Gaurdian Angel (Story)

This isn't meant to make anyone cry, so please don't.

Dedicated to those I love, who fight constantly against the accusations, bullying and fights they are involved in because of whom they choose to love.

♥

I still remember that night clearly. The moment my life suddenly went from loving to brutally disgusting. I never knew my father could be that… that… that inhumane and selfish. I never knew.

I remember the night I met Paul, that cute little smile had said it all. That night changed everything for me; he had changed everything from worse to better in the blink of an eye. We ended up staying out all night together just lying in a field counting every star we saw in each other’s eyes. It still amazes me that he could like me, the kid who was brutally bashed, unloved, and friendless because I had problems. Problems I couldn’t control.

He looked past the addictions and the anger to find the sweet, caring side of me and brought it out for the world to see. Too bad my father couldn’t understand that. He had to “bash the sweetness out of me” as he called it. Men weren’t meant to be sweet; they were to be brutal, aggressive and rough. He must have looked in the mirror.

I had to act for a year, hiding the true me that Paul had brought out of me, from my father. He was a homophobic son of a bitch. Mind my swearing but believe me, I could say a lot worse about him. He constantly tried to tell me that males were to like females, and true love couldn’t be found within to males. I often asked the question of whether it differed between two females, my father would laugh and say to women were a dream, two males was disgusting and inhumane. Exactly how I felt about him.

Paul always listened to me, held me and adored me. He’d tell me my father would get what he deserved soon, and that he deserved everything he got for hurting me. Paul made everything seem so… so… okay. He made life perfect for me, I couldn’t have wanted it any other way.

When my father found out we were close friends, he would tell me to invite Paul over for the day. Soon, he would allow him to stay the night provided that he didn’t think we were gay. He thought we were straight as a ruler, two girls were our fantasies. I loved Paul for acting so well around my father; he deserved all the stars in the night sky for doing that for me. We’d wait until we couldn’t hear a sound before exploring each other’s bodies, which had been off limits for so long. We were like two kids in a candy store, exploring the little spots, which sent either one of us wanting to explode in a symphony of moans.

We were almost caught many times, my father would hear a slight moan escape either one of our lips and investigate; yet my sister always protected us, saying it was her fault. My father never hit her, he approved of her choice in relationships. Strictly all girls. My father confessed to my mother that he had fantasies involving my sister, and she hit him as hard as she could. Although it didn’t stop him from beating her to a pulp, she still got somewhat of a payback.

Everything was perfect for Paul and I until.

He had come over to stay the night like always, my mother; father, sister, Paul and I were sitting in the lounge room watching a movie my sister had chosen. Paul and I found it quite boring yet we still faked a laugh whenever the rest of them did. My sister knew we weren’t enjoying it and showed me a sympathetic smile at me on more than one occasion.

I can’t remember what the movie was, but a song was played in it that my mother recalled. I loved the song, as it was written about two men in love. My father had other ideas about it and continued to tell us that male relationships were disgusting and that gay’s shouldn’t be allowed the same rights as “normal” human beings.

The next thing I knew I was telling him to fuck off. He looked at me with such rage in his eyes when I told him that I, his pride and joy, was gay. He looked towards Paul and then back at me, taking a minute to add up the situation.

“His boyfriend?” he screamed at Paul and I. I could feel Paul’s hand shaking in mine but I refused to let go, I refused to let Paul stand-alone. My father looked at us and pushed my body towards the floor and I can remember the sudden smash of my head onto the floorboards. But what I remember more was Paul being punched and kicked to the ground.

My own father, my own father was a monster.

His fists kept pummeling into my love, my own boyfriend and I could barely move to protect him. My sister ended up handing me the phone, calling the police on my father was one of the easiest things I had done in my life.

The sudden rush of adrenalin came to me when Paul wasn’t fighting back anymore. I remember knocking my father out of the way. To love, honor and protect were his wedding vows. Well now, I had to protect my love and protect him. My father tried to hit me, but my fist proved too powerful with adrenalin surging through my every vein. He ended up under me, on the ground, fighting to get away from me whilst my mother stood by and screamed. She was always accepting of me.

The police carried my father away, whilst my angel, my baby, my… my love lay in a pool of blood. I held him in my arms, just… just… protected him. I couldn’t tell if he was alive, or not. I couldn’t tell if his chest was even moving, I just had to hold him…I had to protect him…

--♥-

The hospital staff tried to treat me for my injuries, but I couldn’t let them. They had someone worse to deal with. Paul was in a critical condition, and as hours turned into days I sat, by his side, watching over him. I somehow earned the nickname angel, but I don’t know why. The real angel was Paul, he faked being just a close friend, and he took my fathers anger like the man that he is.

I revisit that house every now and then; my mother still lives there. I left that night and never went back. I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t…

Paul never truly recovered; he still has nightmares but not just because of my father’s anger towards him and the long months of recovery, but also because of what I endured. The hate, anger and aggression that caused me to receive so many black eyes, and the countless scars along my arms. Including my love’s name, which landed me a week in hospital.

Paul, he’s an angel. My savior… my love.

He never needed to here how much I love him. He never needed words to describe what I feel, but those three words, angel, savior and love all speak a million words.

My father, the monster.

He doesn’t deserve anything else, he is only a monster.