Chapter One

~ Wright ~

Wright looked up at the door one more time, triple checking that the lock was indeed engaged. It was a basic handle but the thumb turn was vertical, locked in place so no one could enter. Not that anyone was home. His dad was at work for three more hours. Wright had just enough time to watch a video and then start on chores and dinner. His heart was hammering in his chest but it wasn't what was on his screen doing it. He was always worried his dad would come home early. Having a locked door was less of a punishment than if his dad were to walk in and see what he was doing. What he was watching. His headphones were on the lowest volume, just enough to hear the moans of the two guys on the bed. Still, he looked at the door once more before focusing back on the screen.

He knew, deep down, that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing. It was who he was. Natural. He closed his eyes, his hand sliding with just the right pressure up and down. His thumb brushed softly over his head and his own noises matched those coming from the video. He tried to make it quick, stroking himself faster when he could feel the tell-tale signs of his orgasm building. He increased the volume from his phone, staring at the scene before him as he worked himself over. The video was one of his favorites. A basic, intimate scene between a twink and older man. It was his favorite dynamic, something he knew he could only dream of having. He didn't even have a job or a car, much less be able to go out and meet someone.

"Fuck," Wright whispered to himself. He squeezed on an upstroke, a pulse of pleasure running through his body when his hand caught against the ridge of his head. His toes curled and he could hear his own breathing over the volume. He was close. "Shit. Yes." He panted the words out with each movement of his hand. He held himself around the base and reached with one finger to push against his rim. He wasn't brave enough to do more than tease himself. He wouldn't dare to order something to the house and he definitely couldn't keep it in his room. His dad loved to go through his things, make sure he "wasn't hiding anything". He claimed he was being a good dad. Wright had other words for it. He didn't know when he would get out of it.

Wright tensed up, pleasure coursing through his body as his orgasm hit. He made sure to take his shirt off, knowing that he had the tendency to overshoot his load. This time it hit his chest. He slumped back against the pillow and closed his eyes, letting the remnants of the feeling subside away.

An ad on the website startled him awake and he clicked his phone off and stood up. He cleaned himself off, mindful of flushing the tissues down the toilet instead of leaving them in the wastebasket in his room. He did most of the cleaning in the house, but he wouldn't risk it.

For the next hour, Wright cleaned up. The house wasn't particularly dirty, but he made sure his dad's chair in the living room was clean and the throw blanket that usually ended up on the floor was folded neatly over one arm. He cleaned off the empty plate and half-filled cup of room temperature beer from the night before. The hour after that was spent preparing dinner. There was a small radio on the kitchen counter and he flipped it on while cooking. He'd learned to cook basic meals after his mom left them when he was twelve. Tonight was Lemon and Pepper chicken with veggies.

Wright took a deep breath and turned the radio down when he saw the front door open. The house was small and a bit dated, with only two bedrooms. The main floor was a sort of upside-down L-shape, mostly open space. His bedroom was closer to the front door, where his dad's room and the bathroom were on the opposite side of the house around a short corner and hallway. He watched his dad throw his bag on the floor and loosen the tie around his neck. Wright grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and the same cup he'd cleaned earlier. Their dinner was already prepped on plates.

His dad barely acknowledged him when he grabbed the beer off the island and walked to the living room. The sound of the TV drowned out the soft music playing and Wright sighed, turning around to shut it off. He preferred music over TV but he wouldn't argue with his dad.

"Did you want to eat dinner there or at the table?" Wright asked. He never knew what his dad wanted. Sometimes, he wouldn't say a word to him the entire night. Others, he made him sit at the table and tell him what he did that day.

"If I wanted to eat at the table, I wouldn't be sitting here, would I?" His dad didn't even glance at him. He took a sip of his beer and then snapped his fingers. "Just bring my plate over here."

Wright gritted his teeth. He wanted to remind his dad he was his son, not a waiter. He'd done okay in school and was going to the local college to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. His high school was part of a program that gave two years tuition free as long as you continued to meet the standards. It was like a scholarship, but easier to apply for. Being over eighteen when he graduated, he didn't need his dad's help or signature for anything. It was the one good thing that came from his mom leaving him when he was twelve. He got held back that year.

"Here you go," Wright said. "I'm going to eat in my room."

"Don't want to hang out with your old man?" He practically spat the words out with a mouthful of veggies already. He didn't look at Wright. "Get your plate and sit down. We can watch the game together."

Wright waited until he was turned away from his dad to roll his eyes. He wasn't a fan of sports, not like his dad. But he wouldn't argue. He'd sit on the couch for an hour or so and then go to his room. Maybe read a book. He sat down and balanced his plate on his knees. They ate in relative silence for a few minutes before his dad finished his beer and asked Wright to get another one. Wright's plate was mostly untouched. He'd wrap it and save it for tomorrow for lunch.

