Unlikeable You

Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: acts of violence, mentions of homophobia, mentions of abuse

“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice of Tyler’s father rang from the other end of the phone. Daniel’s body tensed. He was afraid this would happen. If only—ah, never mind. Quickly, he got out of bed and put on his shoes. 

“I-I was just seeing if you were still home,” Tyler stuttered. His voice was shaky, a clear sign he was scared. As Tyler continued to stall for time, Daniel was rushing his way to his front door.

His mom glanced at him from the kitchen. “Where are you going?” 

“Now’s not the time—” Daniel blurted out, then sighed as he opened the door. “Sorry, I’ll explain later.” The door slammed consequently out of panic. Daniel paid no mind, though, choosing to ignore the ear-full he’d get later. 

As Daniel ran down the street, he clenched his jaw. Was his warning to Tyler’s father really not enough? 

“If anything happens, you need to call me,” Daniel told Tyler. The latter hummed in response, and Daniel made his way out the bedroom door. 

Daniel knew Tyler’s dad’s habits, and Mr.Whitley knew they infuriated the boy. Daniel slowed his pace as he walked past him, the man’s fists already tight in his pockets. He moved a little closer so only they could hear and gave the warning:

“If I find a single bruise on his body because of this, I will make sure he leaves and that you never see him again—just like Ms. Sarah.” 

Daniel’s words seemed to hit as hard as he had planned—all Mr.Whitley did was tense up without saying a word.

Then Daniel left.

Recalling the memory brought Daniel even further into panic. Even more, he was in such a rush that he nearly forgot he was on the phone with Tyler. He took his phone out of his pocket to see what was going on, just to see that the call had ended.

Well s**t.

Tyler’s palms had begun to sweat—he was becoming a nervous wreck. He began to internally plead with all his life. Daniel, please hurry—

“You’re leaving me to go to that boyfriend of yours, huh?” his dad yelled. Specks of his spit landed on Tyler’s cheeks. The man’s breath stank of alcohol, nearly enough for Tyler to gag. Of all the places his father could’ve been, he was in the backyard drinking away. 

Tyler shook his head rapidly. “He’s not—I wasn’t. I said I was just—”

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” his father seethed. Anything Tyler could’ve said would’ve just added fuel to the raging fire. The man wasn’t in the right state of mind—trying to leave was a mistake. “You’re going to go run off with him just like that b***h mother of yours,” he spat. “I tried to raise you right—to keep you away from that… that disease—yet you seemed to catch it. Now you’re just like her.”

Tyler could still remember the rage in his father’s eyes the day his mom left. His father had always despised his mother for it. It never ended. She had left with a woman, no less. His father felt as if it was a testament to his manhood; his fragile walls crumbled, and his responses turned for the worst. When Tyler’s mother said she was leaving, his father beat her. When she finally left, he beat their son. Tyler was asked why a man wasn’t good enough for her—why his mother had to trade him out for a woman. He threatened that if Tyler ever became ‘a god-awful sinner like her,’ he would pay for it. 

Now not only did his father know, but Tyler had no excuses. He had been caught.

Tyler had tried liking girls—both casually and out of self-enforcement. It never worked. So, instead, he decided to hide it. If he could just hold off until he was free from his father’s hands—if he could just be good... But now, it was too late. Tyler had to deal with the consequences of his actions. He never chose to be this way… he never wanted to be this way—

His father closed his hand, forming it into a fist. Simultaneously, Tyler’s eyes closed as he braced himself for the hit. Nothing came. Instead, there was a thud on the wall a few inches behind him. He flinched. When Tyler opened his eyes, he turned to see his father’s fist buried into the wall. The boy’s eyes widened, and all he could do was stare. Why didn’t he hit Tyler?

The silence that engulfed the house was rigid and sharp, and a part of Tyler would have preferred being hit. It was deafening, suffocating—he felt trapped in it. His father lifted his other hand and took a swig of beer, wiping the excess with his newly-bloodied fist.

“I’m a man,” his father muttered to himself. “How dare he think he can threaten me.” He turned away from Tyler, but the boy was still frozen. Was he talking about Daniel? Did Daniel really threaten him? The father leaned against an opposing wall and stared at his son. “I’m going to kill that boy, I swear it.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Dad, you can’t.” What kind of sick jo—was he joking? Either way, he wouldn’t be able to do that to the boy who was like a second son to him... right? 

He couldn’t harm the one person Tyler had—the one person who didn’t run away when they figured out who his father really was.

“He turned my son into a homosexual and threatened to take you away. He’s no better than that b***h that stole your mom. They both deserve to die.” His words were beginning to slur, a clear sign that he had far too much the drink—not that before was any better. When Tyler’s father was drunk, he had a clear idea that anything that he said, goes—violence included. Even if this was some sort of sick, twisted joke, the possibility of him trying to make it true was enough to send chills down Tyler’s spine.

He needed to warn Daniel.

Tyler quickly slipped his phone out of his pocket and brought it to where he could see it. He opened my mouth to speak but froze. The call had already ended. How much did Daniel miss? Was he already on his way?

