The first person Victor ever kissed was Marcella Tate in the 7th grade.

His dad had been gone for the weekend. Took off on Thursday night and, after giving him a few whips from his belt just because he could, said he would be back Sunday. Victor usually spent the weekend taking full advantage of the HBO and Showtime subscriptions as well as staying out as late as he pleased. But Marcella was in the 8th grade and had passed him a handwritten invitation to come to her house. To anyone in his grade, that would have been a big deal. He had just wanted to feel normal at the time and sneaking out to a secret party had given him that chance. It also made him feel a lot cooler than he actually was, especially when they played some combined game of Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven. Everyone had been adamant that, if they spun and landed on someone who was the same sex as them, they would get to spin again until they landed on the opposite sex. Victor remembers not personally caring if he landed on a boy or a girl, even though he knew he could never say that out loud. His developing, hormone-driven fantasies went from Scarlett Johansson to Jake Gyllenhaal to Shannyn Sossamon to Gael Garcia Bernal.

But, when he spun the bottle and it landed on Marcella, the hostess of the get together and the most popular girl in the 8th grade, he was pretty pleased with that, even though he was downright terrified. The kiss had been wet and clumsy and, despite Marcella just being a year older, she was more experienced than him. If he would have had any close friends at the time, he probably would have bragged about it. But that hadn’t been the case. He had hoped maybe he would make friends with someone at the party, that Marcella could be his girlfriend even, but neither of those things ever happened.

He had a crush on Marcella for a couple months afterwards but, besides a few hellos of acknowledgement she gave him, it was like nothing had ever happened between them. It had stung a little but he got over it quickly. By the 8th grade, it was like he had never fell for her at all. It was probably for the best. That year had been brutal at home and he ended up missing for a couple weeks at a time more than once due to injuries his dad had given him when he felt particularly vicious. So 8th grade had been spent nursing his wounds and getting turned on by sex scenes on premium cable. His dad went out of the country for a week for some linguist convention. Victor had played his guitar in the park and made more than enough for a pizza and a couple of movies from Blockbuster. Watching movies alone might sound lonely to another kid, but being alone in his home was the only time he felt safe.

His first year of high school had gone a little more differently. Not at home, unless if you counted the abuse becoming more frequent. His dad had given him a concussion that year and ruptured his spleen. Both of them had started smoking that year, but he ended up quitting when his father started burning him with cigarettes. Smoking became less appealing after that.

But three important things happened his freshman year.

First, he had decided to go by Lukas. The decision was made over the summer, when he had decided to introduce himself as Lukas to a couple listening to his music outside of Penn Station. It was his middle name, so it wasn’t some monumental change. But he felt like it gave him an identity outside of his father, despite the fact the man had the same exact middle name.

The second important thing that happened was falling in love.

At least it had felt like love to him, even if it probably wasn’t.

He was never officially Sabri Gupta’s boyfriend, but they had gotten close. They had passed notes and even went to the skating rink in Rockefeller Center and even went to dinner. His dad wasn't home and she had told her parents she was going to a friend's house to study. He had played and sang on the subway station all weekend to be able to afford to do that. When it was late and his hand snuck under the covers, he thought of her more often than not. Her dark skin and silky black hair and long eyelashes. He still thought about Jake Gyllenhaal and Milo Ventimiglia, one of his more recent crushes after catching reruns of Gilmore Girls. Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with him. He looked things up once at the library. He thought he might be bisexual but, when he researched further, he read stuff about it being a transitioning identity before someone fully accepts they’re gay. In contrast, he also read that it is an experimental phase for a straight person, but that seemed more aimed towards women. So, if those things were true, he didn’t know what the fuck he was. Gay? Maybe. He had jerked off to the thought of a man touching him enough.

But he really cared about Sabri. He thought she was beautiful. She was sweet and seemed to really like him and, even though she said she wasn’t allowed to date, they sort of were anyway. She was saving herself until marriage so he couldn’t really test whether or not he was sexually attracted to her. He didn’t know if he was ready for that anyway. But he had kissed her a few times. The first time, she had snuck away from the clarinet section during a football game and kissed him behind the bleachers. He can’t even remember the last time in his life he couldn’t stop grinning. Maybe when his mom was alive. Probably before his dad came back on Christmas Eve and Lukas had seen all of the presents his mom had gotten him. Yeah, that was probably the last time.

