stop the words or their volume. I imagine if I had pulled a gun on him, he would have the exact same look on his face he did at that moment. In a much more subdued tone, I said, “Please, Brad, just take me home.”
Without another word, he drove me home.
If you are curious, I did feel like shit for treating him like that, because he hadn’t done a thing to warrant it, but there was just no way to stop myself. I felt like I was falling apart. Falling apart has always been something I did by myself. I didn’t want him to see me cry because some pop got spilled on my fucking clothes. I mean, just saying it like that showed how stupid it was. I was going to cry because my clothes were wet? It wasn’t about the clothes, and it wasn’t about the embarrassment of some redneck humiliating me in public.
It was something worse than that.
“Do you want me to come in?”
I looked up, and we were in front of my house.
I shook my head and began to get out but stopped myself. I turned to him, and I could see the confusion and fear in his face. “I love you,” I said quickly. “And I am not mad at you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just broken.”
I went to slide out of the car, and he grabbed my hand. “Then be broken with me,” he pleaded.
I squeezed his hand back and then pulled away. “I just can’t right now, Brad, I’m sorry.”
And then I ran in my house like a fucking bitch wearing one glass slipper who knew in about ten seconds she’d be wearing a flour sack. My mom sat in the living room with some friends. I ignored them as I rushed into my room and slammed my door. I could imagine what my mom was saying. “Ignore my daughter; it’s that time of the month.”
I started to rip the clothes off before I realized I still hadn’t paid for them. That shocked some sense into me, and I slowly took them off before I tossed them into the corner. The vest was ruined; I was pretty sure the front was silk or something. The shirt was stained. I had no idea if it would come out, but I did know I couldn’t bleach it or the stripes would fade. Finally I gave up and just left everything all sitting there.
Grabbing a towel, I ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
I waited until the water was just this side of scalding before crawling in. I just sat in the tub and watched the pop drain out of my hair as the inevitable tears began to fall. So like I said before, it wasn’t the clothes, and it wasn’t the humiliation that drove me to cry. It was something much worse.
See, I cried because I should have known what had happened had been coming at me. None of it should have come as a surprise. This is what happened when I dared to be happy in my life. When I stuck my head out of my turtle shell and dared to smile, fate made sure to lay the smackdown to remind me I was not allowed a life like everyone else. Good things didn’t happen to me, and that was for a reason. I wasn’t allowed to be with a great guy without getting attacked at school for it, I couldn’t own good clothes without them being ruined, and I wasn’t meant to go to parties like normal kids were. Not me, that wasn’t my lot in life.
Like another gay blond victim said, “We seem to be made to suffer . It’s our lot in life.”
It didn’t matter if I got out of this town or if Brad and I ended up working out. I was always going to miserable because that was the only way Life wanted me to be. As the water fell on me, I decided to just stop fighting it.
By the time I got out, my phone had three missed calls from Brad and two voice mails. I was too far into my funk to actually talk to him, so I just tossed the phone onto my dresser. Then I fell into bed and hauled the covers over my head. I didn’t care if I ever got up again. I fell asleep for a while and then heard my mom open my door, talking on the phone. “No, Brad, he’s already asleep.” Her voice faded away as she closed it behind her.
The next time I woke up, it
Without another word, he drove me home.
If you are curious, I did feel like shit for treating him like that, because he hadn’t done a thing to warrant it, but there was just no way to stop myself. I felt like I was falling apart. Falling apart has always been something I did by myself. I didn’t want him to see me cry because some pop got spilled on my fucking clothes. I mean, just saying it like that showed how stupid it was. I was going to cry because my clothes were wet? It wasn’t about the clothes, and it wasn’t about the embarrassment of some redneck humiliating me in public.
It was something worse than that.
“Do you want me to come in?”
I looked up, and we were in front of my house.
I shook my head and began to get out but stopped myself. I turned to him, and I could see the confusion and fear in his face. “I love you,” I said quickly. “And I am not mad at you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just broken.”
I went to slide out of the car, and he grabbed my hand. “Then be broken with me,” he pleaded.
I squeezed his hand back and then pulled away. “I just can’t right now, Brad, I’m sorry.”
And then I ran in my house like a fucking bitch wearing one glass slipper who knew in about ten seconds she’d be wearing a flour sack. My mom sat in the living room with some friends. I ignored them as I rushed into my room and slammed my door. I could imagine what my mom was saying. “Ignore my daughter; it’s that time of the month.”
I started to rip the clothes off before I realized I still hadn’t paid for them. That shocked some sense into me, and I slowly took them off before I tossed them into the corner. The vest was ruined; I was pretty sure the front was silk or something. The shirt was stained. I had no idea if it would come out, but I did know I couldn’t bleach it or the stripes would fade. Finally I gave up and just left everything all sitting there.
Grabbing a towel, I ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
I waited until the water was just this side of scalding before crawling in. I just sat in the tub and watched the pop drain out of my hair as the inevitable tears began to fall. So like I said before, it wasn’t the clothes, and it wasn’t the humiliation that drove me to cry. It was something much worse.
See, I cried because I should have known what had happened had been coming at me. None of it should have come as a surprise. This is what happened when I dared to be happy in my life. When I stuck my head out of my turtle shell and dared to smile, fate made sure to lay the smackdown to remind me I was not allowed a life like everyone else. Good things didn’t happen to me, and that was for a reason. I wasn’t allowed to be with a great guy without getting attacked at school for it, I couldn’t own good clothes without them being ruined, and I wasn’t meant to go to parties like normal kids were. Not me, that wasn’t my lot in life.
Like another gay blond victim said, “We seem to be made to suffer . It’s our lot in life.”
It didn’t matter if I got out of this town or if Brad and I ended up working out. I was always going to miserable because that was the only way Life wanted me to be. As the water fell on me, I decided to just stop fighting it.
By the time I got out, my phone had three missed calls from Brad and two voice mails. I was too far into my funk to actually talk to him, so I just tossed the phone onto my dresser. Then I fell into bed and hauled the covers over my head. I didn’t care if I ever got up again. I fell asleep for a while and then heard my mom open my door, talking on the phone. “No, Brad, he’s already asleep.” Her voice faded away as she closed it behind her.
The next time I woke up, it
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