A/N, ok so this is like one of my newer stories and I am quite proud of it. And the best part, I may actually finish this one does a dance.

WARNING!!! This story is Slash (as in boyonboy gay action)…well not very slash but a little, its not all hard core as much as I wanted it to be pouts

One more thing this story is in the past, I have no idea how past we're talking but some time before like…1960 at least. I'm too lazy to look up when this story would take place. Anyways, please review me, please, please, please. Puppy dog eyes

Charcoal flavored town

I'm just lying on the sand on my back looking as the wind blows ripples on the lake. My father will be mad when I get home, for dirtying my good school clothes but then again, he was always mad at me.

I just can't help but lying here, stuck to the earth, drowning in the glue.


I don't even bother turning around as I hear my name being called, I just continue to lie there, I already know who it is. I hear him work his way through the brush over to me.

"What are you doing here?"

I don't answer him; I feel the soft sand move as he comes closer to me, he lies down next to me on the sand, curling into me, resting his head on my shoulder, staring at me.

"Why aren't you at the wedding?" Adam asks. Our 12th grade teachers' wedding was today, the reason for the nice clothes.

"Why aren't you?" I ask right back.

Adam sighs and melts into me more, I haven't even looked at him yet, I don't need to, I know every aspect about him, his feel, his taste, his touch, this is him, this is Adam. He lays with me for a bit, drowns with me, then he gets up and leaves without another word to me.

I don't even go to the wedding that day, that earns me a lashing from my mother, but I didn't really care, better her than my father, better death than my father.

The next day I'm out of the house before both my brother and mother are awake, today is the day, the "Fathers coming home from a long business trip", day. I hate that day.

I walk back to my spot on the beach only to see Adam already lying there. I walk and take my spot next to him, I don't even gasp as he rolls on top of me.

"Been waiting for you." He breathes into my shoulder, he's hot and sticky up against my skin, still I don't move.

"Today's the day?" Adam whispers.

My fathers coming home he means. I nod my head, drinking from the simplicity of the moment.

After a bit of time I feel him crawl on top of me and begin to rock his hips back and forth, pushing and brushing against me. I push him off me and hear him role onto the sand.


He craws onto me this time, making motions circular above my pelvis.

"Stop." I don't even bother to try and push him off me this time, I don't look at him as his motions get faster, as soft keening sounds come from his chest, as he pushes his hand down his pants and comes right on me, I just lie there, stuck.

I feel Adam get off me; he grabs my face with his hand and forces me to lose myself in his sharp blue eyes.

"Fuck you." He hisses, he leans down and captures my lips with his, I don't pull away. He lets go of my head and drops it to the ground, I feel pain, and then…he's gone.

I stand a while later, lifting myself from the hot sand.

I walk inside to see my mother in a frenzy, this is what "Father's coming home today", does to her, he doesn't love her, he doesn't love anyone. She takes one look at my dirty cloths and cringes.

"Change out of those, your father-"

I don't hear the rest as I drag myself up the stairs, my shirt half on as I walk into my room. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, mom was right, I do look awful, my raggedy long back hair stuck to my forehead with sweat, in my eyes and just about every which way.

I hold my breath and dunk my head into the cool water of the sink, submerging myself to my ears. I start to count; I know if I don't I'll stay under until I drowned. I found this out the hard way, my mother cried all night for days.

27 28 29 30, air.

I don't dry my face, letting the water drip down my back, grabbing a new shirt and pulling it on, not even bother with clean pants, my fathers not worth it. I hear the front door open and shut, I take a deep breath. "Don't fuck up." I tell myself

I walk down stairs, my fathers at the table, his eyes find me and he gives me that look that reminds me why I fucking hate him, the look that screams 'as useless as ever aren't you boy?' The look that makes me want to scream back, not words, just scream. But all he has to say is, "Tommy."

Fist clench, "Father."

"Papa!" My baby brother screams, leaping into his lap.

I lied, my father does love anyone, he does, he loves Damien, but that's only because my brother is stupid. He doesn't yet realize what a horrible man he is yet, not like me, I know; not like mother, she knows; not like the world, it knows; but not him, the stupid little fucker.

"Sit in your own chair Damien, Tommy sit." My mother sounds so broken, so old. This is what my father does to her; this is why I hate him.

I take my seat next to the man we call father, my mother serves the food onto our plates, it smells good but it's not worth it, not for this.

"Let us gather our hands in prayer."

I bite my lip, 'No!' I scream inside myself.

