Prologue

Summery: 'What kind of idiot gives a diary to a seventeen year old for his birthday? My Uncle Eddie that's who. Of cause, he called it a journal, but it's a fucking diary.' Follow Jordan through his story of self discovery, new friends, old friends and a step-father whose a little too handy with his belt. Slash. M/M

Warnings: Deals with issues of abuse* and homosexuality.

Quick note: I am against any form of punishment which causes physical pain, I respect that some people may not share my views It is a topic which I feel very strongly about and although it is not the main issue in the story it does come up a few times. Constructive reviews are welcomed. There will not be any graphic description of the use of the belt.

*I count what occurs in this story as abuse, others may not. Read at your own discretion.

What kind of idiot gives a diary to a seventeen year old for his birthday? My Uncle Eddie that's who. Of cause, he called it a journal, but it's a fucking diary; It even has one of them cutesy little locks on it with a piece of string carrying two small keys, quite frankly it's easier to open the locks with a hair pin (a little trick I got from looking through my elder sisters diaries since I was old enough to know how to blackmail her).

If it's not bad enough that I now, thanks to Uncle Eddie, own a diary, I'm actually writing in the bloody thing. I feel like one of them seven year old kids who sit in their rooms all day and doodle stars and hearts and pictures of unicorns before showing them to mummy and daddy, who therefore proceed to stick them on the fridge door and proclaim them to be the best drawings ever. At least that's what mum used to do with Lisa's, I was too busy falling out of tree tops to doodle.

Why am I writing in this bloody thing again? Ah yes, that's right, to avoid the intense boredom that comes with having nothing else to do. Seriously, it's a few weeks into the holidays and both my so called friends have buggered of to exotic and little know locations across the word. Well, that's if you count Australia and Turkey as little known and exotic places. Why on earth would anybody willingly go to Turkey, knowing Luke's luck he'll come back with a nice souvenir of avian bird flu. I wonder what ever happened to bird flu. Seriously, It was only like a year ago that the government was telling us that we were all going to die. Hum, I'm sensing government conspiracy… Wouldn't Jackson just love that? He's the one scoffing down kangaroo in Australia, hope he gets food poisoning the little shit, anyway, he's the one who's interested in all that conspiracy lark, before the holidays he tried to convince our economics teacher that the world current financial state is simply a plot to save up all the tax payers money in order to create more nuclear weapons. I wonder if he dreams these things up…

The both of them are bloody brilliant though. We've been friends since primary school, there used to be a fourth friend, Joshua, but his parents got divorced a couple of years later and he moved in to love with his dad. Not heard anything from him since and it's been ten years, doubt I'll hear from him ever again. I wonder what he's doing, used to be quite a shy kid, maybe he grew a pair. Doubt it though.

"Boy! Get your backside down here this instant!"

Ah, and now the lord of the three up three down returns.

Great.

Jordan sighed and not bothering to shut the lock he closed the leather bound 'journal' and shoved it in a draw of the pine computer table.

"Now Jordan." His fathers voice bellowed loudly up the stairs as Jordan winced at the grating tone and accent of it.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." He muttered to no one in particular. "Keep what's left of your hair on." Deciding not to risk anger his volatile step-father anymore Jordan quickly ran halfway down the stairs, his fingers leaving dirty marks as they trailed the cream wall paper. He had an idea as to what this was about.

"Get your hands of the wallpaper, we only had it done last week; and stop running, you make such a racket. " Jordan's petite mother snapped from the bottom of the stairs before stalking back of to the kitchen or wherever the hell she had appear from with her brown curls bouncing. The teen sighed and rolled blue eyes, sure that she had just been waiting at the bottom of the stairs to scold him for what ever it was that he was doing wrong.

Walking down the last few steps in a 'calm and orderly manner' as his step-father would say, Jordan soon reached the living room where the man who had married his mother lay in waiting. He stood in the doorway and leant against the side, waiting for the man to speak.

"At work I received a call from a very distraught gardener, would you like to hazard a guess as to the problem?" The blue-eyed teen's step-father sniped with a dose of sarcasm thinly veiled. Jordan groaned inwardly but kept his face passive. Anything else and the gig was up. Let's see how long it would last this time.

"What?" He kept his voice calm with a confused hint, inwardly praying to whoever thanks for his innate ability to lie convincingly.

"I said the gardener called today boy. It turns out someone, yet again, decided it would be amusing to put soap in the fountain at the park. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this would you boy?" An impatient tone now tinged his voice and his stocky frame tensed, preparing for a confrontation with his step-son.

" What? No, why would you think that?" Jordan's impressive drama training coached him through it and his voice was laced with more confusion than calm now as his brow creased and his head cocked to the side. A low growl erupted from his step-father throat and Jordan had to force himself not to tense.

"'parrently he saw you walking in the park not long before it happen and it wouldn't be the first time you've done shit like this boy would it now?" Jordan's heart beat slightly faster and a thin film of sweat covered the back of his neck.

'Keep it cool.' He scolded himself, remaining silent.

"Answer me boy." Ian, his step father, pressed his face so close to Jordan's that Jordan could feel the spittle as it flew out of Ian's mouth. Resisting the urge to grimace he look at the man.

"I was at the park but I was only walking through to go to the shops for mum, she wanted some milk. I didn't do anything, I swear." Lie, lie, lie. They came so naturally at times like this.

"That wasn't my question now was it boy?" The voice was menacing and rewet the drying spit on the teen's golden cheek. Ian's naturally hazel eyes had turned a dark brown and his chubby cheeks rippled with tension. Jordan's back arched and he hissed as hand shoved him against the door frame and he felt the unpolished wood cut into his back through his shirt. That was going to bruise. "Now answer me!" Came the command. The gig was up.

Tears pricked at the corners of Jordan's eyes. He vowed, like he did every time, that they wouldn't fall. But every time, the blows got so intense he had no choice in the matter. Another menacing growl was released from the brutish man's throat, this time it sounded more like a bear than a dog as Ian reached for his coarse, leather belt. Jordan heard a whimper escape from his mouth as he resigned himself to his fate. He needed to work harder, become a better liar, a better actor; then he could control anything and everything. He could control everyone.

His eyes screwed shut as the door was slammed closed and he was thrown around to face the door so quickly his head swam for a moment, his nose pushed close against the door as he heard the sound of the belt swishing through the air. The cries for soon mercy came. They always did.

On the other side of the door sat Jordan's mother, her face buried into her hands as she listened to the sound of her son crying and pleading.

So, I just wanted to mention that the tone at the end of this chapter will not be typical for the story, the lighter atmosphere in the diary entry is probably about right, I just think it's important to demonstrate the family dynamics early on in this story. So yes, most chapters in the story will be considerably lighter than this. With a healthy dose of angst of cause. =D Feel free to correct and grammatical errors or offer advice. Reviews and constructive criticism make for a better writer.