Breathless

Chapter One

Author's Note: Thanks to Thyme for the beta and Sabina for the picture. Also, Thanks for to Sam. This is as much her story as mine, for she gave me the plot and idea. Thanks, girl!

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Ten year old Justin bit his lip, hard, determined not to cry as he felt the sting from his father's slap. He had learned from experience that crying only made things worse.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Craig Taylor demanded. Justin remained silent, not knowing what to say. Craig backhanded Justin and growled, "Answer me boy! You were open. How did you *not* catch that damn football?!"

Justin took a deep breath, then whispered, "I d-don't know." Justin wasn't about to tell his father that he hated football. He had tried that once before and all it had gotten him was a cracked rib. Craig was determined that Justin was going to follow in his footsteps and be a great player. Craig had played from elementary school until his senior year in high school.

He had even received a football scholarship to Duke... but that had gone up in smoke when he had torn up his knee in the Homecoming football game his senior year. The next thing he knew, no more football for him. That had made Craig Taylor a resentful, hateful man, and that had only gotten worse as the years went by.

Justin glanced over at his mother, hoping... for what he didn't know. He had given up hoping that his mother would help him a long time ago. She was just sitting on the couch, her head bowed and her hands clasped in her lap.

"Just go up to you room Justin. I can't even stand to look at you right now. Dinner will be in an hour. Don't make me have to come and get you."

"Yes, sir," Justin mumbled before hurrying up the stairs to his room. Shutting the door, he walked over to his bed and flopped down on it. Justin felt like crying... *wanted* to cry... but he wasn't able to. He had trained himself to never cry. As his father had always told him...real men don't cry.

Reaching under his bed, Justin pulled out a box that held his sketchbooks and pencils. He had to keep it under his bed because his dad hated him doing what he called "pretty little pictures", he always said that it was a waste of time. So, Justin figured that it was easier and safer to just keep his art supplies out of his father's sight.

Opening the sketchbook to a blank sheet, he figured that he would have enough time to do a little sketching before dinner. Justin started sketching the outline of a house and, as he always did, he became lost in what he was doing.

Justin's head snapped up when his father barged into his room. He quickly sat up. An hour couldn't have passed already! But when Justin glanced at his small clock, he saw that it had. And his father was *pissed*. Trying to diffuse his father's anger, he quickly started to apologize. "I-I'm sorry, sir!"

When Craig saw the sketchbook, his face got even redder with anger. Snatching the sketchbook out of his sons' hands, he growled, "What have I told you about *this*? About drawing your little pictures? There's no money in it because you sure as hell aren't good enough!"

"Is this," Craig asked as he shook the sketchbook, "the reason why you played piss-poor at the game today? Spending all your time *drawing* when you should have your ass outside practising?!" Without giving Justin a chance to respond, he continued, "I will *not* have a fag for a son! And if you keep drawing your pictures, that's what you'll end up being. You *will* become a great football player like your old man and go to Duke. Do you hear me, Justin? You will stop being an embarrassment to this family!"

Throwing the sketchbook on to the floor, Craig pulled off his belt. "It's time that I beat this notion of being an artist completely out you!"

Justin's eyes widened in fear as his father stepped towards him, the belt folded double in his right hand. Justin could see the anger in his father's eyes and he knew that he had to try and get away. Justin quickly got to his feet, trying to dodge past his father. As he went past, Craig grabbed his arm in a bruising grip.

Justin looked at him and yelled, "No! Let me go! I'm s-sorry for sk-sketching!"

Craig shook his head. "Quiet! You brought this on yourself. Take it like a fucking man!" With that said, Craig bent the squirming Justin over, lifted up his shirt, and brought the belt down. Justin couldn't help it; he screamed. The belt hurt so much and he could feel it cutting into his skin. Again and again, the belt hit his skin. Justin could feel a wetness rolling down his back and sides, and he knew that it had to be blood.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes, Craig stopped. When he let Justin go, Justin fell onto his bed, stomach down. His knees were so weak that they wouldn't support his weight. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He had screamed and screamed, but it had done nothing except make him hoarse. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes but he refused to cry. He would never give his father the satisfaction.

"Now, do you still want to draw your pictures?" sneered Craig.

Justin knew what his father wanted to hear, so he gave it to him. "N-no, sir," he whispered.

"Good," said a satisfied Craig. "Stay up here for the rest of the night. No dinner." With that said, Craig was gone, closing the door behind him.

Justin let out a shaky sigh. 'What did I do? Why don't my parents love me? Why does this happen to me?' he silently asked himself. And, like all the other times, he had no answers.

LATE THAT NIGHT--11PM

Justin was in so much pain that he wasn't able to sleep. He could barely stand to move. He was scared. He heard his door slowly open and he tensed up. He hoped that his father wasn't wanting to punish him some more.

The side of his bed dipped down. Turning his head and using the light from the hallway, because of the open door, he could make out his mother. He could see a sad look in her eyes. His mother started to gently prod the cuts that the belt had made on his back, causing him to hiss in pain as she did.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Justin wanted to say something to make her feel better, but he couldn't. Because the truth was, he hated her. The love that he had felt for her had been slowly erased over the ten years of his life. All that was left was hate and questions of why she had never helped him.

A couple minutes later, she spoke quietly. "These look like they're getting infected. I don't care what Craig says or does, I can't let this go on. I have to do something." Without waiting for Justin to say anything, Jennifer left, leaving a confused and hurt Justin behind.

Making her way quietly to the living room, Jennifer picked up the phone. Sighing she dialed 911 as she prayed that Craig would stay asleep.

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?" asked a female voice. Jennifer stayed silent. "Ma'am, Sir?" the voice persisted a minute later.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Jennifer spoke. "My son...needs help."

 

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