7 September 2012
Next part is here! :) x
*Phoenix's POV* I didn't want to go home. I just didn't. I also didn't want to sit on a beach all alone where I could be attacked by some sort of massive poisonous snake. Home it is then. It's only a short walk to my house. A path through the sand dunes, up through the forestry, and out onto the road. Walk a couple of blocks, and you're there. The beach isn't my favourite place to go, but it beats being at home by a good hundred miles. I paced the streets for a while, putting off entering that horrid place, in fear that my Father might be home - and drunk, already. I swallowed down the nervous lump in my throat, and began to climb the stone steps towards the front door of our two-person bungalow. There was no beaten up blue Chevy truck in the driveway. I was in luck. My father hadn't got home yet. Hopefully, I'd have the house to myself for the night, and then Justin could stay over without my Father starting a brawl. My Dad doesn't like Justin. I don't think he likes me much either, although he does tell me he loves me when he's sober - so not often. He's hated Justin ever since he discovered us kissing in the garage. Before you say anything, it was a total misunderstanding - on my part. You see, back then, Justin had never shown any type of sexual attraction to me - ever - and then when he did, I sort of went a step too far. I'd kissed him in a sneak attack, and although he'd kissed me back, he pushed me away after a few seconds. It had been one big screw up, but we'd worked it out. I slowly slid my key in the lock, turning the metal piece ever so silently, the only noise a soft 'click', from the lock being turned. I pushed open the door, and stepped inside the icy cool kitchen, my body immediately giving a light shiver at the feel of the air con brushing over my porcelain skin. I let out a sigh of relief. He's definitely not home. "Phoenix?" came a voice from deep in the house. Screw the world. Seriously. "Yeah Dad?" I stuttered back in reply. Please, please don't be drunk. Or smoking. I don't know which is worse. They're both killing him. "Come 'ere" he demanded again. Take a deep breath. I dumped my beach bag down on the kitchen table, and kicked my converse off onto the floor, beginning to make my way to the source of his voice. I hunted through the living room and dining room, wondering where else he could be other than his own room, when his voice came again. "Phoenix! Get in here. Now!". His words were beginning to slur together with drunkenness, but his harsh tone still remained. Is he in my room? Oh god. I sprinted down the hallway, tripping over the carpet as I did so. Ugh! I clambered up from the floor, and burst through the doorway of my room. My Father stood, beer bottle in hand, his eyes as black as the darkest night. The acrid stench of booze and cigarette smoke hit me like a brick wall, and made my face screw up into a distasteful frown. I had no idea why he was so angry, until I saw the photos. They were splayed out across my bed, not at all how I had left them - hidden away in my bedside drawer, beneath a load of junk and things my Father would never, ever need. "What. Are these?" he spat, and held up a photo of Justin and I. But it wasn't the just two of us that annoyed him. It was what we were doing. You see, I'm a photographer. Well, I want to be one, and Justin happens to have the most perfect face for camera, so I often ask him to help me out with a few shots. Last week's photography obsession: capturing love on camera. I wanted pictures that displayed tons and tons of affection, without going overboard or being inappropriate. There was picture after picture of Justin and I, our eyes locked in a loving gaze in one, or tackling each other in a playful manner in another. The one my father held, was the one of Justin kissing my collarbone. I'd pulled my t-shirt down, and my bra straps down, and Justin had taken his shirt off so it would look like we were totally naked - don't ask, it was just a shot that I really really wanted to take. My neck was arched and my eyes were slid closed in fake ecstasy, Justin's lips brushing over my shoulder in what looked like the most tender and loving kiss any man could ever give. Obviously, my Father thought we were actually naked in the shot. This isn't going to go down well. "Don't make me ask you again, Phoenix". He spat my name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, but then maybe it did. I gathered a shaky breath, and clasped my hands together in front of me, resisting the urge to play with my fingers. "They're my photos Father". My voice was a weak whisper, my lips quivering and body trembling at the feel of his intense death glare. "Thank you Phoenix, I realised that. But may I ask you, why you are not wearing any clothes!!!!!". His volume had raised in seconds, from a calm, sarcastic tone, to a screaming angry level. I flinched as the sound of his voice shook me where I stood, my eyes glued to the floor, too afraid to even glance at his expression. "B-but we are wearing clothes, it just looks like-" I began, but I was cut off by a sharp, stinging pain in my cheek. I stumbled back into the door from the force of my Father's hit, collapsing down onto the carpet with a cry of pain. I clutched my cheek and whimpered softly, the lump returning to my throat as tears immediately began to roll down my cheeks. It's not the first time he's hit me. I actually don't know how many times he's hit me. I've lost count. You think I'd be used to it by now; used to the feeling of a sharp, searing pain in my cheek and jaw, the red mark of his large hand imprinted on my face for the next few hours. If I was unlucky, sometimes I got a bruise by my eye, and it was never pretty. This feels like it could bruise, for a long, long while. "You little slut! If he ever touches you again-" he began, storming over to me and crouching down to lean in close. His angry frown turned into a growing smile of malice and menace, a throaty chuckle escaping his lips as he spoke: "Then he's done for". He continued to chuckle to himself as he stepped over me and left the room, off to find another beer no doubt. I sobbed gently and lifted myself partly off the floor to pull my phone from my back pocket, before collapsing back down into a heap in the doorway, half in, half out of my room. I pressed speed dial one. Brrr brrr. Brrr brrr. After two rings, he finally picked up. "Hello?". There was the loud noise of laughter and hollering in the background, along with some music and plenty of swearing. The curser was no doubt Mick, he swears like its going out of fashion. I wiped away a tear, and gave a soft sniffle before answering. "Justin, I need you".
That Should Be Me: Pt 2 • Opuss № I