Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Seven Days, Seven Months, Seven Years ❯ The Unleashing of Thy Wrath ( Chapter 1 )

 

Note: This is something that has been on my mind for most of my life, since the day it happened. It is an experience I'm sure lots of kids can identify with. It's also a dedication to a friend of mine, whom I couldn't or to be honest, was too afraid to help. Saying `sorry' will never be good enough but I hope that talking about it will be the first step in my healing and self-forgiveness. I love you kiddo and I hope you rest in peace…

 

 

Seven Days, Seven Months, Seven Years…

 

It was after eleven and he'd finally finished his homework. He got up from the wooden computer desk after saving his work and stretched his aching back before turning out the light. He headed to the bathroom and quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. He stripped himself of all his clothes, save his boxers and sighed exhaustedly as he turned off the bathroom lights and headed to the bedroom he shared with his little sister then groggily slipped into bed.

He had hardly been asleep for more than ten minutes when he felt a strong, rough, callused hand grab him by his hair and throw him brutally to the ground in anger. His eyes opened tiredly to see the face of his attacker. He stared mutely into the eyes of his father and saw a strange, frightening but all too familiar look in those evil, dark eyes. Fear rose in him because he knew what was about to happen again. He could smell the liquor and pungent odor of marijuana on his father's breath. They were always there everytime `it' was about to happen.

`No' he whimpered and tried his best to make himself miniscule in the corner of the room. But he knew that it was no use long before he felt the rough hand slap him so hard that his head cracked the wall. He heard faint whimper to his left and his eyes darted to the sleeping figure of his little sister in the bed next to his.

“Take it off” he heard his father whisper in a hoarse slurred voice.

“Not here,” he murmured as he pulled his eyes away from his sister's innocent form. He couldn't let her see, he couldn't let her hear. She could never know. If it had to happen, he couldn't let it happen here. She must never know. He slipped away from his father's reach as he ran out of the room and into the darkness and loneliness of the kitchen. It was no use running. It never was. He father came in after him and pushed him against the kitchen table and yanked off his boxers. Tears were already forming in the corner of his eyes as he recalled the passed nights of terror he'd lived through and like always, he wondered if he'd live through this one or the one after this or the one after that…He felt the bruising grip of his father's hands on his small waist as he was roughly turned around and forced to bend over across the table. He heard the unzipping of his father's pants and felt the rough fabric rub against his bare thighs as it fell to the floor in a heap. He felt the scorching heat of his father's hands on his inner thighs as his legs were forcefully spread open. He gripped the edge of the table for dear life and support as he awaited for what he felt was coming. He knew exactly what would happen but it didn't matter because the pain he would feel was unparalleled every time. And so it began. He felt the head of his father's penis at his unprepared anal entry. And before he could take a breath to properly brace himself, the huge length slammed through him unmercifully hard and swiftly and ripped him open. He felt the burning sensation of his torn passage. A pained cry escaped his lips and was quickly punished with a brutal smack across his face. The sting of the slap was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his lower body and he knew that it would only get worse when it started to move. He bit his lip as it pulled out painfully and his eyes closed tightly. He braced himself for the excruciating pain he knew would come when it was rammed back inside of him. As the engorged erection made its swift descent back into him again, hitting his utmost core, he barely managed to stifle a gut-wrenching scream and tried to control his soul-draining sobs. He dared not make more than a whimper because he knew that as bad as it was now it could always get worse. He let his flowing tears drench the tablecloth that his cheek was pressed against. His hands clawed and grabbed at the soaked cloth desperately in pain, fear and frustration as the animalistic rhythm of the beast, that towered above him and whom had forced him into this degrading position, picked up tempo. He lost count of the thrusts per minutes after it hit thirty five and tried to close his eyes and pray. As the words were just beginning to form in the only part of his brain that wasn't being assaulted, his prays seemed to be answered. The thrusts slowed down and almost stopped and he began to breath a sigh of relief. But when he suddenly felt himself being pushed fully onto the tabletop and flipped over onto his back and his legs being positioned in the spread eagle, he knew that it was not over. His hips were lifted at an angle and his legs pushed into a position he couldn't do himself naturally much less comfortably. He felt that his hip joint would surely dislocate or the leg itself would fracture if he wasn't repositioned but his father was now holding him down by his inner thighs and crashing into him viciously. There was nothing left to do but bear it. He tried to claw and push his father away as the pain soared into oblivion but he was once again smacked and his father used one arm to hold his flailing arms above his thrashing bloodied head.

“Stop fighting and it'll all be over,” his father said breathlessly. He knew that it was a lie but nonetheless he stopped his resistance and `willingly' allowed the pounding to continue. The constant rubbing of his back across the stone textured counter top was leaving his skin raw and tender. He felt his blood slowly seeping onto his thighs and on the table. In a way it was painful because of the burning but it was also a good thing because it caused there to be less friction in his passage…but it still hurt like hell in any which way you looked at it. His mind drifted and his eyes became unfocused as he tried to escape the torture his body was undergoing. Every time `it' happened he saw the same thing. When the pain became so unbearable, he saw white. Just a pure unwavering sea of whiteness. A thick mist that had no end. He always saw himself standing there on the shore, hiding in the darkness that was his world but he didn't dare venture out into the light. What was on the other side? That scared him far more than the damage his mortal body unwent or the darkness that he dwelled in. But what if…Then, like always, before he could gather enough courage to move forth into the eerie light he was pulled back to reality as the assault on his body ceased and the burning warmth of a milky fluid filled his insides. He felt his father's penis leave his quivering, bleeding body. He felt the hardened hands, he once loved, leave his thighs and felt them brush away a stray lock of hair and dry the streaming tears on his face. He turned his head to avoid the touch and glared at him with all the deep satanic hatred he could muster from within. His father blatantly ignoring the action and glare and continued to touch the boy's face in all the gentleness and kindness he had lacked during the intercourse.

“See, it's over now,” he said raspily as he moved away from his son and picked up his discarded clothes nonchalantly and left the room not looking back at his wounded child. The boy laid there like an impaled and dissected frog, not sure if it would hurt more to stay as is or move. He slowly and painful moved to lay on his side with a weak cry of pain as the burning extended up his spine. As he tried to push himself off the table, his hand settled in the pool of crimson that had flowed from him. How he made it to the bathroom, he didn't know but in the process he knew he'd left a trail of his essence. He barely realised that he'd turned the taps on when felt the hot stings of the shower's spray as he sat in the far corner with his knees to his chest painfully. He felt the water wash over him but he, himself, was too weak to do much else…He only continued to weep and watch the tainted water swirl prettily on the tiled floor and then disappear down the drain…

To Be Continued…