left momentarily immobilized. Fear began to
course through me as I considered the possibilities of
Blake knowing I was gay. I never thought about telling
him. Hell, just the thought of telling him made my
skin crawl as I had no idea how he'd react. He'd never
spoken out against gays but I also know he wasn't
about to embrace one either.

Would he shun me? Kick me out? Call me a dirty faggot
and beat me? WHAT?! It was really driving me crazy as
I knew had no idea, and I knew I would have to face
him soon. I broke down. I cried.

No, more like sobbed. I couldn't take this. All the
emotions that had been building up over the past few
years; ever since my parents up and left me suddenly
were put into overdrive. Usually, I put on a happy
mask while I was being torn to shreds inside and I
never cried. Crying was for wimps, and I was no wimp.

Yet here I was crying over something like this. Why? I
couldn't really explain. I could watch my mother die
as she held on to me, protecting me from our tormentor
and not shed a tear. I could watch as my father plowed
into her body over and over again, much like Big Joe
does to me, and not shed a tear. I could watch my
mother breathe her last breath while my father ran
away from me and still not shed a tear. Yet, something
like this happens and I'm a crying, sobbing mess. Or
maybe this was like the iceburg to the Titanic; like
something that seems so indestructable, so strong and
yet one tiny inconsequential thing occurs and a ship
sinks, an empire falls, or a broken 17 year old
finally lets out what he's been holding inside for so
long.

I needed someone. No, I WANTED someone. Anybody who
could relieve some of this hurt inside. I was sick of
lying to myself and pretending everything was okay
when it obviously wasn't. I was sick of having people
like Big Joe and my father constantly torment me. Even
if they weren't there, they still had this sick,
perverse power over me and I was tired of it. I needed
to get away, but I couldn't leave my room because
Blake would be there and I couldn't face him yet.
There was only one other way out. My window. I knew I
could climb out my window.  Since I live on the first
floor of my apartment complex, I could escape with no
broken bones. I quickly opened my window, popped off
the screen, and I was free.

At first, I had no idea where I was headed. Where did
I want to go? Who did I want to see? I knew that my
friends would always be there for me, and this was no
exception, but I didn't want them to see me in this
condition. I didn't want to listen to their barrage of
questions, and I certainly didn't want them to worry
about me. That only left one option. Big Joe.

I've heard before that battered men and women
sometimes return to their tormentors, but I wasn't
battered or broken, so it was okay. He'd just help me
get rid of some of this tension. So what if he was
brutal? It was just like he said: I deserved it.

This hurt, this pain, I deserved it all. I had to
admit it, even if something deep in my mind told me I
didn't. Not really. But then I'd think of my mom and
how I just stood there while HE raped and beat the
life out of her. I couldn't even stop him as he tried
to leave. I just stood there begging to God for help.
But God was deaf to my pleas; it was that day I
decided there was no God. And if there were, he was
dead. At least, to me he was.

After that day I've never really let myself cry. I
can't allow myself to. Sure, I've gotten close at
times but I always find other ways to relieve the
pain.

Big Joe is a good guy really; it's me that's wrong.
I'm always making him angry when I should know not to.
He always explains well enough what's wrong with me,
and I know it's true. I'm a dirty, sick faggot. I
DESERVE this.

It was that thought that kept me going to the club
where Joe practically lived. A part of me didn't want
to get hurt again, and I was still a little sore from
last night's rendezvous but something kept me going. I
wasn't even sure what it was. Maybe this was some kind
of escape? A way to forget my past and present? I
don't know, but I do know that whatever I was looking
for; I was in a hurry to get to it. I was speeding and
running every red light I encountered until I finally
got to the club.

Since I often play here and people generally like my
music, it was easy for me to get in. The bouncer
barely gave me a second glance as I walked in; the
tears still running down my face. I quickly made my
way up to the second floor and pounded on the door. I
was desperate to get inside. However, when the door
flew open I came face to face with a very angry Joe.

"What YOU want fag? I'm busy, I can't fuck you
tonight." Big Joe hissed at me, but I refused to back
down.

"Please, Joe? I want-"

 I was interrupted by Joe's laughter but I was too
upset to care.

"I know what you want pussy. Damn, you really are a
fag aren't you?"

"Please Joe?" I ignored his question, and repeated my
own. He laughed harder.

"All right fag. As it just so happens my girl just up
and left me and I'm needin' to get my rocks off so
you're in for a good night tonight, pussy. But just so
you know, I got company. I'm sure they won't mind
though."

The word `company' made me shiver as I realized that
someone would be watching as Joe used and abused me
for his pleasure. It made my tears fall harder, but
thankfully, Joe didn't notice as he pushed me through
the door.

The `fucking room' looked like it always did. The
walls were a deep shade of red, with little to no
decoration on them. There were two fake leather chairs
and one loveseat that matched the chairs. I was never
allowed to sit on them.

Then there was the poker table that was used for
everything but playing poker. That was where Joe used
me. He'd have me bend over it and put my ass on
display for his and his `fellas'.

When I was properly humiliated and on the brink of
despair, he'd fuck me. Hard, fast, and long lasting.
Usually I hated the fucking but tonight I needed it
for some unkown reason. I wondered if I was losing my
mind.

I looked over at the poker table, avoiding the curious
eyes of my onlookers, and shuddered. The surface was
dark red, like it had just been soaked in blood. I was
beginning to tremble, and I looked up at Joe's company
to guage their reactions. To my horror, Clay was the
only company Joe had, and he looked pissed at seeing
me. That was no surprise; I didn't even like myself at
the moment. I found myself about to run again.

"Joe, this was a bad idea. I have to go!" I said,
backing up all the while and I fled when I felt myself
hit the door. I heard Joe's screaming about some
`stupid faggot' but I didn't care. I didn't hear Clay
at all.

I ran as fast as I could to my car, but just as I
opened the door, it slammed shut. I let out a yelp of
surprise and turned to see who was blocking my escape
and was instantly met with a pair of  icy, blue eyes
that seemed to penetrate my soul.