Tyler’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

A grin rose on his father’s face. “Oh? Is loverboy here to save you?” He slurred. Tyler’s heart began to race more than it had before. Was Daniel seriously in danger? He pressed his back against the door, and the man’s grin faded.

“Tyler? Is everything okay?” Daniel yelled through the door. The man began to walk towards him.

“Y-yes. Please leave, Daniel. I’m okay. My dad, he—” he began to reply, but paused when his father stopped a few inches in front of him.

“He’s what? Tyler, can you open the door?” Daniel yelled again. He sounded panicked.

“Daniel. You need to leave.” Tyler stated clearly, his eyes locked with his father’s. The man’s eyes glowered, and the boy swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Tyler, why?” Daniel asked. 

The boy began to stutter. “B-because—”

“Tyler, you need to move so I can open the door,” his father instructed. Tyler shook his head.

“I’m not moving.”

“Tyler Moses Whitley if you don’t move your ass right now,” he warned, his voice becoming sterner. Tyler felt his hands begin to shake, but he stayed in place.

“I can’t.”

With one large step, his father towered over him. Tyler looked up. It was like a rabbit to a wolf, but he remained still. The boy let out a shaky breath. The man tsked. In one movement, he grabbed his son’s arm and threw him to the ground. Tyler landed on his side and took in a sharp intake of breath from the hit, looking up to see his father opening the door. It swung open, and he and Daniel looked at each other eye-to-eye.

When the door opened, Daniel was met with Mr. Whitley’s glare. The pungent smell of alcohol riddled the man’s clothes, making Daniel all the more irritated.

“Where’s Tyler?” he asked, getting straight to the point. When the question was met with silence, he let out a scoff. “Can I come in?” he asked instead—less as a question and more as a statement—going in shortly afterward.

When Daniel brushed past Mr. Whitley, he saw Tyler on the ground. His friend’s eyes locked with his—and, as if a spark had lit within him—Daniel was quickly met with rage.

He turned to Tyler’s dad. “Didn’t I tell you not to lay a hand on him?” Daniel asked, and the man glowered.

“You can’t tell me how to treat my son, boy,” Mr. Whitley said, somehow managing to string his stumbling words together. He took another swig of beer. “And I didn’t hit him. I just moved him so we could let our guest in.” He gave a sleazy smile and Daniel furrowed his eyebrows.

The boy turned back to Tyler. “You stopped me from coming in?” Daniel asked. Tyler was now on his feet, giving an affirmative nod. “Why?”

“He said he was going to,” Tyler paused, getting quiet, “kill you.”

Daniel let out a chuckle. “You,” he pointed, facing Mr.Whitley, “said you were going to kill me?” The boy couldn’t help but smile. He was all too angry and humored at once. “Then what? You lose your kid? You finally lose everything you want to hold onto so dearly?” He half-mocked, and the man got visibly irritated.

Tyler grabbed his arm. “Daniel, stop.”

Daniel turned to him and offered a kinder smile. “Sorry, I was kidding.” He grabbed Tyler’s wrist and pulled them towards the door, looking at Mr. Whitley. “I’m taking him with me. You aren’t in any reasonable state to be with him right now,” Daniel uttered honestly. The drunken man narrowed his eyes.

“You aren’t taking my kid anywhere,” he replied. Mr. Whitley clenched his fist. Daniel noticed the hints of blood surrounding his knuckles. The boy looked back up at the man and shook his head.

“Tyler, let’s go,” Daniel instructed. Tyler didn’t reply, so the former continued to pull him along. They passed his dad, who remained silent as they stopped at the door. Daniel quietly twisted the doorknob, opening it. Just as they began to walk out, heavy footsteps made their way towards them. Subconsciously, he harshly pulled on Tyler and pushed him out the door.

Mr. Whitley snarled from behind them, “Why don’t you people ever f*****g listen to me?”

Daniel quickly threw Tyler to the ground outside and the latter tsked in response. He took a second to breathe, brushing himself off. “What the hell, Daniel?” he asked. When he wasn’t met with a response, he looked up.

Tyler’s eyes widened when the glass bottle made contact with the back of Daniel’s skull, and the latter sluggishly stumbled towards the boy. Tyler quickly got up and caught him, placing Daniel on the floor. He looked up at his father. The man’s face was filled with some kind of victorious smile.

Tyler glared at him and said lowly, “What the f**k is wrong with you?”

“This is your fault, Ty,” the man slurred with a grin. The broken bottle top swirled in his hand. Tyler felt a drop in his stomach—even he knew that his father was right. The man opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped and shut the door.

Tyler felt his eyes begin to sting. He turned to Daniel. His friend was still sluggish, and the hit seemed pretty hard. “Daniel?” he called for the boy’s attention, receiving no response. Tyler felt a pang in his chest and felt his friend’s head to check for any external damage. He brought his hand back into view. It was covered in blood. With a sharp intake of breath, Tyler’s hands started to shake and tears filled his eyes. As quickly as he could manage, he took the phone out of his pocket and dialed the police.