"Bring me your phone too," he called while Wright was in the kitchen. His phone was in its usual spot, charging in the kitchen. His dad wouldn't allow him to keep a charger in his room because he didn't want him staying up all night. Wright was sure his dad snooped through his phone when he was asleep. He wasn't allowed to have a passcode on it. "Mine's dead and I need to check something online."

"Yes, sir." Wright grabbed his phone and a new beer and walked back to the living room. He handed both over to his dad.

It was only when his dad opened the web browser that Wright realized his mistake. He never closed the tab from the video earlier. The immediate sound of a guy screaming Fuck me harder! had all the blood draining from Wright's face.

"What the fuck is this?" His dad moved quickly, his plate crashing onto the floor. Wright had just enough time to register the few pieces of chicken scattered across the floor before his dad's hand hit the side of his face. The momentum was hard enough that Wright's head whipped to the side and he staggered two steps. He caught himself on the end table beside the sofa. "Do you think you can live here in my house and watch filth like this?"

Wright didn't know what to do. His dad hit him before. He was kind of used to that, to him ‘roughing him up'. But the look in his eyes. That was new. Another slap across the same cheek hit him before he even thought to apologize. He knew nothing he said would make it better though.

"No son of mine is gay!" His dad held the phone up, still on the video, and shoved it in his face. "Is this what you do all day while I'm at work. Providing for you to live here? You just bum around and I have to come home after a long day and see something like this?"

The third slap succeeded in knocking Wright to the floor. His shoulder caught on the corner of the end table and he cried out in pain. His dad's foot connected to his upper ribs and he curled in on himself, trying to keep him from kicking him in the stomach. He succeeded, but his dad was on a whole other level today. He was shouting, screaming something but Wright couldn't understand it anymore. His mind was only focused on the pain throughout his body.

After what felt like an eternity, he tried to breathe again. It was painful at best. His shoulder was burning and he could feel something trickling down his back. Breathing burned, any small movement sent searing pain everywhere. He knew he was crying, but he couldn't stop the tears if he tried.

"Get up!" His dad's hand wrapped around his arm and Wright cried out as a new wave of pain shot through his upper arm and across his back. He could feel spit land on his face when his dad continued to shout. "Shut up! You're going to go get in the truck and I'm taking you somewhere where they can deal with you. Set you straight."

His dad continued mumbling while Wright struggled to walk along with him. His earlier thought about the house being small disappeared when each step caused him more pain. He was starting to see dark spots in his vision. Had he hit his head?

Before he knew it, his dad shoved him into the old pickup truck and slammed the door. Wright moved his foot just in time for the door to close, but the side of his head took the brunt force off the window. He was dizzy. His vision was swimming, blurry at best. He wiped across his cheek and saw that his finger came back red. He wasn't even sure what was bleeding. His whole body was on fire and numb at the same time. He couldn't understand it, but he didn't want to move.

He wasn't sure how long his dad drove for, but they were out of the city when he next looked up. He tried to keep his eyes open, to understand where they were going. He didn't get out of the city much. Didn't go anywhere except school and home, really. Sometimes the library.

"I thought you learned your lesson," his dad said. His words were going in and out. Or maybe that was Wright. He coughed and could feel something burning in his throat. "I tried to teach you to be a man and you want to watch disgusting videos and can't even stand up for yourself. You're going to learn now. I'll make sure of it."

They turned onto a dirt road. Wright had no idea where they were. He tried to focus. They couldn't have been driving long, could they? It looked like a farm of some sort. There was mostly open fields, but he spotted a few small buildings in the distance. Not that he could turn his head without searing pain shooting down his spine and his breath hitching. The truck sped past an open metal gate further down the dirt road. Wright's body swayed with the motion of the road, wincing with every small move. His dad smacked his chest and Wright lost his breath for a few seconds.

"Man up," he said. Wright continued to stare at his hands, his mind and body going numb. Everything was painful. It was all he could feel. All he heard in his mind was his own voice screaming that he needed to get away. But there was nowhere to go.

The truck screeched to a sudden stop and Wright's body shot forward, his nose connecting with the dash. His vision went black for a second. It came back just in time to hear shouting and feel someone grab his arm and twist. He was on the ground, crumpled in on himself. There was dirt flying around him and more than one set of boots much too close to him. He whimpered, curling more in on himself. He wasn't going to survive this, whatever was about to happen to him.

"Fix him," his dad said, shoving the toe of his boot into his lower back. Wright bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out around whoever was standing over him.

"We'll take care of him." That was a deep voice, gruff. It sounded nothing like Wright's dad, but he didn't dare move his head to see who it belonged to. He just wanted the pain to end.