Coming to terms with his sexuality, Theodore Moore is a seventeen year old who is just about getting by. He makes minimum wage and has aspiring, out-of-reach dreams to become a lawyer.
Violent and aggressive, Antony Barbosa is everything wrong with...
Thomas watched as I crossed the living room, limping slightly, and flopped onto the couch, laying on my back. I rest my arm on my forehead, my eyes fluttering to a close. “Someone beat you?” I hear him speak, and I look up, raising my eyebrow.
“What?” I asked him, my hair a mess and the curls falling into my eyeline. I blew the strands out of my face.
“You’re limping.” He states, leaning back on the armchair. The laptop he was using was balancing on his knees, and I cleared my throat, sitting up. “Where’ve you been, man? You’ve been out of the house all day.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I could ask you the same thing.” I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t come home last night.” I ask him, and he slowly nods his head.
“Oh, I did come home last night.” He says, and suddenly, a dreadful feeling runs through my body. I’m suddenly freezing cold. “Only, I left.” Tom rubs the tip of his nose. “I didn’t want to interrupt you’re little fucking sleepover with, erm, Antony Barbosa.” Thomas snaps, and I gulp.
“Tom-”
“What the fuck, Theodore?” He spits, and my eyes widen as Thomas sits straighter, leaning towards me. “This has happened twice, now! Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to go over to the Barbosa’s and ask him myself?” His eyes are red with anger, and I poke my tongue into the side of my cheek.
“No, you don’t have to do that.” I tell him, and he scoffs, shaking his head. “Look, me and Antony…” I swallow the lump in my throat as I build up the courage to speak out. Speak my truth. “We’ve been-”
“Shagging?” Tom interrupts, and I stare across at him. He raised his eyebrows, and I clench my jaw before slowly nodding my head. Everything around us is silent. All I hear is the short ringing in my ear as my confession hangs in the air between us. I can’t even look at him.
“Wow.” I hear Tom say, and I slowly lift my eyes to him. He’s nodding his head, his hands entwined together in front of him, and he’s practically on the edge of his seat, looking like he might topple off. “When- when did this begin?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know- like, two months ago?” I said, and Tom was silent once again.
“Two months.” He repeats, his voice quiet. “And… who knows about this?” He asked. I know he’s doing this for my protection, because he cares about me and he doesn’t want me to get hurt. Tom must know that I can look after myself. That I can kiss and fuck whoever I want and it won’t result with me having a stab wound in my stomach. I’ve seen extremes, and being gay isn’t an extreme.
“No one.” I told him. “Just you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure, Tom.” I scoffed, leaning back on the couch. “I’m not a kid, alright? I can look after myself.”
“Around here, people are killed for being gay, you understand?” He snaps, suddenly on his feet as he points at me. “And you’re not making life any fucking easier by deciding to put your dick inside the one guy who doesn’t mind stabbing people to death.”
“Well, actually-” I was planning on correcting his- I put my dick inside of Antony- theory, but he cut me off once more.
“I don’t fucking care, Theo! You’re so careless sometimes. I mean- is he even gay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, wow. Great. Nothing’s better than two closeted gays sneaking around and shagging in a neighbourhood where a missing fucking pebble can lead to a murder.” Thomas scoffed, and I stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
“You’re being dramatic.” I sighed.
“You know, I expected this shithousery from you, but Antony?” Thomas shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “Hell, he’s the one stabbing all the gays around here.” Tom states, and I stare at him.
“What?”
“Don’t act all clueless, Theo. Antony loves beating the shit out of people. You’re telling me he hasn’t beat you up?”
“You know he has.” I cleared my throat. “But, that doesn’t matter. If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me.” I tell him, and he sighs before flopping back onto the couch, rubbing his eyes with his palms.
“You give me a fucking migraine, Theodore.” Tom murmurs, and I chuckle lightly, suddenly tired. “Just… be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt just because Antony decided he wanted to experiment with dicks.” Tom adds, and I rolled my eyes, glancing at him.
I know I should listen to his warnings. To his concerns. I know it comes from a place of worry, and nothing more. But, I want more than anything to be free. To be able to scream it from the rooftops that this is who I am and it is who I will continue to be. I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not just because I grew up in a shitty area and the luck of the draw. It doesn’t define who I am and who I want to be.
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