His Mystery

“You will never be anything! You are just a piece of shït!” Were the words my stepfather would yell at me daily. The words that till this day haunt my dreams at night.

My mother was a drunk. My father bounced as soon as I turned three, and my stepfather was a drug addict. The beatings started as soon as he got with my mother when I was five. My mother was too drunk to ever notice or to ever interfere. When I turned fifteen, I decided to look for my father in the hopes that he would save me from my misery. I knocked on his door, and when he answered, he told me to fūck off and never come back. I bounced from corner to corner, doing despicable things no boy should be doing at the age of fifteen.

Until I met her, my Angelica. I thought she was the love of my life. Little did I know she was screwing my best friend behind my back. I beat the shït out of him, leaving him unconscious on the floor, and exited our apartment. I couldn’t handle another despair. I wanted something for myself. I went straight to the Armed Forces Registration and signed up for eight years.

Eight years later, I was on my way to Italy. I was running from my life in America, running from my stepfather, that had found me and wanted to continue using me as his punching bag. Running away from my mother, who never did anything for me.

One thing kept running in my mind— will they ever find out who I truly am? Will they see the demons that I fight daily?

Then I saw her. One look at her and all sense of right and wrong flew out the window. My hands itched to touch her, but she seemed so fragile that I was afraid to get close to her.