"Boyfrenemies" Vol. 2

nine

CRAIG'S POV

the soft jazz music (dad's favorite, not my choice) that played on the radio that was supposed to make one feel at ease felt like nails on a chalkboard grinding my ears.

i have been on edge ever since we all entered the car, it's been about five minutes and no one has said a word.

i don't know if i should be grateful that i'm not being ripped to shreds by my own parents or terrified that whatever they have to be said is remaining dormant until they feel as if it's the right time to rip me to shreds.

i turn my attention out the window to give me some peace of mind, it's dark outside so i couldn't see much but i always loved to pretend as if i were anywhere else but where i am at the time when i do this.

right now i'm envisioning i'm in california...going to college....with tweek by my side....maybe a dog if i convince them that not all dads are rabid...and living a life that we always dreamed of. away from this cold and gloomy state, away from everyone where we could truly be ourselves—

"this is the third time i've called his name jesus christ — CRAIG!" my dad's voice startled me, bringing me back to reality.

"...sorry i was spaced out."

"yeah you were," my dad scoffs, "you have anything to say for yourself?"

i narrow my eyes at him through the rear view mirror, first coach cummings and now my dad...what is up with people wanting me to explain what was obviously a mistake to them?

"there's really nothing to say," i tell him, feeling bold.

"nothing to say?" he mocks, "the hell you don't. what you did out there was beyond embarrassing. you have never done that before and now you do it, in front of everyone, at homecoming."

i stare at the window not even wanting to reply to that, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that his words are already crawling under my skin.

i'm trying to, at least.

"now you're not even going to respond," he laughs, "what son i raised. actually, i didn't raise you like this at all. i raised you to be the best man you can be and you can't even do that—"

"so it's not the field goal you're mad at like i thought," i say side eyeing him through the rear view mirror once again.

"i am mad at the field goal smart ass," he says, eyes staring right back at me, "all i'm saying is you never missed one before you turned gay."

i whip my head forward so hard i swear to god i nearly got whiplash, "what did you say?"

"you heard me," he says, "you turned gay and everything went to shit. your personality, your love of sports, and how good you were at sports. it's hilarious actually."

a lump in my throat formed and i tried to swallow it but couldn't, i just don't understand how one can have so much hatred for something that i simply can't control.

i am just existing, is that not enough?

tears started to swell up in my eyes and i tried to blink them away but failed miserably, "now you're crying jesus christ, a fucking sissy you are."

"that's enough, thomas," my mom finally decides to say something.

"he needs to man up, laura. i've had enough of this shit. it's only going to get worse until he realizes that he needs to be the man i raised him to be."

i just stare out the window, that dream of living in california with tweek and a dog seeming to be more of a dream than a reality.

TWEEK'S POV