Rip My Heart Out

Chapter Twenty-eight

A/N Okay y'all, I want to take a poll and I really need you guys to answer. This in no way is related to or affects how this story is ending. Nope, not even a little. None. Who likes reading sequels to fics and who thinks they're a waste of time?

When I wake up I'm met with messy blonde hair.

For a moment I'm confused. Then the white room starts to look familiar.

Luke is sleeping soundly between myself and a wall. The covers barely covering his hips. I lay there watching his chest slowly rise and fall, avoiding my own thoughts.

Seeing him asleep, not talking, not saying those sarcastic things, he looks beautiful. I don't want to interrupt him, the way he looks.

There's other things I need to do before I tell him about Ellie, about how I feel.

Slowly, I slip out of the bed. I gather my clothes from his floor and redress as silently as possible.

Once outside, I start for my own house. My parents need to know the truth.

•

"Ashton! Where have you been?" My mother's angry tone is not surprising. My father and Harry are sitting at the table eating breakfast and she is standing at the stove.

My fathers jaw is tight and Harry just eats his pancakes.

"I stayed at Luke's." I say.

I walk over to the table and sit down. My mother turns to face me and starts speaking loud and fast. "You're in big trouble. Your father and I were so worried, you can't just stay gone all night without letting us know who you're with."

I take a deep breath.

"You could have been dead for all we know," she continues. "You weren't at Michael's."

"I'm gay." My words interrupt hers.

The room is silent. My fathers face turning red, my mother's expression changing from anger to confusion.

"Harry, go to your room." My dad whispers.

He looks sad but doesn't argue.

"You're what?" My mother asks in disbelief.

"Gay." I look at each of them, "With Luke."

She puts a hand to her chest and sits down, acting as if she's ill. My fathers breathing is heavy and loud.

"Son, your joke is not funny."

I shake my head, I'm tired of lying to myself, to God. To everyone. "It's not a joke, this is how God made me."

"Don't you blame God for what sins you do." His voice increasing in volume.

"Father, I don't see how it's a sin if he created it." I argue, feeling less confident.

My father stands and I follow. "He did not create the sin of homosexuality. Man did, filthy sinners did."

"How could you say that about me?"

My mother is staring off into the distance with tears filling her eyes. She's shaking slightly.

"You're not gay you've just been spending too much time with those no good hooligans." Each word comes out fierce, punching me in the gut.

"I'm gay, dad. God made me gay." My words barely escaping my mouth before a strong hand meets my face.

My mother screams then the tears roll down her cheek.

"If you're gay," he points to the door, "you're not my son."