DORIAN STARES AND STARES, AT the reflection standing right in front of him in all its inner panic and subtle vainglory but deep within it, and within he himself is that desperate cry for help. Call it a whimper, mighty be an dissatisfied murmur; but as long as it is loud enough for willing ears, it will be his saving grace.
Oh, and yes, he is scared out of his mind because for not once or twice in his lifetime, he is going on a serious date with someone actually he feels something for. Something? Scratch that; Dorian feels everything for Giovanni!
Late or rushed, corny or not, he basically thinks of him at least in each passing hour. "What Giovanni is doing at the moment?" Is he at the chemo clinic? What did he have for breakfast? What fight did he get into with his parents this time? The genre of the first five songs on his Spotify's 'Discover Weekly' playlist.
One thought led to another and he somehow dialled Gio's number. After a few rings, the call goes through.
"Hello?" Gio's voice is brighter than the glaring morning sun outside his window.
"Gio? What's got you so hyper? I never knew you were a morning person." Dorian shoulders the phone to his ears, his hands busy making his bed.
"Hell no," replies Gio defensively.
"Huh-uh."
"But I'm a Dorian person."
Dorian stifles a laugh. "You thought you ate that."
"Didn't I? And why the call out of the blue when we are like meeting in thirty minutes time? Sus."
Dorian frowns. "So what? I can't decide to speak to my boyfriend when I please?" Gio, typical killjoy.
"No no, I just meant..." There is a long meaningful pause, even Dorian can feel its substance. "... I can't believe we're at the point where we call each other the b-word without a second thought."
"You mean, boyfriend?" At the sound of this word, Mercy who has walked into the room, packing dirty laundry perks up and gazes intrusively at him like trying to fish out who the word is for. She probably knows who it is already though but she just happens to live and breathe gossip.
"Yeah..."
Dorian wishes he can see his face right now. Is he twiddling his fingers anxiously? Is he drawing circles on the floor with his long ass legs? Is he staring at his phone with heart emojis floating out of his ears?
Gio takes it upon himself to end the call. "Meet you at the park, okay? Dory. In ten minutes. Don't be late."
Dorian raises his brows. "Okay daddy?"
The other boy then hangs up and the line goes flat.
"Who is the lucky girl?" says Mercy who stands in an akimbo, her apron wrapping her small frame like sushi.
"None of your business, ma," replies Dorian with a bit of snark. Until she stops being delusional, trying to convince herself her son can't be queer, nothing is ever going to connect her with Dorian.
"Oh come on, don't be like that..." Mercy drops the broom and wraps her arms around Dorian. "You know mummy loves you."
Dorian can't seem to suppress the tenth eyeroll for the day. "It's the audacity lying to my face."
"What do you mean?" Oh, how he can see the fake hurt clear as day. "I'm your mother, Dorian."
"And I'm the president of the United States," Dorians spits, before grabbing his fanny pack and storming out of the room before he unleashes a tempest. That's the last thing he wants to do right now because he must be as stable and pretty and presentable to Giovanni as possible.
YOU ARE READING
TORPEDO ✓
Teen FictionGirls have always been enough for Dorian Ayuba; until they weren't. Now, he is a hurricane in a box, all the while piggybacking scholarships, bills and his broken mother. Then there's rich, sickly Giovanni Price whose life expectancy is just as shor...
