Chapter Text
I was born with my twin sister Madeline. My parents were overjoyed to have twins. A blessing from God, our parents said. Some kind of divine miracle. But apparently, being actual parents wasn’t worth such a miracle.
When I was only four, my dad locked me out of the house for 3 hours because I was crying too much. And his treatment of me only got worse. When my thirteenth birthday came around, bruises were always splattered all over my body, like a permanent tattoo. "Happy birthday brother" my sister Madeline said to me, when I woke up. I loved my sister. No matter how much shit we went through, we would always have each other
"Thank you. Happy birthday, Maddy." I said hazily. ‘Maybe today won’t be so bad’ I had thought to myself.
Didn’t even make it down the stairs before my dad crushed that thought.
"What the fuck are you so happy about, huh?!" He stood up from his lounging chair and stormed over to me. “Today won’t be fucking special just cause it’s your birthday, you understand that?!” he screamed at me. He always yelled at me for no reason. Before I could even apologize, he smacked my face, knocking me off balance and stumbling into the wall. Madeline just watched, fear in her wide eyes. They never hurt her. She always got off easy.
I could feel tears welling up inside my eyes, though I refused to let them spill.
"You better not start crying like a sissy, you got that?" His voice grew louder and louder. “Man up!” Something must've really made him mad today. Maybe we ran out of beer I just stared at the floor. I knew by then to shut up when he's mad. He finally got cooled off and walked away, going outside to smoke. I made a 180 and rushed up the stairs, Madeline trying to catch up. She followed me all the way up to my bed and looked at my wounds "Alfie, are you alright? I'm sorry I couldn't help!-" Madeline's voice was soft, but I could hear the concern in her voice. I nodded silently. She must have gotten the memo and left our shared room, probably going to the backyard. I hated it there. It was hell. I rang up the only person I felt I could talk to.
"Oh ‘ello lad. How are you? It's your birthday right? Finally in your teens, then!" My cousin Arthur greeted me. He grew up in London, but he was always more of a father to me than my dad ever was.
"I'm fine, I guess." I replied. I didn’t want to worry him. He already does that enough. We talked for a while until my mother walked in my room.
"Alfred, your father wants you downstairs. Now." Her voice was empty. She didn’t deserve my father. All the beauty I saw of her back in the marriage photos she would show me sometimes had been sucked away from her by that… by that monster. I just nodded and made my way downstairs. My father was there on the couch. His face turned to me and I watched it contort in disgust.
"Come here, faggot!" his voice was stern angry. I didn't even do anything and he was yelling at me. I hated my thirteenth birthday.
The years went by. I'm fifteen now. Nothing really has gotten better.
Turns out my sister was actually my brother. Matthew. I was the first person she- well, he came out to. I supported him, but after all the shit my dad put through in the hopes of making me a “man,” it sucked that he just popped in and wanted to be a boy without having to deal with the consequences. Though Dad absolutely hates him now. Dad beats me for gendering him properly and leaves Mattie alone so he can keep him a “delicate little girl”. Sucks to be me.
One day, while visiting from England, Arthur had sadly witnessed one of my dads screaming fits and insisted on caring for my bruises afterwards
"Alfred, you really took a beating. I'm surprised you're still awake" I let out a small mumble in response. It hurt to talk. Arthur finished up bandaging me and looked at me.
"Lad. Are you ok? Mentality?" Arthur's voice showed worry. I knew he was worried. He knew how terrible my parents were. But I still didn't want to worry him.
"I'm fine, just tired. I'm gonna go back home. I'm hungry.” I stood up barely waiting for a response from Arthur. He tried to speak but ended up stopping himself once he saw how desperate I was to leave. I mutter a “bye,” then left. I got to my house quickly. It wasn’t too far from the inn he was staying ant and I was in a hurry. My parents were gone. Dad was probably out drinking again. Mom was in the garden, talking to herself. Matthew was probably in his room, watching those Japanese cartoons. I made my way to the kitchen and just started eating. I always eat when I'm stressed. It’s a bad habit, but I just can’t help it.
Picked the worse possible time.
"Ugh, are you seriously going to eat all of that shit? You fucking fatass." my dad said as soon as he got home. He really couldn’t talk but I really didn’t want to have a broken rib so I kept my mouth shut
"I guess" I spoke quietly. I've stopped trying to fight by now.
"Can’t believe I got stuck with a cocksucking, money-leeching pig as my son." My dad yelled, slapping me. As if that wasn’t enough, he bashed my face against the plate I was eating out of. I felt my blood on my cheek., and all my food was on my face. Everything hurt. He left after that, going to his room to watch TV. I kept my face against the plate for a while before standing up.
I ran to the bathroom. I absolutely hated my body. I was fairly muscular, but a thin layer of fat covered it. It was disgusting. I was disgusting.
I kneeled in front of the toilet and stuck my fingers into mouth, trying to irritate my gag reflex.
I vomited my last meal into the toilet, hoping I got anything that would make me fat out of my system. I hadn’t even noticed Matthew until I heard a muffled gasp come from the bathroom door.
“Alf… what the hell? Why did you do that? Are you okay?” He asked softly.
"I'm fine, Mattie" I responded quickly as I stood up, walking to my room. Matthew tried to stop me. Luckily he's weak because dad doesn't force him to work out like he does with me. I was able to move him away easily. I locked my door and just lay on my bed as I tried not to cry.
I really hated myself. I hated the way I looked, the way I acted, the way I spoke, the way I sounded, the way I looked at other men. I was disgusting.
I could only imagine how it was for Matthew.