Deprivation


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2. Chapter One

As I pulled Into the car park, I couldn't help but cringe at the run down block of flats. A sigh escaped my lips at at my attempt to reassure myself that it probably wouldn't be as horrific as I expected. Yeah, right.

I wouldn't even have to move here if I wasn't so different - if I just liked girls, then maybe people wouldn't hate me. But even in a big city like Doncaster, I was still degraded for what I was;

A fag

A homo

Queer

The words often rotated in my skull when I was in the privacy of my home, and with every breath I took there was a new carving fixed upon my skin.

I didn't notice I was crying until the warm pools soaked my shirt, suffocating my skin. The sobs that emitted from my throat sent shivers up my spine, awaking me from my state of preoccupation. I immediately scolded myself, knowing that if anyone here found out what I was I'd be even more of an outsider.

Stepping out of my car, I took a deep breath in - hoping it would interrupt the stream of tears descending my face. Realising that it was basically impossible, I charged toward the doors of the stingy old flats, determined to get inside before anyone noticed my fragile state.

The reception was abandoned, and I understood why. With its broken elevator and web filled plants, I got the feeling that the flats above would be worse than I imagined.

I made my way up the stairs, praying that this was a con, that the actual rooms were royal worthy. A boy could dream, right?

Reaching the third floor wasn't difficult- but what was difficult was trying not to make eye contact with the teenagers loitering in the hallway. I jammed my key into the lock and forced the door open, almost falling to the floor when I could finally get it to budge. Steadying myself, I glanced around the room.

Maybe I should have stayed in Doncaster.

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