October 2, 2014
Malibu, California
TW// Physical Abuse

"You're being selfish, Romano!"

"I'm not," I rasp back, hating the sound of my own voice. It was weak. I was weak. "I'm not."

Father paces the room before sending another dish flying in front of him. I don't even flinch at the sound of the glass breaking. It wasn't the first time it'd happened and I was almost positive it wouldn't be the last.

"I just don't understand," he mumbles, taking a sip from the unbroken glass in his hand. Whiskey. On ice. It's what he always drank when he was angry. I was no stranger to him drinking it around me. "I don't understand how you could be so damn—"

"What, papà? Selfish? You've called me that already. I can't help this, you know that!"

This time, I do flinch as the glass he's thrown shatters off of the wall to the right of me. Anger bubbles up in my chest, at this situation, at my reaction. I wanted to up and leave. More than that, I wanted things to be different. I wanted this sin off of me. I wanted to be who he wanted me to be.

"We go to the church," my father says, keeping his eyes trained on the dusty window in front of him. He hadn't even looked at me since he'd seen me holding hands with Beau after school. "We go to the church and we ask them to rid you of this. We ask them to make you normal."

One part of me wanted to think he was right. The other part, the larger part, screamed that he wasn't. "I am normal, papà," I whisper.

"You are not!" he yells, the sound thundering. I can't help the tear that falls from my eye any more than I can ignore the sting on my cheek as my father slaps me. He crouches down in front of me, his eyes on me the first time. "Boys and boys...girls and girls. It's not right. It is not okay. It is not normal. Repeat that."

I swallow back a sob, nodding my head. "It's not right. It's not okay. It's not normal."

My fathers hand comes up to my hair and he tugs at the strands until my scalp burns behind the curls. "Maybe we should make sure that those words sink in just a little bit more."

The sob finally leaves my body as my father stands to his full height, pulling my hair in the process. A guttural scream leaves my mouth and I claw at his shirt, trying to fight him off. "No, no! Papà, please, please! Please don't put me there, papà, please!"

He drags me through the living room until we reached the room that nobody ever touched, the room that nobody would ever be caught dead in. Except for me. My own personal hell.

"Father, please! No!"

My father let's go of his grip on my hair, pushing the door open and shoving me inside. He follows me in and closes the door behind us, turning on the dim blue light of the basement. I'm still sprawled on the floor, my face pressed against the cool concrete. It chills the tears on my cheeks and for a moment, I'm at peace. I have stopped yelling. I know that the best thing to do now is accept the punishment I've asked for.

"Do you realize what you have done, mio figlio?" Father asks. I can hear him rustling with his tools behind us. My back contracts without me even thinking.

My voice isn't shaky when I speak. "Yes, papà."

     "And what was that, exactly?"

"I have sinned, papà," I whisper, treasuring my last few moments of peace. The concrete suddenly felt so much warmer.

"And what do we do to sinners?"

Sweat soaks the back of my neck despite the cool temperature of the room. I can hear my father's footsteps as walks toward me, the click of his expensive shoes and the sound of his belt being removed.

"Punish them."