Chapter 1 - Breaking

This sure took awhile! I don't know how often I'll be updating this since I'm currently busy with other things, but I will make sure to update whenever I can.


I've noticeably improved since writing my previous book, but I still have a ways to go, so hopefully you can bear with any errors I may make.


Feedback of any kind is appreciated!




-Picture of Keegan






Keegan's POV




My name is Keegan Canterberry. I'm a loner. Not so much by choice, more so due to the many events that have unfolded throughout my short life.


When I was eight my grandparents died in a car accident. I was really close with them. They would come over every weekend and have dinner with me and my parents. We'd usually hang out and tell stories by the fireplace. Mine were always very expressive stories about animals. Everyone would laugh when I placed myself in the middle of the room and acted them out. I always went into great detail when talking about penguins. For some odd reason I had an unhealthy obsession with them at the time. I still find them extremely cute to this day though.


I would make sure to steal my grandma or grandpa's lap whenever I could. I loved the feeling of their hugs, and their sweet smell. It always made me feel so cheerful. I was a total sucker for hugs, I think I still am actually.


Every Christmas I would run down the stairs and eagerly await my grandparents arrival. I was more excited for them than I was my presents, which is kind of unusual for kids. I guess I'm just a leech for any type of affection. My mom and dad would always laugh at how clingy I was. I'd even stick to them. Whenever my grandparents were gone I would migrate towards my parents like a magnate.


We've had so many great moments that whenever I think back I can't help but to smile.


One night in November my grandparents were coming over for dinner. I remember being glued to the glass of the front door, like some kind of plunger. I watched as the thick snowflakes drifted from the gloomy sky and hit the pavement. Before I knew it, it was already seven-thirty, and my grandparents still hadn't shown. They were warned by my parents that the roads were slippery, so I assumed they were just being cautious, until about nine that night. We got a call reporting a crash. My father rushed out the door wearing a look of distress unlike any I've seen before. My mind couldn't processes what was going on at the time so I stood still, clueless. My mom took me by the hand, into the living room so we could watch TV. She tried to comfort me, but now that I look back on it she was more frightened than I was. I fell asleep on the couch still confused as to what was going on.


I woke up about an hour later to hear the door pop open and chatter coming from the same direction. I crept over to the noise and poked my head out the corner. My father looked horrified as he forcefully pressed the heavy words from his lips. What had come out of his mouth shook our worlds. He confirmed the death of Mrs. Darline and Mr. Feral Canterberry, my grandparents. My mother fell to her knees, breaking out into tears. I soon followed behind, startling my unsuspecting parents. My mom crawled over to me and wrapped me in a tight embrace as I bawled my eyes out.


After that night everything started going downhill. My father grew into a deep depression that eventually lead into a drinking problem. I could never fall asleep at night without crying my eyes out for a half an hour first, unless I had my mom by my side. She held it together better than all of us.




With every passing day things only got harder. My dad eventually got fired from his job. He had a lot of trouble finding another, and when he finally did we had to move all the way across country. We bought an apartment and moved in some of the stuff from our previous house. Our new home was nothing like the other. It was cheap since my father was trying to save money. When I entered the dingy looking apartment a musky smell swept pass my nose. I wasn't used to this kind of environment. I spent the previous nine years of my life growing up in a clean, beautiful home. This one definitely had mold, not to mention the neighbors were loud. My room had a much better layout this time around though, so it wasn't a complete loss. Even so, I couldn't sleep properly the first couple of nights. I felt uneasy sleeping in an unknown space.




One night when I was struggling to fall asleep so I listened in on what I thought was the neighbors arguing, like they usually do. I suddenly realized it wasn't them, rather, my parents. It was really uncommon for them to fight so I started to worry. I curled up under my blankets and hoped to fall asleep. The noise didn't die down until I heard a shatter and a yelp. I shot up in my bed, alarmed. Silence swept the house for a minute then I heard my mom crying at the doorway to their room. I waddled out of bed and down the hall to comfort her. I asked her what happened but she kept telling me everything was alright and that I didn't need to worry. Even then I could tell she was lying. My question was answered days later when my father decided to beat her in front of me. I tried stopping him, screaming "Dad, stop! You're hurting her!" That earned me a backhand into the table of course. My mom immediately jumped to my side checking to see if I was alright. Later she told me never to approach him when they're fighting or when she's not around.