Even though part of him wanted to boast like some of the guys in his grade who said they got a blowjob or handjob from their girlfriend, he didn’t mind that Sabri wasn’t that type of girl. He actually admired her for keeping her standards. She was so sweet, caring, and kind...that was more important than figuring things out for himself.

But then Sabri became suspicious and wanted to figure things out for herself too.

He always wore long sleeves. He had to. With the almost daily burns from his dad and the cuts that Lukas sometimes gave himself, his arms were so littered with fresh scars that he didn’t have a choice. He still didn’t know what happened. Somehow his sleeve had moved up while she was sitting next to him in Astoria Park. One second they were laughing and kissing on the blanket she had brought, sharing a Halal meal from the food cart near the bridge. And then she was gasping and grabbing his arm, pulling up his sleeve all the way up to his elbow.

“Lukas…” she had choked out in a strangled voice, “Lukas, what happened to you? Who did this?”

It would have been the perfect time to finally say something to someone. To fucking break down like he had always needed to and tell someone the way his father beat him, burned him, broke his bones, made him bleed, called him fucking worthless. It would have been the perfect time to explain to her why he missed so much school, usually due to injuries, but also due to sometimes being so depressed that he couldn’t get out of bed. He could never do that when his dad was home but on the days he wasn’t and his absence didn’t manage to elevate his mood? He curled up into a ball and wondered why he should keep on going. It would have been the perfect time to tell Sabri that she made things a lot better. That she made him smile and laugh. That she made it so he didn’t want to end it.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t get one word of that truth out.

But he also didn’t want to lie.

“I...I’ve been having a hard time with some stuff,” he had choked out, “I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“What do you mean?” she had started to cry, “What are you having a hard time with? Who’s doing this? Just tell me. I can tell my parents and we can talk to the school and get you help-”

“I’ve been doing it.”

Sabri froze in place, “...What is that supposed to mean? You’re not doing-”

“I am,” Lukas told her, looking down so he wouldn’t have to look at her, her tears, “I hurt myself sometimes.”

He felt her fingers on his arm, shaking. He didn’t know if it was because she was upset or because she was scared of him now. Maybe both.

“What do you mean? Lukas, this is more than sometimes!”

Lukas let out a breath, “I know it is.”

His heart clenched when Sabri bit back a sob. He hated that he was hurting her. Hated he was half lying to her.

Hated that he was half telling the truth.

“Why?” she rasped out, “Why are you doing this?”

It would have been another good lead up to tell her what was going on. But he still didn’t.

“I...I’m really confused. I...God, I don’t know how to tell you…”

Lukas took a breath and slowly looked up at her.

“Sometimes...sometimes I am really attracted to girls. Like you. I...I’ve never cared about someone the way I care about you. I think you’re beautiful and smart and probably the nicest person I’ve ever known.”

Sabri had taken his hand in both of hers and waited for him to continue.

“But sometimes...sometimes I am really attracted to guys too. I have been for a long time. Like, with celebrities or whatever, I get crushes on both women and men. What I mean to say is...I’m not straight.”

And, the thing is, with more pressing matters at home, his sexuality was something that bothered him, but not something he dwelled on. It was never the driving force whenever he did hurt himself. Being confused by it didn’t help, but he coped with it by deciding it was just another thing that made him weird.

And he didn’t know why he told Sabri. But he couldn’t lie to her, even if he couldn’t pour his heart about about the abuse he faced from his dad.

He didn’t know how he had expected her to respond. He never planned on telling anyone. He just thought that, if he ever did end up with someone, which he probably wouldn’t because he was a fucked up liar who couldn’t do anything right, he would just say that he was straight if he was with a woman and gay if he was with a man. That would be that. And he could deal with it because he didn’t think he would ever feel tempted to cheat on someone he really cared about just because he wanted to dabble on the other side from time to time. Because, if for once in his life, he would actually become lucky and that luck led to being in a long-term relationship or getting married, even...he would dedicate every warm feeling he had to that person, all the love he had.

“...I...I’m not sure what I am supposed to say to that, Lukas,” Sabri muttered, letting go of his hand and moving away from him by a couple feet, “I...My parents and I...we don’t agree with that type of stuff.”

