The best way to predict the future is to create it.
-I forgot his name on iZombie. Oh well he died anyways.
"Hey Mom. I feel in a baking mood, and I was wondering if the family wanted to come over for dinner tonight."
"Oh wonderful! Yeah, we'll be over at 7?"
"Perfect. Come hungry!" I hung up the phone and grabbed my keys. I should probably have some food if I was "preparing dinner."
Cheese platters were good. I bought two. Then like five leancuisine lasagnas that I could boil and serve.
Then I set the table. Wait, did the salad fork go on the left or the right? We're not having salad. Right. How should I fold the napkins? Ducks or Sydney Opera House? Sydney. Wait, I didn't know how to do that.
After my fifth YouTube video, Beth slammed the door behind her and came in. "Honey, I'm home!"
"Isn't that my line?"
"I'm more of a man than you are!"
"You must be swift as the coursing river." I could sing okay on occasion. "With all the force of the great typhoon. With all the strength of the raging fire-"
"Mysterious as the dark side of the moon?" She smirked.
"And that."
I decided to just fuck the napkins (not literally y'all nasty pervs) and fold them horizontally. Done.
Then the doorbell rang. I began to boil the water and put on a straight (ah, puns) face and opened the door.
"Mom! Dad! Come on in!" I smiled. Wow, I should really try out for my next community play. I could win an Oscar with this gig.
Polite conversation about how I was back to my normal self, the house, school, etc. The water boiled and I put the lasangas in. We had, according to the box, five minutes.
Oh, son of a bitch. I forgot dessert. I mean, I could probably make cookies or brownies or something on the fly, but shit.
Betty Crocker never fails.
I put the two dozen or so in the oven and set it to bake for eleven minutes. By then the lasagna was ready and I placed it on the best china I could find.
I tapped my foot impatiently under the table as they ate. I found myself not very hungry, so I ate a small amount of tomato-covered noodle. Oh. Maybe I was hungry.
Beth glowed with pride, as did my mother. The two "men" of the table, my brother and my dad, glowed with meat sauce.
When all was done and the girls talked about the wedding and the boys talked about basketball, I stood.
"I have a confession." I had "Iris" stuck in my head. Sleeping with Sirens version, not The Goo Goo Dolls. "I am not straight."
I watched the color drain out of Beth's and my mother's face. "You're gay?" My brother asked.
"No."
"Bi?"
"No."
"What else is there?"
Pansexual, demisexual, asexual, polysexual... Wait... they all think I'm gay. I could scare the shit out of them.
"Bish please, there are more sexualities than words in your vocabulary. I'm not gay, I'm not straight, I'm not bi. I'm aromantic. That means I can't cuddle, or hold hands, or be a cute boyfriend."
Silence. Except maybe for crickets. My mother opened her mouth. Damn, I hope she caught a fly. "I didn't raise you like this."
"I didn't get raised. I got pushed." I smirked internally but scowled on the outside. "I got pushed around by you, telling me what to do and how to act and guess what? It pushed me over the edge. I attempted suicide, Mom."
Beth stood. "Damien-"
"I'm sorry for disappointing you." And truthfully, I was. But she had to know. Everyone did. I was tired of the closet.
By the time Betty Crocker insta-cookies were done, I was long gone. The car engine roared. My old '78 Mustang. Light blue, 275 horsepower, leather backseat with my virginity.
It was a light drizzle when I reached the dorms. Good. I hated the sunshine. It was like watching the rest of the world carry on while I was broken. It was watching the rest of the world carry on without me.
Room 17C's door swung open. Alex was dancing to some song. It figures.
I'm bleeding out.
So if the last thing that I do.
Is to bring you down.
I'll bleed out for you.
So I bare my skin and
I count my sins and
I close my eyes and
I take it in.
Cause I'm bleeding out,
I'm bleeding out for you,
For you.
I stood watching for about twenty seconds. "Alex!" I said eventually.
They jumped. "Damien? Aren't you supposed to be home?"
"Yeah, well for now, this is my home."
I did it. I updated. Fuck yes. Happy SPRING BREAK BITCHES.
Kisses,
Satan, (When It Rains It Pours,) Lord of Feels.
