Chapter Text
September 8th, 1958
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Our tongues clashed desperately, my hands grasping at Lionel's jaw with a feverish need as he straddled my lap.
We could only ever do this in secret, usually in the back of my dad's truck that I borrowed to take to and from school. Often, we parked somewhere far away from any prying eyes, but this time it was late enough in the night that we risked doing it right here, in the driveway of my house.
Being 16 and curious was a damn headache, especially when that curiosity was about boys—the kind that twisted your guts and kept you up at night. It was the kind of curiosity that people hid out of shame, especially in this day and age.
"Cass," Lionel pants, pulling his lips away from mine just enough to speak. They were glistening with saliva, and the sight made my stomach clench with heat.
"You're lost in your head again," he sighs, disappointment flickering in those piercing blue eyes. He tries to pull away, to create space between us, but I catch him, tugging him back close.
"No, 'm not," I whisper, my voice soft but dishonest. It'd been weeks since we'd been alone like this, and I wasn't about to let my racing thoughts steal away the fierce, wild pleasure this damn boy brought me.
Lionel gazes at me with knowing eyes, the same kind he gave me the first time I confessed to him that I was confused. He was devilishly perceptive, and sometimes I think he understands pieces of me I have yet to name.
Lionel leans back in, gently brushing our lips together. "You think too loud," He murmurs, and I close my eyes, letting everything else fade as I trace the contours of his skin under his t-shirt with my fingertips.
Everything about this moment felt so right. Lionel fit against me better than any girl would, I was sure of it. His voice was soft and airy, but it had a bit of that boyish rasp that made my throat dry. I didn't understand how anyone could ever shame a feeling so good.
We melted back into the kiss, slower now—each touch deliberate, every brush of his lips relieving, in a way. I drank in the feel of his skin beneath my hands, the quiet gasps and shuddered breaths. At that moment, the chaos of guilt and doubt vanished, drowned out by the raw ache pulsing through me.
And then, just like that, it was over.
The back car door was torn open violently, and familiar, rough hands—scarred and unyielding—wrenched me from inside, slamming me brutally against the unforgiving ground. Every ounce of air was ripped from my lungs, leaving me gasping and choking, helpless, as my dad yanked Lionel from the back seat with the same savage force.
"Get the fuck out of here! If I catch you on my property again, I'll shoot you!" My father yelled after Lionel, who was already scrambling up from the ground to leave. I knew I'd probably never see him again, but I didn't have time to process the pain of that thought. My dad, Michael, snatched me by the neck of my t-shirt before I even had time to catch my breath.
"Cassius Grant you stupid son of a bitch," He hissed as he shook me, shock rattling my core, still processing his sudden presence. His tone was filled with venom, hatred, and malice. My hands trembled as they instinctively came up to grasp his wrists.
"What'd I tell you 'bout sneaking around with that fuckin' boy?" He continued, releasing me, and my back hit the concrete driveway, and I choked out a wince. When I looked up at him, he was standing there in nothing but boxers and a worn tank top, like he'd just rolled out of bed. Even from where I was on the floor, I could catch the faint trace of alcohol clinging to him, sharp and sour in the air between us.
"I wasn't-," I began, but before I could get another word out, his heavy fist collided with my nose. I heard a sickening crack far before I felt the searing pain that accompanied it. My father sneers a taunting laugh.
"What? You weren't?" He mocks, his tone low and dripping with anger.
"Weren't you fooling around with him? He was just sittin' on your lap for fun, huh? Or was it not what it looked like?" He scoffs, his slipper-covered foot stomping down on my stomach. I swore I saw stars.
"There's rumors goin' around," Michael spits, his fury burning, unrelenting. I've stopped hearing him—too distracted by the sharp, throbbing pain in my side where I'm pretty sure he cracked a rib. He looms over me, eyes narrowed with a disgust so raw it makes my skin crawl.
"You know, Cassius, I was willing to let you off bein' a homo, as long as you kept it quiet. But people are seein' you sneak off, they're speculating," He rants, punctuating his words with a scoff and a kick to my hip.
"You are stupid. Reckless—it's too much. You've gone too far," Michael continues angrily. He pauses for a moment to take a long look at my battered form below.
"And right now I've decided I ain't gonna have no faggot son."
Upon hearing this, I find a flicker of defiance through my pain and shock, and I grit my teeth.
"Your faggot son is about to beat your ass, you old piece of shit," I snarl, adrenaline fueling me as I spring to my feet and jam my elbow into his chest.
My dad stumbles back, slamming into the truck behind him—and I waste no time in throwing a punch, my hit landing on his jaw. He let out a gasp—and I wasn't sure if it was from pain or my audacity. He quickly retaliates, taking hold of a fistful of my blonde curls and tossing me back to the ground. My head collides against the concrete, my vision darkening for a few moments.
I groan, disoriented, not truly registering the kicks and punches as they land upon me. All I see through my doubled vision is my father, the man who's supposed to love and protect me, standing above me red-faced. His expression was twisted in anger, hatred, and fear, his chest heaving as he swears—though I don't hear it.
What I did hear, though, was his final statement as he finally finished beating me. He wiped the sweat that began to bead on his brow, his gaze pointed at me in disgust.
"Don't come inside. Don't ever come back here, Cassius. You are no son of mine," He spits coldly, stepping over me to head back to the house.
I wasn't sure how long I lay there, staring at the stars as they seemed to multiply and melt back together in my hazy vision. I heard so many sounds—the crickets, the soft sound of mooing of our cattle in the fields, the wind weaving through the tall grass, and the sound of the front porch door slamming shut behind my father.
I also wasn't sure when or how I gathered the strength to get up, but I did.
And I vowed I would never go back to that house.
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Authors note:
Whew okay I am so nervous, I heard you AO3 readers are brutal, and my writing is pretty average compared to the Picasso level shit on here. I apologize that the prologue is so short, but it's necessary! SO, moving on :) Thanks so much for reading. I love you, and most importantly, enjoy! Love, Brick.