“I haven’t done anything with any guys,” he told her quickly, grabbing onto her arm, “I never would if I was with a girl. I would never cheat or anything.”

Sabri shook her head, “But it’s obviously something that’s bothering you if you are hurting yourself over it. Your arms...someone would only do that to themselves if they were really messed up in the head.”

Hearing that had hurt, even if Lukas knew she didn't know the whole story. Even if he knew she was still right despite that.

“Look, forget I said anything, alright? I...I love you. I don't know why I told you that. I don't like anyone else like that.”

“I don't know if I can forget that you said it. That you are so messed up that you, what? Burn yourself? Cut yourself? So messed up that you’re what? Gay now?”

Lukas stammered for a second as he felt his eyes get wet, “I don't know. I don't think I am because, out of any crush I have had, I haven't felt anything close to what I feel for you.”

Sabri took a couple breaths and bit her lip before shaking her head.

“I can't do this. I really like you, Luke, but I just...I know I can't accept the whole...guy thing. I'm sorry.”

“Sabri, please…” he whimpered, a couple tears falling.

“Look, we’re young,” she told him, getting up, “You’re 14, I just turned 15. My parents were probably right on banning dating until I go to college. I need to focus on school and stuff. Do you know what will happen if I don't get into an Ivy League? My parents would be pissed. And you’re smart, Lukas. You do well in school. But with you missing class so much and probably just going to Hunter because your dad has a high position there? I don't see how things will work out down the road anyway.”

“Sabri, I don't want to break up!” he panicked, gripping his hair, “I never wanted to tell you anything about this! I never wanted to upset you!”

“I'm sorry,” she answered in a sad voice, “Look, I really hope you get help and I won't tell anyone what you told me. But...I guess I can't handle it. It’s best that we go our separate ways and keep our distance. My parents would freak out if they knew I was dating someone like you. I need to go. Can you get off my blanket?”

Despite the everything he had faced over the past several years, he can't remember feeling so hurt and heartbroken ever since his mother died.

He walked home, feeling as alone as he really was. Usually seeing Mr. Santos would bring his mood up a little, but passing the older man on his lunch break just made him weepy and even more emotional, which had gotten the music store owner pull him in for a hug right in the middle of the stupid sidewalk, all concerned and asking him what was wrong. It made it both better and worse because it felt nice to be hugged but it also made him cry into his mentor’s sweater like a freaking kid.

“Do you want to come back to the store?” Mr. Santos started to fret, “I can get you some ice cream from across the street and you can take some time in one of the lesson rooms to calm down.”

“I-I d-don’t want the ice cr-cream,” he cried into his hands, which made him sound like he was 3, “I don't have enough m-money anyway.”

“It's my treat,” Mr. Santos told him softly, leading him down the block, “Now, come on. After you’ve settled down, you can look through as much sheet music as you want and pick some to take home, okay?”

He didn't need that much time to calm down. Mr. Santos gave him some privacy and, as promised, brought him ice cream. He brought a stool over and sat across from him in silence, licking what looked to be vanilla and black walnut out of a homemade waffle cone, before handing him a cone filled with dulce de leche and coffee flavored ice cream.

He wasn’t that hungry, but Mr. Santos got the cones from the artisanal place across the street, which charged almost five bucks a cone because they knew they sold the best ice cream in Queens.

“What's got you all worked up? I haven't seen you like that for years.”

Right. When Mr. Santos had first met him, he was a wreck because the man had caught him trying to shoplift a guitar music book.

Strangely, they have been close ever since. Or as close as he can get to someone without telling anyone about what goes on at home. Mr. Santos was probably a little old to be his dad, he was turning 56 later this month. But he sometimes desperately wished he was his dad anyway. Mr. Santos even told him he thought of him as a son. Mr. Santos didn't have any kids. Not anymore, at least. His wife and son both died in a car accident in Pennsylvania right before his son went to high school.

It had taken a lot for Mr. Santos to admit that to him. Lukas wasn't stupid. He was pretty sure that Mr. Santos told him that to try to get him to open up. Mr. Santos was suspicious that something was going on at home. Had sometimes straight up asked Lukas even.

But Lukas always said that everything was fine.

“Did something happen?” Mr. Santos asked, breaking the silence, “What’s got you so upset, son?”

Lukas ran his sleeve across his face and shrugged, “My girlfriend...my sort-of girlfriend br-broke up with me.”

