I'm Not Gay, I Swear! | McPriceley

Chapter Sixteen

TW: mention of self-harm

Disappointed. That's what his parents' reactions were. Nothing new. Nothing unexpected. Yet it hurt all the same.

Why did it hurt so much?

Connor couldn't meet his parent's gazes. They were full of such hatred and sorrow. A failure. That's all he's ever been. All he'd ever be. They told him that over and over again.

There was no way to recover from this.

Though he could always try. Try over and over and over again. Always wanting to get his parents' praise. Approval. Acceptance. But no matter how much he tried, he would always fail.

It was much like the story of that one Greek king, Sisyphus. Punished to always push a rock uphill, only to have it fall back down once it reached the top. Connor could try as hard as he wanted to raise his parent's expectations of him, but everytime he thought he'd finally make them proud, something would happen that would strip away all of his hard work, setting him back at square one. It was what he was destined to do, for all of eternity.

But he always had to try. He always had to look for the good in situations. The good in anything. Because if he didn't... well, he wasn't sure he would've even made it this far.

To quote the ever famous Hedwig, "I laugh, because I will cry if I don't." This statement hit too close of home for Connor. Lord knows that if he didn't keep up his happy personality, he'd be in a much worse state. A horrible state. A state where, well, death seemed like a much more peaceful option.

Of course, Connor still pondered this thought. A lot. He wondered how much pain and hurt he could've avoided just by ending it all those years ago. Maybe instead of having more to hate their son about, his parents would've been left with much more happy thoughts about Connor. Thoughts about a son who wasn't a clumsy, homosexual mess.

At least that way he wouldn't have to hide from his parents' hard stares.

Disappointment. Failure. Setback. Disaster. Letdown. What other words could we add to Connor McKinley's long list of titles? How about, not our son.

Connor knew it would be only a matter of time until his parents told him to pack his bags and leave their sight forever.

Maybe that was why he hadn't unpacked his bags when he had gotten home. No, all of his clothes were still folded into that small suitcase, ready for when he needed to go on the run again. For all he knew, it could be only days from now. Hours. Minutes.

He truly wasn't safe anywhere.

Why did he think he could ever escape his horrid family? No matter how hard he tried to forget them, guilt would come back to him, and he'd feel the need to return. Any of the times that he tried to except the fact that he was gay, he'd just feel like he was letting his family down, and return back to them, apologizing for his mistakes many times over. It'd be a miracle if they would be able to ever forgive him again.

Maybe it would just be safer to run away; to not have to deal with facing his parents' frustration. Then possibly a huge weight would be lifted off his shoulders. Or... a weight would be added on. Who knows how much guilt he would feel at the possibility of leaving everything behind.

Everyone... including Kevin.

Connor still didn't exactly know how to think about Kevin. Did... did he actually feel something towards him? Or was his brain just playing tricks on him? Was it the right decision to leave him behind, and possibly never see him again?

If so, why did he want to return to him so badly?

Connor groaned in frustration at the thousands of thoughts flooding his mind. It was all too much at once, a clutter of feelings that left him confused. Why was life so difficult?

He just wanted these thoughts, these worries, to go away. For all of the confusion in his life to be resolved. To have even the slightest sense of relief.

His gaze flickered to his nightstand. It felt like forever since he's looked at it from this angle. Yet also felt like it had been just yesterday. The knob of the drawer glistened from the light emitted through the window, as if calling out to him to open it. And who was he to object the drawer's wishes?

Quickly, he hopped off of his bed and opened up the drawer, which was seemingly empty inside. All that could be seen was the handkerchief that was laid out on the drawer's floor. A small piece of cloth he had stored away when sewing once.

Connor took a sharp glance over his shoulder, making sure no one was opening up the door anytime soon, before lifting up the small pink cloth, and instead reaching for something else underneath.

Once the item was in his grasp, he sat back on the edge of his bed, slowly opening his fist. There in his palm sat a small pocket knife. His father had given it to him years ago, though he'd never really found a use to it. Not until a few years prior.

Slowly, he flipped open the knife, running a finger over it's sharp blade. It was a horrible coping mechanism, truly, but it was the only thing that helped him calm down. To clear his thoughts and give him a sense of relief.

Taking a deep breath, Connor rose his arm in front of him, and brought the blade to his skin, drawing a small line into the inside of his arm. Within just a few seconds, beads of blood began to form at the cut, though he did nothing but watch the drops grow bigger. He finally began to relax, and felt as if he could breathe once again.

Though the relief didn't last long, as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, he wiped the knife off on the handkerchief and set it underneath it once again, before grabbing a jacket to cover his arms. The door opened just as he situated himself back on his bed, a book now in his hands.

There, in the doorway, stood his mother and father. The looks on their faces told him they had nothing good to say.

"Connor, we have to talk."