red as mine, only for another reason. He's just angry, and
that's how he always looks when he's that way—which is
far too often, in my books.
"It's just like I thought from the first time I met your
faggot ass!" he screamed. "Well, I'm gonna show you what
you deserve, and what you have to look forward to, you
little queer!"
And then he hit me.
He didn't spare the rod, just like his Sunday
morning comic book preaches.
He yanked my pants down and started wailing on
my ass with his dress belt. That's the white, skinny leather
belt that makes him look like a disco dancer. It's the church
belt.
Whap! Whap! Fucking WHAP! And Whap! again.
Do you know that I actually stopped feeling it after about
the fifth WHAP? I guess I must have tired his poor
Christian arm right out, because when he was done
Whapping, he just tossed me against the wall.
And that was the worst thing of the whole day so
far, because I whiplashed the back of my head against the
wall and it hurt like a son of a bitch. It took almost a week
for that pain to go away. Then he just left, but not before
saying his big exit line: "Now I bet you don't feel so gay,
do ya, little girl?!"
I shouted at him, and it was worth it.
"Fuck you, you piece of shit! FUCK YOU!" And
then I just dissolved into tears while he exacted his last bit
of revenge for my honest commentary on his shitiness.
As he stormed out of my room, he knocked over
my aquarium on purpose. I tried to save them but the fish
didn't make it. And the pump that makes their water good
was broken. I put them in a plastic Burger King cup so I
could show Grampy and Grammy what he did. "Fuck you,
piece of shit asshole!" I screamed down the hall. "Fuck
you!"
GRAMPY WAS THERE in about half an hour. I'd snuck
into Adolf and Eva's love lair and called him up and told
on them. I don't even remember what I said, because when
I tried to talk the words tasted funny and sounded
rubbery.
My mother came into my room about ten minutes
later and—can you believe this—was all cool and acted
like nothing had happened. "How ya doing?" she had the
fucking nerve to ask me.
"About as good as my dead tropical fish. Get out!"
"Don't talk to me like that, young man!" she barked.
"You're going to apologize to Bill for the shit
you just said to him, do I make myself clear?!"
"How about fuck off!" I yelled. "The both of you!"
"Okay. I see where this is going!" she blurted out,
her lower lip trembling as she wound herself back up
again. "Your life is over! You go to school! You go to
church! And that is it!"
"We'll see about that, you fucking bitch! I'm not
telling you again! Get the fuck out!" and I threw my
SpongeBob alarm clock at her. God damn it, I missed! It hit
the door jam and poor SpongeBob SquarePants broke into
bits.
"I'm not through with you!" she warned. And then
left in a huff, quickly pulling my door shut behind her. I
lay there trying to calm down and not hurt so much, and
then I heard the most wonderful sound in the world!
"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!" Grampy demanded. "Where
jumping up the stairs. He burst into my room and saw the
destruction. And then he saw me.
Welts from the slapping were already showing on
my face, and my butt really, really hurt bad. I told Grampy
what they'd done, and he asked where the twins were. I
told him I didn't know, and I started crying again.
I was saying ow! ow! ow! ow! and he asked what
the matter was, and I told him I couldn't lay down or sit
down. And I told him my fish were all dead.
He rolled me over and pulled my shorts down and
saw more red and even some bruises that were starting,
and he told me to lay on my side and that he'd be right
back. Then he kissed me on my shoulder and I saw he had
tears in his eyes.
"Hey!" he shouted, bounding down the stairs, three
at a time. "Where the fuck did you cowards go?!"
My mother came around the corner with both of
her hands in the air. I call it her Settle Down move.
"Daddy! Calm down, Daddy! This doesn't concern
you! I don't know what he's told you, but the
kid's in a lotta trouble!"
"Bill!" Grampy shouted. "Come on out here and
let's be men, whaddya say, fucker?!" Wow! Grampy cusses
with the big words, too! Damn!
I scampered down the stairs just as quick as I
could. There was no way I was gonna miss this!
Bill came into the kitchen from the garage. His hair
was all messy, and he thought he'd act all tough with
Grampy. Big mistake, Idiot Bill! You. Are. So. Fucked!
"What the fuck do you want, old man! Get the hell
outta my house, asshole!"
Grampy didn't say a word. He grabbed a cast iron
skillet off the stove and went after Bill with it, and Bill, the
piece-of-scared-shitlicker that he is, ran like a girl.
"You're a dead man, fucker! Come here!" Grampy
shouted, as they ran round and round from the kitchen to
the dining room, to the living room, to the kitchen, and
back again. I counted four times before Bill just ran out of
the house and closed himself back up in the garage.
Grampy threw the skillet against the door and it
put about a two-foot gash in it.
Grampy turned to me, and told me to go find
Benny and Maisey, and to get in his car. Mom started up
her shit, but Grampy shut her down quick enough. "Ruth!
If you say one fucking word... Just one fucking word... I'll
have the child services over here so fast that you'll get
whiplash. I'd advise you to sit the fuck down and shut the
fuck up, little girl!" And she did!
I found the twins huddling in their room, and I
took each one by the hand and told them we were going to
Grampy and Grammy's house. Then, as we passed by our
Mother of the Year, she started up her crap again.
"Make sure you take the car seats with you, and—"
"Shut up! Just... Shut up!" I hissed.
