Chapter Text
<Tord’s POV>
It was late. Somewhere between 23:00 and 23:30, according to my clock. My dad was standing over me, looming, threatening. He kept screaming in my face. He hated me. I was never the son he wanted. As far as I could tell, he wanted me dead. But my mom wouldn’t have that.
“Faen ta deg (Fuck you)! Du homofil lille dritt (You gay little shit)!” He yelled those horrible words almost every night, threatening at my throat with a knife, sometimes even the jagged, broken body of a beer bottle.
“Far stopped et (Father stop it)! Jeg er din sønn (I’m your son)!” I screamed back at him, sitting in the corner he had backed me into.
“Hvorfor (Why)? Du er ikke sønnen meg (You’re no son to me)! Jeg har all rett til å fornekte deg (I have every right to disown you)!”
At this point I began to shudder. Tears were forming in my eyes. I wish this would stop. I wish I wasn’t gay. I wish I were more masculine. I wish I was more like the guys at school. I wish I could horseplay and play ball with my dad like anyone else. I wish I was social and wanted to play sports with the friends I didn't have. I wish I was the son he wanted. Maybe then I wouldn't be so scared when he came home with broken bottles. I began to sob, putting my head into my knees.
I wish I were dead.
I woke in a cold sweat. I gasped for air as I shot up from the nightmare. Nightmare? No, flashback. That was a memory. The last thing I remember before moving to Britain from Norway. Away from home. Away from the snowy winter I would always frolic in as a child. Away from being an outcast. Away from social isolation. Away from the painful daily reminders of who I am. Away from seeing death loom over my throat every night. Away from my dad.