Between the Lines

Sixteen - Oliver

Once I woke up, I lounged in bed in my dazed euphoria for way too long. I was too distracted by literally everything that happened yesterday, from Calvin to the conversation with Dad, back to Calvin. Okay, maybe it was mainly Calvin. But when I finally looked at the time, there’s was only twenty minutes until 10 AM. I practically propelled myself off the bed, ripping my clothes off and pulling fresh pants on, slipping on a random sweater.

I stumble out of my room and rush out to the fridge, looking for anything I can eat on the way. I can’t stop to eat because it usually takes me thirty minutes just to get to the library and I have less than twenty. I grab a slice of bread and shove it in my mouth all at once, trying to chew around it. A door opens in the house, the creak ringing out in the quiet house. I know whose door that is. My glance flicks over to the timetable that’s taped on the fridge. Today’s day is green, which means she’s meant to be at work, but she’s not. Carefully, I sneak towards the door and go to slip away when she catches sight of me from the hallway.

“Oliver,” Mum says, her tone dull and unreadable.

I pause, waiting for her to come around the corner. When she does, I can see on her face that I’m in trouble. My stomach drops and my face does too. There’s nothing good that’s going to come out of this.

I attempt an excuse, my voice small. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Yeah, that job, right?” She asks and my face gets hot under the pressure. I move my hand to the door handle. I know I can run, but that means I’ll have to face this all later. I hear her sigh, “Come sit on the couch.”

I walk away from the door and plant myself carefully on the couch, the furthest away from her that I can get. She comes over but doesn’t sit down. Instead, she rounds the couch and stands in front of me. I feel sick. I can feel her staring directly at me.

She lightly shakes her head, pressing her fingers into her temples. She goes to turn away but then turns back and stares me down again. I don’t look at her.

She speaks, her tone flat, void of any emotion, “You never cease to disappoint, do you?”

This isn’t good. I turn my head in the opposite direction to her. She’s not drunk this time... she’s never not been drunk. I hear her feet pad lazily across the tiles, stepping ever so closely towards me and she bends over, putting her face in front of mine. I still won’t look her in the eye.

“Look at me.” Hate pours off her like a wave.

I shake my head.

“LOOK AT ME,” she yells, standing up quickly, flinging her arm out as she trips over the glass coffee table. She kicks it aside and the thin glass slips, coming dangerously to falling off its frame.

I look at her with my eyes, not moving my head, and see her face burning with fury.

Loose strands of burnt orange hair dangle in front of her face as she continues to yell at me, “I THOUGHT YOU WERE OVER THIS... THIS GAY THING!”

My heart freezes. I feel my whole body cease.

She heard.

“TELL ME, WHY DID IT CHANGE AGAIN? WHY ALL OF A SUDDEN?” She rips my face towards her, and I pull her hand away barely managing to keep myself together. Her face twists at my retaliation. “TWO YEARS,” her voice seems exhausted, but she keeps pushing it, “TWO YEARS OF NOT HEARING A GODDAMNED THING FROM YOU AND I JUST HOPED SOMETHING HAD CHANGED! I FINALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE NORMAL FOR ONCE!”

My whole life she’s told me I’m not normal. She’s always hated me, since I was a kid. Dad told me that something changed when she got pregnant with me... and it’s only gotten worse since then.