“Sort of? Are you talking about Sabri?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lukas sniffles, “We weren't...we weren't really together. Just kissed a few times and hung out and stuff. She’s not allowed to date. B-But I told her something, something private that was bothering me. And she broke up with me because of it.”

Mr. Santos made a comforting noise and put a hand over his, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“You must think I'm stupid, right?” Lukas muttered, “I was barely with her for a month and I was barely with her in the first place.”

“You're still allowed to feel hurt and upset. It hurts to lose anyone you care about.”

Lukas whimpered and wiped his eyes once more before whispering, “You don't want to know why she left me? What I told her? Why I told her?”

A tense silence passed and Mr. Santos let out a sigh.

“...I'm not going to lie to you, Lukas. I would like to know what it was. You’re so closed off and quiet most of the time. I constantly see you around the city by yourself, never met your dad. I worry. But if you want to keep some things to yourself, then I won't make you talk, okay? But I want you to look me in the eye right now.”

Obeying the request is a lot harder than Lukas anticipated.

“If you need help, if there’s something serious going on that I don't know about, whether it was what you told her or not, I want you to know you can tell me. You tell me, I won't judge you, and I will try my damn hardest to make things better for you.”

Again, Lukas felt the urge to break down and tell someone absolutely everything. If he had a chance, it was now.

If you ever tell anyone about what goes on in this house, what I do to you now will be nothing in comparison to what will happen.

And I can make anyone you tell disappear too. They could fall down a flight of stairs. Get hit by a car. Maybe the police will find them hanging by a ceiling fan. Does that sound familiar to you?

He didn't know if his dad was capable of actually killing anyone or not, but he couldn't risk it. Losing Mr. Santos would devastate him. Losing Mr. Santos because of his dad would kill him.

“Everything’s fine,” Lukas rasped out, “I promise, it's fine.”

He managed to go home in the early evening feeling a little bit better. Mr. Santos walked with him and asked if Lukas wanted him to talk to his dad for him. That was the last thing Lukas wanted. He gave Mr. Santos a quick hug and made his way to the front door.

And he didn’t know what made him say it, but when his dad sneered at him, told him he looked like he had been crying like a fucking pussy all day, Lukas walked past him on his way to his room and muttered,

“Fuck you.”

Before he knew it, his face was getting pressed against their hardwood floor and his arm was being twisted behind his back. Lukas cried out when he heard the sickening crack, followed by the sharp burst of pain, and began to sob has his father gripped onto his hair and slammed his head against the floor over and over. Hard enough to split open his forehead and for blood to drip down his face, but not hard enough to knock him out. He sobbed the litany of I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry.

And then, just for a minute, it was over. But then he vomited. His head hurt so bad and he was so dizzy he couldn’t open his eyes. Even through that pain and confusion, he knew it had been the wrong thing to do. Getting his shirt torn off only to get his dad’s belt confirmed that.

After his dad was finished with him, Lukas had laid there for god knows how long. He forced himself not to fall asleep, despite not moving. He read that you shouldn’t fall asleep with a concussion until you can figure out your symptoms. He was dizzy and bleeding and it was making him nauseated but he could figure things out okay. His dad was in his study, grading papers or something. He took the chance to go to the bathroom. He had some trouble walking from the dizziness but, once he got to look in the mirror, his pupils looked the same size. He should be able to fall asleep without worrying too much. Sleep let your brain heal. He read that too.

And even if he did fall asleep and didn’t wake up, would that really be so bad?

Despite the pain, Lukas washed up, made it to his room, closed his door, and fell asleep better than he had in awhile.

The rest of the school year passed in a blur for Lukas. Sabri ignored him and acted as if they never had any type of connection, he didn’t have any friends, he played his guitar and sang for spare change more than ever, and his dad still had no problems beating him. His life had become monotonous, depressing, and often horrific.

It had been that way for years. But, in the last month of his 9th grade year, he decided he had enough. He got this crazy notion in his head that he deserved better than this.

And that led to the third important thing that happened that year: He told someone the truth.

He knew Mr. Santos had told him to come with him for anything. But he already came to him to give him pointers on the guitar, for sheet music, to eat meals with from time to time. And he couldn’t risk it. Mr. Santos meant to much to him.

