A Fresh Start

Chapter 1 August 2012

August 2012

Tyler

The doctor looks at my face, pressing down on spots around my eyes, and I hiss out in pain.

"How bad's the pain? On a scale of 1 to 10," she asks.

"A 7, I guess. I've had worse," I mumble as she continues to examine me.

I jump slightly when someone clears their throat behind me. "Hi, there, Tyler. I'm Emma. I'm sorry to startle you. I'm with social services; I'm here to keep you safe. Can you tell me what happened to you today?"

I let out a loud groan; I really don't wanna go over it again. "Do I have to? I've been here all day, and people just keep asking me the same questions. Over and over. I'm sick of this shit."

I have been in this room for hours now, and I honestly can't handle it much longer.

"I know, sweetie, but I'll be honest. What you've told people isn't consistent from this morning to now. It's not matching with what your neighbors are saying either. Tell me what happened at your house this morning." I stare at her, but I don't speak. "Ok. Tell me why you were screaming, 'help me. Help me.' And running out of your front door bleeding and bruised." Again I'm silent.

"Tyler. We want to keep you safe. You need to tell us the truth. Looking over your body, I can see several bruises that have been healing for days, and you have older cuts and burns on your body. This isn't a new situation for you, is it?" Asks the doctor. I look at her name tag 'Haley,' my sister's name. I look at her and the social worker and just shake my head.

Emma perks up at this sign of progress, "ok, that's a start. What happened today?"

I think back to this morning, and I start talking to them.

Saturday morning started like most days; I was just trying to avoid my father. He doesn't hit me or scream at me every day, but I'd rather not give him the opportunity. He'd been on edge all night because of a fight with my "stepmother" the night before; he hit her from time to time as well. We both suffered at his hands.

It was just bad timing for me that I hadn't cleaned my room completely when I went to take a shower. I didn't think anything of it; I'd finish after; no big deal. As I was pulling my shirt and shorts on for the rest of the day, I heard something crash down the hall, and I knew it came from my room.

I opened the door and confirmed that he was throwing everything around the room, including a book I had been reading that was on my bed........the bed where I hid a special magazine.

Maybe he didn't flip the mattress. Maybe he didn't this time. He doesn't usually, but when he screamed my name, I knew he did. He came barreling around the corner and down the hall in under 10 seconds.

He slammed through the bathroom door as I stupidly tried to close it on him, and I felt my face hit the wall and my nose starts bleeding.

He started screaming and threw the magazine on the floor, the page showed two naked men, and I knew I'm about to die as his boot came in contact with my chest a couple of times.

If there is anything my dad hates in the world; It's liberals and faggots. My mom was a liberal, and that's why she ran off years ago, and I am a faggot. A word I hate and hear a lot.

He pulled me up by my throat and kept screaming hateful things at me. Just then, Debbie ran up behind him and pulled him off of me. She told me to run just as he pushed her across the bathroom.

I'm 14, and thanks to soccer practice all summer, I'm in shape, so I ran. However, He isn't a pushover, so he was on me at the top of the stairs. I had one shot at getting away, so I bit into his hand as it pressed against my face holding me to the wall. He screamed and let go, and I ran out the door. Screaming at the top of my lungs for help. He was charging out the front door when Mr. Williams across the street waved me over to his house and told me to hide in the basement. We live in a cul-de-sac in a nice neighborhood, so everyone was watching from their front doors as a bloody teenager ran and hide, and his father screamed that he'd kill his faggot son if he saw him again as the first police cars show up.

I hid in the basement. Mrs. Williams tried to stop me because she didn't understand what was happening, but she went white when she saw my bloody and beaten face and didn't stop me.

The cops probably talked to my father first, cause he's a cop, and then my "stepmom." really, she's his live-in girlfriend of 5 years. I'm thankful it was a young cop who found me hiding in the basement. He probably didn't know my dad. He didn't care who he was. He saw what happened to me and made sure I was on the ambulance to the hospital without anyone else talking to me. To try and convince me to let it go, that it got out of hand, that he was really a good guy. Like last time, and the time before and the time before that. They protect their own, I get it.

I was sleepy and quiet. He didn't make me talk. He just held my hand and Said I would be safe. I remember he had beautiful blue eyes, but I don't tell Emma that part.

As I finish my trial of suffering, Dr. H, as she told me to call her, takes my hands, and I flinch from the pain and the kind gesture. My dad stepped on my hand two weeks ago when I didn't get the mail cause I was reading and lost track of time.

Emma turns off the record button on her phone and gives me a sad smile. All she says is, "you'll be safe this time. I promise you that much."

I want to believe her. I really do, but I don't know how I can.

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