My Youth Began With Him Novels & Stories

Because whatever it is that will end up hurting me and I guess in my life I have enough pain and hurt. He and I we both are no match. From every single way we are different from each other. I still remember meeting him for the first time when I was 14 years old. He was already 20 that time. He came here for some checking and ended up playing with the young kids. I was admiring him from afar. I was scared to go in front of him still I am. He comes every year and for the past 6 years I've admired him. He is so down to earth.

I started doing drugs when I was fifteen, Coden and I were so close that he would give them to me for free. We would sit and talk for hours and gradualt we realized we had so much in common. He had blonde hair and big blue eyes, his dimples popped out and his fringe made him look like a british prince from some distinguished family.

He forwards his hand for me to grab and I silently slip my palm onto his rough large hand. "Its a very long story that starts when I turned eighteen.........."

, he looked up finally, meeting my eyes. "You said you used dream of me. I wanted to know more. When did I come to your dream the first time?", I beamed? "What did I use to do in your dreams? Did we have any moment? Did we use to talk talk... Did we.....", I held my breath, controlling my excitement. "Goddess, I wanna know so many things but I never got a chance to ask you" I was actually curious to know how it all started for him. Finally, he had a genuine smile on his face. He continued with the soup. "It was after my 16th birthday. Maybe, two or three days later", he said, looking into my eyes.

I wanted to spend as much time as I could with him. He did not stay much or even sit. From the kitchen, I walked him to the door. He said he had somethings to do. "Tomorrow is our youth sunday. It's actually my first with them," he said. "Really? " "Yes. Look beautiful. " His hand cupped my cheek briefly ."I would come pick you up. " I nodded, all smiles and watched him walk to the gate.

Sat back on his heels, hands open like surrender. "It started in high school," he began, voice low, thick with emotion. "Senior year. Ridgewood Academy. You were... God, you were everything. Bright. Kind. Laughing in the hallways with your friends, head thrown back like the world was yours. I was the quiet kid scholarship student, nose in books, building what would become my career early."

He wouldn’t go against me, I knew he wouldn’t, he was the only thing in my life that kept me breathing. I had almost given up due to the tormenting years I experienced as a teenager when I found him on my 18th birthday. I had snuck out, nobody wanted to celebrate it, but that didn’t mean I was going to let it pass without at least tasting one drink in the pack bar. His scent, it’s the first thing I smelt when I walked into the bar, his gaze intensely watching me as I entered. His smile was so alluring, so authentically raw that I was already melting into his gaze

“Can’t I?” “O-of course.” “Good.” With a grin, he clapped his hands together and slowed us down to stop. “So here we are.” I looked around, taking in a stairwell in the corner where one wall was brick and the other was made mostly of dingy, twelve-inch windows. Pointing at the black and red letters B and C with a bit of white glowing around them, he explained, “This was my first tag. When I was fourteen. I’d just met some thug kids I’d bought some pot from, and one guy let me have a go with his paint can. This is what I made before the cops showed up and escorted me home.”

The presence of that filthy man only served to revive the wounds that I had carried in my soul since I was ten years old, wounds that I had spent a lifetime trying to forget. I really loved that man once, when I was just a child. Even without knowing he was my father, I admired him, I saw him as a superhero and he also showed that he cared about me. We were friends, riding companions, he never treated me like an employee. Until one day, I found him in that damned stable, where he used to sleep when he came home from the farm too drunk to go home and listen to his wife's fights. It was there that everything happened, it was there that he destroyed me, engraving marks on my soul that would nev

he reminds me. “Those men I mentioned… They would say things about my ass when I walked by—and what they wanted to do to it,” I blatantly reveal. “And the women who were shooting up or whoring themselves out offered advice on how to get me started down either path. I was ten when all that began, Nick. Ten.”