Oh, how good that felt. The cool part was, to get
the car seats I had to open the garage door, where Fuck
Face was hiding out. He kind of jumped a little when the
door started to open. But, wise move on his part, he didn't
say a word to me as I unstrapped the car seats and carried
them to Grampy's wagon. My crowning achievement of
the day was when I looked back at him and said, "Later,
Big Man!" I hoped he felt as small as his dick.
_________________________________
_________________________________
"BUT YOU CAN'T GO!" Maisey cried.
"Yeah," Benny added, "what if you sink out there
on your big boat?"
"I'm not gonna sink, you guys. I'll be fine," I told
them. "And Grampy and Grammy say they're gonna check
on you every day, and I'll write to you guys and call you
all the time."
My baby sis and bro were all broken up because I
was leaving home to—get this—run away to sea. I was
going to work on those big freighters that sail all over the
world. I was going away from here. That was the main
goal.
I figured that even if this was just going to be a gap
year before college, at least I'd have something to show for
it. I will have gotten the chance to see the world and be
paid for it. Besides, I really needed to get away. And not
just because of the Bible thumping dumbfuck duo that I
was living with.
My heart was broken. Stomped on. Flattened.
My first real boyfriend, Callum, had betrayed me
and I was far from recovering from that little newsflash. I
had been with him since the ninth grade, and for the most
part had been successful at keeping it on the down-low. I
didn't avoid who I was, or ever denied who I loved, but I
also didn't rub it in my parents' faces either. It was a
detente of sorts, and as long as they remained in their
fantasy land of Christ hanging out with twelve guys and
hanging on a cross, I kept my business to myself.
Callum moved to the States from Canada the
summer before ninth grade, and I was attracted to his
shyness. He wasn't showy or boisterous, and he was as
smart as could be. We liked the same things, and I didn't
have to wait very long to see his pink parts because we
were on the swim team together.
It was on an away swim meet in Spokane that we
first sparked and went through the typical steps it takes for
a couple of horny boys to finally end up rolling in the hay.
Fake joke #1—completely deniable. Look for his
answer. Does he give just a little?
Fake question #2—does he bite an even bigger
chunk? Then, does he dare me? Or ask me an even more
embarrassing "personal" question?
Finally we graduate to tickling and wrestling. We
call each other out on our residual boners. "Hey, fag!"
"What, fag?" "You're such a fag!" "I dare you to suck me,
fag!" "You're too faggy to let me suck you, fag!" "Oh yeah,
fag? Well suck this!" And away we go.
The next night, all of the subterfuge is set aside,
and we sleep in the same bed, exploring all of the
forbidden areas in extremely forbidden ways.
The
next morning we make sure to mess up the unslept-in bed
before sharing a shower and some quick bonus sex before
meeting the coach and the rest of the team down in the
breakfast room.
Of course, months turned into years and our
relationship grew. It was a real relationship. I loved him,
and he loved me. It was always Johnnie and Callum,
Callum and Johnnie. Naturally, I knew my folks suspected
the truth; I didn't care. And Callum's family knew the truth,
and they didn't care.
We were good together. We were a team, and I
thought we would be for always. But then upped jump the
devil, as Grammy would say. I got a phone call from him
one night just after graduation.
"Hey, buster blond, can I ask a wee favor?" he
purred into the phone.
"Yeah, anything. You know that," I replied.
"Well, I'm going up to Canada to visit my
grandparents, but I have a problem that I'm afraid to tell
anybody about. And, well..." he said, trailing his
words. Yeah, he was embarrassed. So I pressed him a
little and he finally told me what was bothering him.
"Johnnie, I just feel so stupid. I got four car
payments behind and they're gonna take my car if I don't
pay them by tomorrow at five o'clock," he explained with a
quiver in his voice. "I need to borrow some money, but if
you can do it, well, I'll pay you back. I swear!"
Like he had to worry about something like that. Of
course I'd loan him the money.
"You wanna meet at my bank in the morning?" I
asked him. I could hear the sigh of relief when I told him
I'd gladly lend him the dough.
We met outside the bank. I'd already drawn the
money out. He'd asked for twenty-two hundred. I'd pulled
out twenty-five hundred just in case he needed it for late
fees or some such. He was my man. He was my
everything. Who cared about money?
Imagine my surprise when I learned three days
later that he'd left me for a guy called Pedro who was on
the wrestling team. They'd gone to California, and we
were no more. I also learned that he didn't even owe
anything on his car. His mom and dad had paid for it in
full when they bought it for him. Good-bye, Callum. And
good-bye twenty-five hundred bucks. So you can imagine
I was ripe for going to sea. It was time for a change of
scenery, and I was ready to ship out. It would be the best
decision I had ever made in my life until then. Thank you,
Callum. You can keep the money. We're square. Your
cowardly act just brought me that much closer to the life I
live now, and the man who's by my side.
T h e A u t h o r
CADE JAY HATHAWAY is the acclaimed author of the
Happy Endings Sleepover series of youth gay fiction. Born in
Tacoma, Washington, and raised in the town of Auburn,
the 24-year-old writer now makes his permanent home in
Denmark, where he works as a field transport supervisor
for the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency.
He enjoys sailing, is a supporter of theater and the opera,
and resides with his life partner, Lasse, and three devious
cats named Klaus, Slinky, and You.
This is Cade's second novel. He may be reached by email
at:
cadejayhathaway@tutanota.com
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Chapter
Chapters of Book 3