Fearless - Ricky Bowen x EJ Caswell

I. Road Trips & Pink Dinosaurs

There's something about the way the street looks when it's just rained...

The car ride back from Camp Shallow Lake was as depressing as it could possibly be. Everyone was silent, reminiscent, and distant. Some tried to spark conversation but to no avail. That was how the rest of the summer would be: three weeks of absolute nothingness after camp and before school starts again. And for EJ, three weeks to figure out what he wanted to do to his life.

His parents couldn't make it clearer that they never felt pride of him, and that took a toll in his mental health. There wasn't a day that he wouldn't look at himself in the mirror and just curse his whole existence.

Mr. Caswell was a corporation with a heartbeat, master of gaslighting and illusions. He knew exactly how to manipulate everyone around him to make it all turn out to his favor. That's what made him so successful, and that's how the Caswells built their empire – with Mr. C's convincing abilities and Ms. C's captivating complexity and mercurial mind. They were a dynamic duo, meant to be, Bonnie and Clyde. It's them against the world... even if the world was their own son.

After EJ dropped off his friends at their respective houses, he sighed to himself as he thought to himself... only one destination left. The one he was supposed to feel the safest at, yet it's the one he dreaded the most.

He reached the rainy driveway and thought about turning around and going somewhere else. But he didn't. He decided to confront his demons – or in a literal sense, confront his parents, for the first time since the phone call at Camp during the musical's intermission. It was still pretty fresh on EJ's mind, but his parents must have forgotten anyway. Like they always forget about his life, his hopes, dreams, passions, and his musicals.

"Mom, Dad? I'm home," he called while carrying his old Camp Shallow Lake duffel bag.

"25 minutes late," Mr. Caswell dryly stated from his office, while taking a sip from his black coffee.

"The traffic was bad because of the rain," EJ was already getting antsy.

"I mean, if you were wasting your time with whatever you were doing, it would be okay. But now, you're wasting our time with your theatrical shenanigans — so we have to draw a line," his father said in a shady tone only he knew how to make.

"Are you really doing this stupid pep talk over me being 25 minutes late?" EJ snapped back. For the first time, he felt confident, but to the eyes of his parents, he was a wounded animal trying to fight back.

"You know I don't like this atitude of yours, right?" his voice is now stern and angry. "This is why we never praise you for anything. Because the moment we do something for you, you pay back like this. You're acting like we didn't pay for you to go up on a wooden stage and play pretend, because in your head, it's all a big fairytale, right Elton?" he stood up from his desk and got closer to EJ, finger pointed at him accusingly.

"And you're acting like you're not the reason that I spend a shit ton of money on therapy to undo the shit you put in my mind," EJ snapped yet again, this time mimicking his father's pointing.

"You spend all of this and for what? Just so you can feel good while you wear makeup and sing like you're in that show, RuPaul's, or something," he paused. "You know what they say, a face that not even a mother could love."

"Why are you like this?" EJ blurted out. "And where's Mom?"

"Your mom is on her way to the airport to a meeting in New York City. She wanted to see you before she left, but I guess you can't even do that," Mr. Caswell hissed.

"Okay, that's it, I'm going to my room!" EJ yelled.

"Don't you dare using that tone with me—"

"Don't you dare pretending you actually care about me, Dad." EJ was done. Tense silence was in the air. "I can see through all your smoke and mirrors, and I can see just how miserable you are inside. No amount of money can change that," EJ had angry tears coming down. "No fancy suits and celebrity clients will undo the fact that you use me and Mom as punching bags. I don't care if you make fun of me for liking theater, but at least I have a passion in life other than making sure my problematic clients won't be rotting in jail, Bitcoins, and the fucking stock market," he took an angry breath. "Now, if you excuse me, I'll go to my room."