Background:

Warning: Use of the F slur, implied attempt and suggestive sentences about sexual assault/harassment.

Carlos Fernández was born and raised in a very poor part of Mexico City.
His room was never super fancy or decked out like the other kids, and he was sometimes made fun of for not having fancy things.

All the other kids had the newest tech and he felt isolated, resulting in him not really making friends outside of his siblings. His entire life was cautious and he lived in fear.

His father only told him bits and pieces about "bad people that do bad things."
Carlos was nine when he was suddenly pulled out of homeschool and forced into public, from that point on, his training had begun.

One of the first things he was taught was to not show emotions, or it earned him a beating.

"Papa! por favor I can't-" the nine year old gasped and threw up as the man's foot came in contact with his stomach.
"Don't fucking cry. Only weak little pansies cry." his father spat out, his face enraged.

However, when he turned 10 his father began acting strange - he was even more violent and determined to make the perfect 'weapon.'

His brother and him were overworked, and constantly scolded for their diet.

"Why the fuck did I find this in your trash can?!" The man roared while holding up a treat wrapper.
"I-it was from Halloween-" the two boys pleaded, trying to convince their father of their innocence.
"bullshit! You can't eat all this shit or you'll get fat. And who would want to be fat? Certainly not my sons. Nobody will love you if you're fat. Actually," he paused, "nobody will love you anyway." He spat out at the two boys as they shrunk into themselves, cowering in fear.

His entire life he thought this was normal.

That all fathers were like this.

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

He later learned he was a very dangerous man in a dangerous business.

It only hit him that this wasn't normal when he was forced to carry out the 'family name'.

"I don't want to hurt people!" The now eleven year old Carlos yelled out, tears forming at the brims of his eyes.
"I don't give a shit about what you want! You will be my apprentice and that is final!"

he still tried to make the best of it, and he decided to help his mamá by cooking meals and doing housework by himself.

"Aye Mijo-" Rosá spoke, "You're working yourself raw! And look at how thin you are"
Carlos shrugged it off, "Don't worry about me. 'm fine, mamá"

He was the middle child, his sister Elizá being the youngest.

until his 12th birthday, Carlos' father had only ever hit him and his brother. Then he began to threaten his mother.

He would force Carlos to do housework and extra missions, anything less than a B+ on school assignments earned him or his mother smack to teach them a lesson.

"Carlos, look at me" his mother spoke softly.
He couldn't find the strength or the courage to look his mother in the eyes.
She lifted his face to look at her and smiled at him. She smiled even while the cut under her eye bled..
"It's not your fault, baby.."

Despite his mother's comfort, he was convinced that every hit was his fault.
And to make it worse, his brother, Lance, took most of the punishments meant for him

"No stop! Please, papa!" He choked down a cry as Lance smiled through his pain.. for him.

Thinking he was the cause of his loved ones pain, Carlos grew to be even more of a reserved, outcasted boy.

He was bullied harshly and whispers about the 'edgy kid' spread around the school like wildfire.

Eventually, Carlos fell into such a deep state of depression that he attempted at age 14.

"Ms Hernández said you weren't in class toda-" Rosá stood in the doorway in shock before rushing to Carlos' side "nonono- LANCE CALL AN AMBULANCE, RÁPIDO" she sobbed as she wrapped his bleeding figure in a black hoodie that she later let him keep.

He was released from the hospital and decided to channel his feelings into art and music.

Everything was kept a secret; stored in his hiding spot up in the trees

"Mijo?" Rosá knocked on the doorway of the treehouse. She peeked in, only to see a sleeping carlos passed out with his notebook open.
She picked it up and smiled at the drawing of her and Elizá he had worked so hard on.

His mother scrapped together all the money she could to buy him the best high quality set of markers for his fifteenth birthday.

It was his first set of markers and one of the few birthdays he received gifts! Not that he cared about the gifts.

Fast forward to age seventeen.

Carlos brought home his first boyfriend to meet his mother and siblings. He was new to relationships and they hadn't done more than held hands and cuddled.

Diaz, however, didn't like that. He tried to force himself onto carlos several times. Thankfully, after a messy breakup and a slap to the face he was free.. and alone just because he didn't want to get intimate.

"c'mon you prude-"
He was cut off. "No! I've let you push me around long enough! Do you know how many showers I take after you try kissing my neck?! I'm asexual, get over it!"
He was slapped across the face.
"learn to respect those in control you bitch. I'll fucking kill you!" Diaz threatened.
Rosá had heard the whole thing and threw him out.. she also may or may not have cut his dick off-

All hell broke loose when he turned eighteen;

when he was outed as gay to his father.
The man nearly beat him and his brother to death

"I WILL NOT HAVE A FAG LIVING UNDER MY ROOF" he roared.
"LAY YOUR FILTHY HANDS ON MY BABY BROTHER AGAIN AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS-" Lance yelled out threateningly, quickly stepping in front of the severely injured carlos.

His father was stopped when his mother stepped in.

After this she packed hers and their things and left his father.
He Lived the rest of his life semi-normally, but with a few major bumps in the road.

Since then he's kept on working to be where he is now. Although the PTSD remains, he makes the most out of it and tries to stay positive.

¡el fin!

...or is it~?