The police weren’t an option. They had done shit for his mom. They comforted his dad as if she had been the light of his life. They were incompetent at best and crooked at worst. He might get lucky with a good cop. But his dad had helped them with translations in the past, had been honored at one point when Lukas was about 10. He could be screwed if he talked to them.

He made an appointment with the guidance counselor at school. That was her job, right? To listen to kids and help them through things? To take action if necessary? He figured that was his best bet. The bet that would require the least amount of effort and bravery on his part but one that could still be effective.

He probably should have been braver than he was though. Lukas could feel his heart pounding as he sat down across from her in the armchair. She had to ask him several questions about what he actually wanted before he could get a word out. Was he interested in college? Was he having trouble picking out next year’s classes? Was he being bullied at school? He just shook his head no to every question she threw at him until he finally choked out,

“My dad beats me.”

Ms. Manolis tilted her head in a questioning manner, “Victor, what are you saying?”

Lukas’s breath turned erratic as he started to ring his fingers.

“H-He beats me. H-He burns me with cigarettes. H-He hits me. Broke bones before. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t-”

Lukas pressed his palms against his eyes and bent down until his elbows touched his thighs.

Ms. Manolis stayed quiet for a moment before clearing her throat.

“You know, I went to Hunter College,” she eventually said, “Had your dad for several courses. He was my favorite professor. He was strict but fascinating and very giving with his time.”

No. This was not going the way it was supposed to go. She was supposed to help him-

“I would like you to stay here,” she told him, “We’re going to get all of this straightened out.”

Lukas let out a huge breath. Okay. Okay, this was better.

“Thank you,” he told her, “I’ve been bottling it up. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Ms. Manolis studied him for a minute, in a way Lukas couldn’t really pinpoint, before leaving her office. He sat there, waiting to find out what was going to happen next. He kept waiting and waiting, missed 4th and 5th period doing just that. Lukas started to wonder what was taking so long. She must have to talk to a lot of people. Figure out what to do next. Maybe she’s talking to CPS, trying to figure out a place for him to stay overnight or something. It was hard to place teens, right? Not as cute as little kids and stuff. That makes sense.

“Son.”

No. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t have.

“Victor,” Ms. Manolis started as she came to stand next to his father, “I called your dad. I think it’s best that we sit down and talk about all of this, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t move and his eyes couldn’t leave his dad’s, ones holding a look anyone else might mistake as concern, but Lukas knew better.

“Professor Hall, if you’d like to take a seat next to your son?”

His dad came over without hesitance and sat down next to him. The asshole probably could feel him shaking. Probably got off on it.

“Victor told me some concerning things, Professor Hall,” Ms. Manolis told his dad sadly, “I feel that he might be going through a rough time.”

His dad let out a shaky breath and ran a hand over his face.

“I've...I've noticed some things. He's become so distant. I’ve tried to get him to open up, but...has he talked to you?”

“A little bit. He's told me something that disturbed me. Something I feel is probably not true. But kids...they make things up, they seek out the attention for a reason. Has Victor seemed depressed? Has he lashed out at you particularly?”

His dad bit his lip, before muttering, “I feel like we are drifting further and further apart. Ever since his mom...my wife died...it's just been the two of us. We…I should have made an extra effort to become closer with him. I tried at first, you know? But you know teenagers and add that to the fact I am always working, closing in on a prestigious position at Columbia, and traveling for conventions and ambassador programs...I’m not at home enough for him. I know...I know he resents me for that. Is there something else going on?”

“Victor…” Ms. Manolis started, “Victor has made allegations against you, saying that you abuse him.”

Frown lines appeared on his dad’s face before the man turned to look at Lukas.

“Son? Son, what is she talking about?”

This is when he should have done anything other than sitting there, silent and shaking. He could have run, he could have flipped out, he could have demanded that his father stop giving such an Oscar worthy performance.

But he couldn't get one word out.

“Son, why would you say that?” his dad asked him, eyes wet, “I know things have been rough between us for a while, but you have to know...You have to know that I love you, right? That what you’re saying isn't true?”

His dad put his hand on the back of his neck, which probably looked like a comforting gesture to anyone else, but the way he squeezed Lukas’s neck, just enough to cause a little pain, as if he were promising something…

“I don't know what’s going on with him,” his dad told her tearfully, “My boy...he's a good kid. I don't know why he would say that.”

