My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

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I flinched hard enough that my shoulder slammed against the wall, the old plaster rough against my sleeve, and I instinctively tried to make myself as small as possible. "No, Dad, please, I swear it’s not what you think—" I rushed out, desperate, but my words shattered against the roar that followed.

"Shut your damn mouth!" His voice sliced through the room like a whip crack, and I swallowed the rest of my plea so fast it hurt. I pressed my lips together, tasting blood from where I bit the inside of my cheek. The silence that fell was suffocating, only broken by my ragged breathing and the faint clink of the half-empty bottle on the side table when he shifted.

He stared at me for what felt like forever, his chest heaving, the flush creeping down his thick neck. Then his mouth twisted into something that barely resembled a smile. "You sit in there at night with a flashlight, don’t you?" he said, his tone suddenly quieter, almost conversational, which only made it worse. "Jerking off to those pictures, reading those filthy queer books, rubbing yourself raw like some little fag in heat, don’t you?"

I shook my head so violently that my vision blurred with fresh tears. "No," I whispered, each syllable scraping out painfully. "No, I never—I wouldn’t—"

He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, the magazines sprawled between us like evidence in a trial I’d already lost. "You still a virgin, Noah?" The question slithered through the air and wrapped around my throat. "Or did some pervert already bend you over already and turn my son into a cock-sucking bitch?"

"No, Dad, I—" My voice faltered on his name, full of pleading, but he wouldn’t let me finish.

"Bullshit." The word exploded from him, sending spit flying. "I’ve seen the way you walk, the way you talk, hiding this sick shit, blushing like a goddamn girl every time a boy looks at you. I spent your whole life trying to raise you to be a man—making you play ball, keeping you away from those soft friends of yours, checking your phone—and it was all for nothing, wasn’t it?"

His laugh was ugly and broken. "My own son, turning into a filthy little queer right under my roof."

The word ’queer’ hit me like a slap, blooming heat across my face even though he hadn’t touched me yet. Tears flowed faster now, dripping off my jaw and soaking the collar of my hoodie. I couldn’t stop shaking. "I’m not," I tried again, my voice barely audible. "I’m not, I promise—"