Tied Together Read Free

who sucked government money through welfare, food stamps, and other financial assistance. I didn’t want to be the person who ended up a statistic. I wanted to be the person who made a difference, and I’d worked my ass off in school so I’d get that chance.
    Working hard had come at a price, though. I had no real friends and was constantly teased by others. I thought if I could just work on my grades, I could get the fuck out of there and start my life over. So I ignored the people around me and kept to myself.
    “Just look at these fucking homos, waving their faggot hands around when they’re talking. They might as well just strip down and fuck each other right there.” Dad laughed as he sat down in an old, beat-up recliner.
    I rolled my eyes and looked up from the pages I was studying. “Because that’s not cliché,” I grumbled. I wasn’t as quiet as I’d thought because he whipped his head in my direction.
    Dad put his beer down on a television tray table with slow precision and rose from his chair. He stalked over to where I was sitting, never taking his coal black eyes off me. “What did you say to me, boy?” His voice was low and menacing.
    My whole body tensed, and I wished I kept my dumb mouth shut. I didn’t know what I was thinking. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I… I didn’t say anything, sir.”
    I put the book I was reading on the table and the wooden pegs of my chair squeaked as I pushed away from the table. I stood, wanting to make my escape, but my feet remained glued to the floor out of fear. I knew what was coming; I thought I would have learned my lesson from the countless times it had happened in the past. But there was a small part of me that felt that maybe I deserved this.
    “Shirt off and against the wall.” His eyes were glazed over from the liquor that boiled in his blood, but I still could see the flames, too. The man was all anger and hatred. He was a man who felt everything was owed to him, and anyone who didn’t give it to him was a worthless piece of trash.
    I looked straight into those rage-filled eyes. I searched them to see if there was any hope for mercy. But I saw nothing but black and hate. Reluctantly, I pulled the hem of my shirt over my head, rustling my messy, brown, chin-length hair. I chose the closest wall and faced it, placing my sweaty hands flat and above my head. My dad’s cold presence loomed behind me. I heard the whooshing sound of his belt being ripped from his pants and folded into a whip. Leaning my forehead on the wall, I closed my eyes and braced myself. I would never be able to prepare myself for what was coming. I tried to calm myself by chanting the words “it’s almost over” in my head.
    His boots hit the laminate floor; each step meant the devil had inched closer. “Count,” he hissed in my ear.
    I gritted my teeth as I felt the all-encompassing pain of his belt against my back. With the first stroke, I could feel my skin welt from his assault.
    “Count, you fag lover!” he screamed. I wanted to scream back, tell him to go to hell. But my jaw was locked shut to keep my cries from coming forward.
    “Keep it down! I’m trying to watch my show, damn it!” my mom hollered from the couch. I heard the flicker of her lighter as she lit up another cigarette. There was no intention of rescue from the woman who bore me. No solace from the person who was supposed to protect me the most. Wasn’t that what mothers did—protect their children?
    “Do I need to remind you once more to count? Or do I strip you down and work on your legs, too?” Another blow came down on my back.
    Tears stung the corners of my eyes. “Two,” I said, shaking.
    “No, I believe that was number one, fag lover, since your mother interrupted us. Now we have to start all over.”
    Half an hour later, I was lying on my stomach on my bed. My bedroom was so compact it barely had space for a twin-sized mattress. I had a washcloth draped over my back in hopes it would ease the