“Sometimes depression, loneliness, trauma, stress...they can all create a need within a child to cry out for help in ways that aren't healthy,” Ms. Manolis said to him consolingly.

“It...It isn't the first time he has tried to seek attention in a negative way,” his father admitted, “Never something like this, but…Jesus. Cussing, skipping class. Self-harm. That's the one that gets to me the most. About a year ago, I caught him...Christ. I thought he was getting better.”

“Self-harm?” Lukas was finally able to choke out before pulling up his sleeves to reveal all of the burns and cuts, “Do you think I made every one of these marks on my own?”

He heard Ms. Manolis gasp as his father let out a moan.

“Oh, son...Oh, son. Why? Why would you do that to yourself?”

Lukas glanced over at his dad and saw him crying fat crocodile tears, gasping, and putting a hand to his heart as if he had never seen Lukas’s arms. As if he hadn't put 85% of these scars on his son’s arms. As if he actually fucking cared and was heartbroken from the sight.

“Professor Hall, I know it's near the end of the school year and things are probably stressful for you with finals, but I really do believe your son needs more help than I can give him. He...he needs psychological attention, or at least the quality time with you he seems to be craving.”

His dad wiped at his face and nodded, “I'm going to be there for him. His grades are good enough to get out of his final exams, right? Most of what he is doing now is the extra credit work they give out to up their grades.”

“Victor does very well in school and can be excused from exams in classes he has an A average in,” she confirmed, pulling his grades up, “He has As in Honors English, History, Arabic I, Jazz Band, Orchestra, and Biology, a B in Algebra, and a C in Physical Education, mainly due to absences and sitting out so often. According to his record, he took his final exam in PE and passed the other day, so he’ll have a B average for the semester. All he has to do is take his Math exam.”

His father sighed, “Can someone take a little time so he could do that now? I feel like I need to schedule this last week off for both of us so that I can keep an eye on him and figure out what the best option is for him when it comes to his mental health-”

“Forget it,” Lukas interrupted, standing up abruptly, I’ll take the F on the test. It will leave me with what? A C average? Fuck it. I don't fucking care anymore.”

“Victor, sit down,” his dad ordered, but Lukas ignored him.

“You were supposed to help me!” Lukas accused her, “You were supposed to listen and make sure I was safe and you brought in this...this fucking monster in who has been hurting me!”

“Victor-”

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!”

Before he knew what he was doing, was throwing Ms. Manolis’s vase against her wall, causing the pottery to shatter against the plaster. His father came up from behind him and grabbed him around his waist, folding Lukas’s arms around his middle and making shushing noises that were probably supposed to come off as comforting, but Lukas knew what they really meant.

Shut up. Don't say another word. You’re already in for a whole other level of pain and punishment.

And, even though Lukas had acted out, had possibly been braver than he ever had been in his pathetic life, that bravery shrunk into something minuscule and meaningless.

“-Get the pieces away from him, he broke the vase for a reason! …No, no need to call the cops on him…I’ll be getting him help...I have connections with some psychologists...He’ll get better, if it's the last thing I do…”

And then he was in his dad’s car. A car the man had owned for almost six years but Lukas had only ridden in once, when his injuries had been too severe for R&R and a first aide kit to heal.

What had been the story then? He’d been mugged then, hadn't he? Jumped on the street, for what? Some lunch money? He couldn't walk to the train like he could with a broken or dislocated arm, one of his more usual injuries. He couldn't get treated by a friend of his dad’s that time, one who had to know something was going on but didn't say a word. He had to stay in the hospital that time. He could have died if he hadn't. The doctors had told him he was so lucky to have a father who cared so much about him and got him here on time.

Was everyone blind? Did they choose to be? Was it with anyone who needed help or was he some type of exception to be ignored?

He didn't even feel anything when they got home. He didn't feel fear or sadness. Maybe acceptance? Acceptance that this was how his life was going to be? At least until he was 18, assuming he made it to that age. Sometimes he felt like he wouldn't. His dad could go too far one day. Lukas himself could just decide that enough was enough and end it. It wouldn't take much. A bedsheet, a rope, a cut a little too deep, jumping off the Hell Gate Bridge. The name of the bridge could even be ironic, since he would be jumping to escape his hell.

