Zeke, brushing his hair away from his forehead, stared at the bottom side of his top bunk. His hair was growing longer and more annoying as the days progressed. It now reached halfway down his back.
He sighed and sat up, leaning forward and throwing his feet over the edge of his bed.
Moving forward had become harder since he'd told his parents.
His mom was dead set on keeping her little girl alive and forcing him to conform to her new girly standards. She was always looking for some sort of undertone now, some sign that he was trying to be himself because that of course was the greatest crime ever committed.
"Mackenzie!"
He muttered under his breath, "Speak of the devil." Zeke stood and opened his door. "What?" He called down the hall.
"Wash up for dinner!"
So he washed his hands, focusing on the scented cloying suds coating his hands and not his reflection in the mirror.
His dad sat on the couch, feet up on the ottoman, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his iPhone. His mom was in the kitchen, bright orange apron tied around her not so small waist. He brought the plates out, placing one on the coffee table in front of the couch, one on the ottoman (after waiting on his father to move his feet), then took his own plate and ate at the dining room table.
They never ate at the table together, but it wasn't as if it was some new occurrence.
He would have to beg and plead to even get them to consider it. His father didn't like the chairs, claiming they were too uncomfortable, but they all knew that it was to keep watching the television. His mom ate where her laptop was. She'd finish her plate and then return to whatever it was that she did on it for 7/10ths of the day.
He could probably count on one hand how many times he'd managed to coerce his parents to eat at the table like a real family.
Suddenly, his stomach churned and his throat tasted foul. He pushed away his dinner.
No one even glanced at him. Neither of them cared. He stood up, threw out his leftovers, and returned to his homework.
"How much homework tonight?" His mom asked.
Zeke flicked his eyes up to her then down to his wristwatch. "About two hours," he lied. He'd finish his work quickly and then he'd talk with his friends on the chat-room for the rest of the time. At this point, he no longer felt bad about it. Desensitized, that was the word.
The only thing he did feel concerning that matter was fear and apprehension. She had no concept of privacy, so he finagled some for himself, but no matter what, no matter how many servers he bounced off, no matter how many security measures he took, she could always just look over his shoulder. And she had no qualms about asking him to show just what he was doing, whenever she wanted to.
Thankfully, the website he was on had something called a Panic button. One press and it would send him to a website of his choice. Google, turnitin.com, any website. Currently he had it set to his Gmail.
She didn't check up behind him that night, but then again he wasn't online for as long as he thought he would have been.
His friends weren't in the chat-room and he quickly grew bored with meaningless small talk so he left.
"Finished early," he explained, smiling.
He'd found it funny a couple years ago how all of them had perfected the art of lying through their teeth, but now it filled him with an uneasy chill.
Tired, he retired to his room, not really wanting to look at or be in the same room as either of his parents any longer, and mashed his face into his pillow without a second thought.