My fathers' hand reaches out and grabs mine; I feel a tremor of anger run up my spine. I hate them, the way they feel, his hands. Sure, they hit and beat me, not more than any other boy, but that's not why I hate them. They're hard; his hands are, calloused over with years of hard work and hardship, from providing food and shelter for this wreck of a family. Wherein my hands are small and relatively soft, sure they're hard from working in the fields, but not like his.

I'm a child when I'm with my father, a snot nosed good for nothing little brat. I'm Damien's' ignorance when I touch my father, I'm my mothers fear of rejection when I touch him, I am war upon useless war when I touch him. The world is screaming it, "You hate him, but without him you'd be dead, you owe him."

I want to rip my hands away and bury them in hot charcoal. I want them to be hard and maimed and scarred like his, but their not. I hate it; I hate being so damn small.

"Amen." (AN I have no idea what they really say, it's a something)

I rip my nails back to myself; I don't even hear the prayer and I don't care much for that matter. There is no God, and even if there were I'd thank him for nothing. I dig my hands into the palm of my hand, trying to draw blood, any real sign that I'm still alive. My nails are too short, all I get is pain.

I watch them stuff their faces with food. Pigs, that's all they are. I can't bring myself to eat it, this food filled with my mothers desperation to be loved, my fathers hard labor. I can't eat this, this is not food, you can't call such desperate actions food.

"Tommy, eat."

I hate myself; I don't even give the action a second thought as I shove the mass masquerading to be food into my mouth. It tastes like mashed potatoes, but I know it's not.

"How-how was your trip honey?" My mother stutters. This is what "Fathers coming home day" does to her.

He swallows his fake food before gracing her with an answer. "It was a trip. Tommy, how are you?"

He's looking at me. Why? Why are you looking at me, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to tell you how my fucking life is, I don't even want to know you exist. Fuck you.

"Fine." I hiss. He nods as if he cares.

"What have you been up to?"

'Fuck you.' I'm dying to shout at him. Why are you pretending to care, to be interested in me, you don't care, you never care, so why? Why are you always pretending you do?

"Went to school, did chores, sat at the lake with Adam." I smirk around my fork, the dreaded word. I see his eye twitch at them mention of his name, I can't help but feel proud of myself.

"You still hang around that brat?" He growls.

"Yes." I hiss right back to him.

"I told you I didn't want you to see him anymore."

"You're never here, you never see." My smile twists; I can feel the anger in him building. He knows he can't stop me. His belt turned raw against my back couldn't stop me, going to bed hungry couldn't stop me, and extra hours of chores couldn't stop me.

My father hates Adam; he hates him because Adam is free, he is not glued to the earth like everyone else, like me. Adam used to be different, a scared little blond boy, never much of a person. Then one day his mother was found dead, murdered they said, and everything changed.

He wasn't scared anymore; he held no fear of people and what they thought of him. He got unstuck from the glue of the earth, he was freed. His tears of pain washed away the glue from his body. He is free, he gets to walk upon this earth, no longer crawl, and I cling to him desperately, but Adam doesn't lift me, he doesn't care that much.

For a while he was weak, he cried and cried and wished for death, for his dear mother to come back. My shirts were soaked in his tears. Buckets upon buckets of salt spilled on me. I would call him weak in my head, I'd say 'get over it', and then one day he did, he got over it, no more tears, no more self pity, he stopped crying and got hard, and grew up. He stood, pulling himself free from the ground and was free, leaving me behind.

How I yearn to be that, to be free, to be hard, but I'm not, as long as my father's still around I never will be. People will never look at me the way they look at Adam, and for those reasons does my father hate him. Adam makes my father angry, therefore I love him.

"Now John, there's no reason to argue about this, lets-lets just have a nice dinner," my mother referees.

My father doesn't even look at her, he's still looking at me, challenging me, but this battle he will not win, he will never win.

"May I be excused?" I can't stand looking at him anymore, him looking at me, into me, eating me whole, like this fake crap they call food.

"Finish your dinner."

No, no I will not eat this sad excuse for food; I will not let you control me, I will not let you swallow me whole, you cannot eat my soul you monster.

"I'm not hungry." No, I am hungry, hungry for your blood, for your pain, your absolution. You may not have my soul; I won't let you suck me dry.

I stand, I don't care what he has to say, I don't care what he feels, the new moon is screaming it, his hatred for my disobedience, for my existence, you can taste it in the air.

I doth chapter one complete blows trumpet. Tell the lost one what you think, she'll give you a cookie if your nice.