Even as he went inside, he felt nothing. His dad didn't start beating him as soon as they were in the foyer. Lukas figured he could just go to his room and wait for the inevitable. He had a feeling it would be bad. He never told anyone before. He never yelled at anyone or thrown anything before. Facing extreme pain was going to be a consequence of that. Lukas knew it.

So he didn't shake or cry when his father opened his bedroom door. He didn't when the man stood over him and stared him down. He knew what to expect.

Or he thought he knew. But, as Victor Hall raised his arms and Lukas prepared for the worst, he was taken off guard.

Because that was when his dad gently put his arms around him and pulled him in for a hug.

Lukas felt his whole body shake as he let out a shuddering sob into his dad's arm. He felt his dad stroke his hair, heard him make that shushing noise again, and even felt the man’s lips brush the top of his head.

Lukas didn't know why he was slowly responding to it. Why he was letting his dad hold him. Why he felt himself holding onto the older man’s arms as if, just this once, they might have a father/son moment.

“You’ve had it so hard, haven't you?” his dad whispered, rocking him a little, “You lost your mom. You have no friends. No hope or promise for a decent future. You feel so alone. My poor boy.”

Lukas found himself crying harder, sobs racking his body, as he clinged onto him.

“No one even listens to you. Anyone with eyes can see you’re hurting, broken, and lost. Probably just steps away from jumping off the proverbial cliff that's life. But they don't care, son. You want to know why?”

His dad’s hug tightened to a painful level.

“Because you're pathetic. You aren't worth the thought; you aren't worth the love. You're completely worthless and will never amount to anything. The world would be better off without you.”

On that note, his dad let him go, stared at him for a moment, and reached into his pocket to pull out a Swiss Army knife.

“This would be sharp enough, right? Probably relatively painless too. Pity, but it would get the job done.”

Lukas squeezed his eyes shut and breathed heavily through his nose as his dad put the cold knife to his throat.

“Would you like me to do the honors?” his dad suggested, “We could make a slit right across the middle, watch you bleed out. That would be one way to go, huh?”

Lukas could only gulp in return.

“Or I can just leave the knife here and leave you to it. Because let’s be honest, kid. You might as well. It’s probably going to happen eventually. And frankly? I’m sick of seeing your face around here.”

His dad took two steps back, smirk firmly in place, and set the Swiss Army Knife on his desk.

“I’ll leave this right here and let you think on it,” his dad nods, “And in case we don’t see each other again...Goodbye, Son.”

His dad left his room and closed his bedroom door, effectively leaving Lukas alone with his thoughts.

It was his thoughts that kept him from being able to look away from the knife. They are what made him reach for the knife and flick it open in his hands.

It would be so easy. Just to put the knife to his wrist and slash it open. Vertical, not horizontal. Horizontal took a lot longer. Slitting his throat like his dad wanted him to might be even faster, but thinking about it made him sick. It was so gruesome.

He took his left and lifted his right sleeve up to his elbow. Maybe he should do it. Maybe he would see his mom. Lukas thought about that a lot, seeing her again. Maybe she would hug him, not like his dad just did - confusingly and viciously manipulative - but in the way that she used to. Sweet, warm, loving, kind, all encompassing.

Like a mom. Like a parent should hug their child.

He pressed the knife to his wrist, the sunlight through the window shining in and reflecting off the blade, almost like someone beyond Lukas’s understanding was encouraging him to move on.

But that’s when he saw it.

On the surface of the lit blade was a red, dried stain. Just a speck, but it was there.

Lukas lifted his right hand to feel his neck, only to bring the hand away to study it, to see if his dad had made him bleed and he just didn’t realize.

Nothing. He even went over and looked in the mirror. His neck was completely spotless.

It was probably nothing. Lukas scratched the speck away and there wasn’t even enough to make it under his fingernail. It was gone, lost in the carpet.

He should get back to what he was going to do. Just get it over with.

But, when he tried again, he couldn’t even break the skin. The only thing going through his mind was the question, What if?

What if what? What was his brain trying to tell him?

Put the knife down. Not yet. Wait.

Fuck. Why? Why did he feel the need to stick around?

Throwing the knife, he made two cracks in his mirror, creating three jagged pieces stuck in the frame. He stared at himself in all of them as he breathed heavily.

There was nothing worth looking at.