Hidden Truths

CHAPTER 2

HIDDEN TRUTHS

Daniel’s POV

The dream was intoxicating, his touch lingering on my skin, his voice a seductive whisper.

“Do you want this in you?”

“Yes,” I whispered, desperate, consumed by the fantasy.

But it was only that, a fantasy.

A sharp voice shattered the illusion.

"Daniel! Get up now!"

My eyes flew open, and the dream vanished. The soft morning light filtered through my curtains, but it couldn’t chase away the dread that had settled in my chest.

"Daniel!" My mother’s voice boomed again, and then, without warning, she yanked the blanket off me.

"Morning devotion. Ten minutes."

Her words were as cold as the morning air.

I sat up, groggy and annoyed. The remnants of the dream clung to me, but they were quickly overshadowed by the reality of another day in this house. My room, with its soft pastel walls and trinkets that felt more “me” than I’d ever admit, was my only sanctuary.

I glanced at the picture of Sam Smith beside my bed, his kind gaze a silent comfort. One day, I told myself, one day, I’ll be free like him.

Dragging myself to the mirror, I caught my reflection: messy curls, tired green eyes, and a wiry frame. I didn’t look like the son my father wanted. I didn’t feel like the person I was supposed to be.

By the time I stumbled downstairs, the family was already gathered for morning devotion. My father’s stern eyes locked onto me.

“Late again, Daniel?” he said, voice sharp, his disapproval like a whip.

I muttered an apology, keeping my head down as he launched into prayer. The words were a dull hum in my ears, meaningless. My mind drifted back to the dream, the only place I felt alive.

"Daniel!" My father’s voice snapped me back.

"Are you even paying attention?"

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, heat rising to my cheeks.

He wasn’t satisfied. “You finish the prayer,” he demanded, his tone daring me to fail.

My heart pounded as I stumbled through a shaky prayer. The silence afterward was suffocating, his disappointment palpable.

“That’s all?” he said, voice cold. “You’re supposed to be a leader, Daniel. But instead, you’re… weak.”

The word hit me like a slap. My fists clenched under the table, nails biting into my palms. Weak. That’s all he ever sees in me.

“Michael, enough,” my mother said softly, trying to mediate.

But he was already standing, shaking his head in disgust. “I have nothing more to say.”

I rushed upstairs the moment he left, locking the door behind me. Tears burned my eyes as I sank onto my bed, muffling my sobs with my pillow.

"I hate him," I whispered. "I hate him."

But hate didn’t make the pain go away.

---

The walk to school was a welcome escape, the crisp air biting at my cheeks as I tried to shake off the morning’s tension. But peace was short-lived.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” Billy sneered as I reached my locker. His gang snickered, their eyes gleaming with malice.

“Pastor boy,” Shaun taunted. “Did you pray for us, or were you too busy being a little church mouse?”

I ignored them, focusing on unlocking my locker, but Billy leaned in closer, his voice a cruel whisper.

“Bet you dream about guys at night, don’t you?”

My stomach twisted, the words cutting too close to the truth. My hands shook as I grabbed my books and shoved past them, their laughter echoing behind me.

By the time I reached class, my nerves were frayed. But then I saw him.

Benjamin.

He sat near the front, his blonde hair catching the light, his confident smile lighting up the room. My heart did its usual flip, that frustrating mix of longing and hopelessness. He was everything I wasn’t, popular, charismatic, untouchable.

I slid into my seat, trying not to stare, but it was impossible. The way he laughed, the way he carried himself, it was magnetic.

The teacher began the lesson, but I couldn’t focus. My thoughts spiraled: the fight with my father, the bullies’ taunts, the way Benjamin would never know how I felt.

I glanced at him again, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. My breath hitched. Did he notice me? Or was it just wishful thinking?

I tore my gaze away, heart pounding, the ache of unspoken truths weighing heavy on my chest.