RELOCATING.
949 Words
Daniel POV
Chapter One
I hate moving.
Not in the casual, ugh-this-is-annoying kind of way people complain about.
I mean I hate it in the kind of way that sits in your chest like a stone and refuses to move. The kind that makes your stomach twist before you even start packing. The kind that reminds you that no matter where you go, you still have to take yourself with you.
And sometimes… that’s the worst part.
The car hums beneath me as we speed down the highway. I lean my head against the window, letting the cool glass press into my temple. Outside, the world stretches endlessly—trees, buildings, passing cars—all blurring into one long streak of motion.
Everything looks like it’s running away.
Or maybe I am.
Mom hasn’t said much since we left.
She keeps both hands on the steering wheel like if she lets go, everything might fall apart again.
Maybe it will.
“Danny…”
Her voice is careful.
Soft.
Like she’s testing whether I’ll respond or shatter.
“I’m fine,” I say before she can ask anything else.
The lie slips out easily.
Too easily.
I’ve had practice.
A glance from the corner of my eye tells me she doesn’t believe me.
Of course she doesn’t.
She exhales slowly. “You don’t have to be.”
“I know.”
But I still pretend.
Because if I stop pretending… then everything becomes real.
And I don’t think I can survive that twice.
The silence stretches again.
Thick.
Heavy.
Unspoken things pressing between us.
Then—
“You’re safe now.”
The words hit me harder than I expect.
I turn slightly, just enough to see her profile. Her jaw is tight, eyes focused ahead, but there’s something trembling beneath the surface.
“You don’t know that,” I murmur.
“I do,” she says immediately.
Her grip tightens on the wheel.
“I won’t let him near you again.”
My chest tightens.
Again.
The word echoes.
Like she knows there were times before.
Like she knows everything.
But she doesn’t.
She only knows pieces.
Fragments.
Not the whole story.
Not the nights.
Not the words.
Not the way I learned to cry without making a sound.
*******
FLASHBACK
“I saw the messages.”
My blood runs cold.
I stand frozen in the middle of the living room.
Dad’s phone is in his hand.
My phone.
My secret.
Everything exposed.
“I can explain—”
“You don’t need to,” he cuts in, voice dangerously calm.
That’s worse.
So much worse.
“Tell me it’s not true.”
My throat closes.
Say it.
Lie.
Fix it.
But I can’t.
“I’m gay.”
The words barely leave my mouth before everything explodes.
The sound of the slap echoes through the room.
My head snaps to the side.
Pain blooms across my cheek.
“You are not,” he says sharply.
“I am—”
Another slap.
Harder.
“Stop saying that!”
“I can’t—”
“You will!”
His voice cracks like thunder.
I step back, shaking.
“I’m still your son—”
“No,” he says coldly. “You’re not.”
Something inside me breaks.
****
BACK TO PRESENT
I squeeze my eyes shut.
My chest feels tight.
Too tight.
Like I can’t get enough air.
“Danny?”
Mom’s voice pulls me back.
I inhale sharply.
“I’m okay.”
Lie.
Always a lie.
“We’re almost there,” she says gently.
I nod, even though she’s not looking.
Almost there.
A new house.
A new school.
A new life.
Or at least… the illusion of one.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not comforting.
Just… empty.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the unfamiliar walls. The room smells like fresh paint and something faintly chemical.
It doesn’t feel like mine.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Half-open boxes are scattered everywhere. Clothes spill out of one. Books stack unevenly in another. My life, unpacked in pieces, like I don’t quite belong to it anymore.
Mom knocks softly before stepping in.
“I made something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She pauses.
I can feel her hesitation.
“Try a little?”
“I’m okay.”
Another lie.
She nods slowly, even though we both know I haven’t eaten properly in days.
“Alright.”
She lingers at the door.
Then—
“I’m proud of you.”
I blink.
“For what?”
“For getting through everything.”
I almost laugh.
The sound dies in my throat.
“I didn’t really have a choice.”
“You did,” she says quietly. “And you’re still here.”
That doesn’t feel like an achievement.
It feels like survival.
And survival doesn’t always feel like winning.
---
That night, sleep doesn’t come.
It never does.
Darkness wraps around the room, thick and suffocating.
The silence is worse.
Because silence means there’s nothing to distract me.
Nothing to drown out the memories.
---
Flashback
“You’re disgusting.”
His voice is sharp.
Cutting.
I stand there, shaking.
“I didn’t choose this—”
“You chose to shame me!”
“I didn’t—”
His fist slams into my stomach.
Pain explodes.
I collapse to the floor, gasping.
“Look at you,” he mutters. “Weak. Soft.”
Tears blur my vision.
“Please…”
“Pathetic.”
---
Back to Present
I curl into myself under the blanket.
My chest aches.
Tears slide silently into my pillow.
Always silent.
I learned that the hard way.
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