Dexter: It’s been years since then. I still hate him. Mom was never around. She left us. Snow looks just like her... and I look just like my dad. I hate myself for it. I wish I could just kill myself. Every part of my body looks like his; trust me, I’d know. All except my eyes. I have mom’s eyes... He abuses me daily. I come home and he beats me. Why? Because I’m gay. Because I’m not good enough. Because music isn’t a real career. “You can’t write your stupid songs as a job. No one will listen to them. You suck at singing anyways, faggot.” And I cry in my room. And I apologize. I can’t help it... But like I said, it’s been years. I’ve moved to my apartment and I pay rent. I work at a local Subway part-time. I still don’t write songs or sing, really... but there’s this boy I met today...