It's tiring, with these memories that plague me. The monster at night just stares at me from the room of where it happened, beating me with the pain I hold. My step-father, a cruel man, believed in simple things. His family were monsters and pillars of the community, so no one helped, when this man saw me help a person in need. He saw it as "gay" and that set him off. He needed me to be a man, I didn't know why. So, he beat me, not just any beating. Coming home from school, right when I open the door, a fist always met my face. Ribs were always brused weekly and blacks eyes stayed for awhile, beating me was his pleasure because he believed in what his father did. They believed you could beat the "gay" out of somebody. I was never gay, I loved a girl, but she was near an even scarier monster. I told my...