The beatings continued for another two years. I don't know how she pulled through, but she did. And through out it all she continued to comfort me, making sure I was okay. I wished I could do something for her, but anything I did try I would only end up getting in her way.




Things started getting better around that time. My father calmed his drinking and lowered his temper. My mother didn't receive a single bruise when my father eventually took control of himself.


We even went to the zoo. I saw the cute little penguins waddling around. I remember getting as close to them as possible. My little heart felt like it was going to burst from happiness. My mom giggled at my excitement. Things were going so well for us as a family. We started conversing at the table again, we watched movies on the small TV we had in the living room, and we could all finally sleep comfortably in our beds.


Something was weighing on my chest though. Around the time I turned twelve I noticed I started having feelings... for men. I wanted to wait before telling my parents but the timing felt as best it could be. So the next morning I hesitantly made my way down to the living room. Both my parents were already up and eating breakfast so it seemed like perfect timing.


"Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something." I began, looking between them scared. At that point there was no turning back.


"What is it sweety?" My mom replied, digging into a bowl of cereal. My dad just looked at me, waiting for me to speak. I hesitated awhile before choking up the next few words.


"I... I think I'm g-gay." The room went quite, my mom opening her mouth, and my father with an unreadable look on his face. My mother stood up from the table and hugged me. "Its alright. I accept you so there's no need to worry, okay?" A weight lifted off my chest when I received her support. Seconds later the weight came crashing back, doubling in size after my father spoke.


"You're f***ing with me, right?" He spoke with anger obvious in his tone. I was frightened. I had never heard my father use that word.


"I-I..." was all I could get out before having my knees give out on me. That was a sure sign to him that it wasn't a joke.


"You don't know what you're saying, you don't know what you're saying!" He repeated as he held his head with both his hands and paced aggressively across the room. My mom was just as shocked as me, and didn't dare stand in his way knowing what would happen. At this point I was wishing and hoping I could take it all back, but sadly it had already slipped through my mouth.


"I'm sorry dad, I'm sorry dad!" I repeated several times after he sent a plate flying at me.


"This is going to be the end of our bloodline. I'm an only child and... and so are you!" He shouted gesturing both his hands to me.


"And, and now I find out you're a fag**t." My mom twitched at the last part, giving notice to him. He pranced over to her and lifted her by the collar of her shirt. He yelled foul things to her before ruffing her up.


"You can just accept that your only son is a living piece of sh**." Those words hurt me beyond belief. I was already weeping in the corner due to the previous events. After he was finished with her he approached me with a hostile look for the first time, which made me freeze up right in my spot. He grabbed me by the neck and smashed me against the wall, knocking pictures from it. I squirmed for air and his fist connected with my stomach. My mom called out to him, and begged for him not to hurt me. The scene eventually died down as my father had to go to work. I apologized to my mom over and over, but she kept assuring me everything was alright. Everything went dark from that day on.


My father reverted back to his old drinking ways, and his beatings got much worse, now extending out to me. My mom eventually had to quit her job cause people were starting to question her about all the bruises she was receiving. She considered going to the police a couple times but he threatened her and told her that if anyone started poking their noses into our affairs he would make sure to punish us.




Fast forward two years. My mom was getting weak from all of the beatings. Now that I was fourteen, and getting bigger I tried to step in and take as much of the punches as I could. I wasn't strong enough to stop him though. All I could do was take the blows. Me and my mom were both surprised he hadn't gotten tired of beating on us by now.


One night my mom came into my room to check on me. We ended up talking for awhile. She asked if my feeling towards men had changed, since I was still young and extremely hormonal at the time I came out. My feelings were clear enough to confirm that I was indeed gay. We heard a noise at the door and shot our heads in the direction. It was dad. He stood just outside my doorway wearing an unreadable look.


"We need to have a talk." He said to mom in a frightening tone. She hesitantly got up from the floor and followed him downstairs. He shut my door and told me not to come out. That worried me, a lot. I positioned myself against the door, ready to charge to my mothers aid in case something happened. I couldn't make out all of what he was saying, but I got the gist of it. He told her to leave the house, and if he ever saw her near me or the house again he would make sure to go all out on me. Fear struck my legs, as I wasn't able to stand. I reached out for my mom begging her not to go as she made her way to the room to packed her things. Tears fled her eyes as she hugged me one last time before leaving through the front door. She was the only thing that was keeping me stable. I knew a life without her would lead to little or no affection.



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