Ever After

In The Nude

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This chapter is in Mark's perspective.

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Explaining why I hadn't come home the other night to my father was more difficult than it was to my boss. From the minute I walked into the apartment, I felt as if the atmosphere had me on trial, my father and brother's glooming stares from the dining table rendering me speechless (if I hadn't already been, of course). My hand barely freed the doorknob of its grip before I'd managed to kick off my sneakers, stalking on over to the table, a strange pain arising in my chest, one that was indescribably terrified of what was to come.

"Where were you?" my father demanded, clearly not wishing to waste any time with casual introduction. "Your brother and I were worried sick."

Astonishingly, it'd just come to my attention that my brother's stare, usually so teasing and menacing, had been transformed into one that I'd never seen before, one that I couldn't identify with my very own eyes. It was a  look I hadn't yet seen, a look that was odd, like finding an entirely different side of someone you'd supposed you'd understand completely from having known them your entire life. I pulled up an extra chair, finding it difficult not to lock eyes with his as my father pressed on, pressing his finger against the paper-thin table between us.

"Your boss called me and said you didn't show up to work," he spat. "How many times do I have to remind you to be responsible?" A sigh. "You were such a good boy back home... you listened all the time. Now, you're getting detentions, are interrupting the school play by yelling 'I'm here!' (which I'm sure wasn't in the script), and now you're running off someplace to sleep, not bothering to call or even care about what we may think of the situation. Is there something I should know about, Mark?"

It took me a while to force myself into shaking my head, the very thought of lying to my father so strange. Two months ago, when we were packing for Ireland, I would've told him everything - even if I'd become a murderer overnight, he and my brother would be the first to know. But something about my relationship with Jack, something about the way he treated me, something about the way he made me feel, made me feel as if we were a secret to be kept locked up, one that should never be told to people outside. I'm positive my father would be accepting of my love for the same sex, but I had yet to discover Jack's side of the story.

"If it's nothing I should be concerned over," my father continued, "then where were you last night? It should be easy to tell me, no?"

My eyes shot up from my socks, feeling my father's stare cut into mine as our eyes met only for a second before I'd dropped them back down to the floor, not having the confidence to dare to look back up. I chewed on my lower lip as I spat the words out, saying them just as fiercely and forcefully as he had to his own.

"I was at a friend's house," I said, not bothering to go into details.

My father leaned forward, intrigued. My brother, as well, did so in perfect unison with him - I, not following, leaned back in my chair, wishing there was more space to sulk into.

"What friend?" my father demanded.

I prayed that he was buying my bluff as he pressed on, saying that he wished to know every bit about this friend. I couldn't think straight, couldn't contemplate how to go about the situation - I could make someone up, bring back an old imaginary friend from the dead, but my father surely knew about Tiny Box Tim already... perhaps I could tell the truth, tell him that there was a boy named Jack, a boy who I loved and appreciated with every bit of my heart, a boy who I appreciated every minute with, a boy who I wanted to look up at from my sleeping back (much more comfortable than the sofa) every morning. I wished it were only that easy, that there weren't so many things to worry about, so many things holding me back.