Ecstasy

Johnson

I stare at my mother, dumbfounded. No? What was that supposed to mean?
She continued to glare at Jack, as if he were the antichrist itself. "I can tolerate a druggie kid, but I won't tolerate a gay one!" She says, and I back away from her, hurt. Okay, I knew I was a druggie, but wouldn't every parent rather have a gay kid than a drugged up one? "Jack," she said, speaking to Gilinsky. "I don't want to ever talking to my kid again. You're the one who made him gay." Gilinsky stared at my mother, a mixture of emotions crossing his face.
"Now, now, Jennifer. I don't think we need to go that far," says Gilinsky's dad. I can tell that he's trying to make things better for Jack and I, and I nod at him gratefully for a second then step over to Jack.
"Don't tell me what's too far, David. This is my kid. And I don't want him gay!" Says my mother.
Suddenly, I explode with rage. "What the fuck, woman?! You said that you would always be here for me no matter what! What happened to that, huh?! You're just a jerk! And I would much rather leave home than stop being friends with Jack!" I yell, getting a few stares from people all around us.
My mother glares at me, and I look to my father, surprised to see the same look reflected in his eyes. I would've thought that my father would be more reasonable. When neither of them respond to me, I back away. I didn't think they would actually expect me to move out when I just graduated. I didn't even have a job, or a house; where was I going to stay? I had lots of money, maybe I could just fly to LA and stay with Nash or one of the other Magcon boys.
I nod angrily at my parents, then notice Mallory standing behind them, smirking. What a bitch, ratting us out and ruining my life! I knew I was going to lose so many fans and friends over this, if it got out any further.
Not able to withstand the pressure inside my head anymore, I storm out of the stadium. I can feel people staring at me, but I ignore them and run home, shredding my robes as I go. I knew it was leaving a trail, but I wanted less to remind me of this day.
When I get home, I run upstairs and start packing everything. It takes three large suitcases and four large boxes, but eventually my room is all cleaned out except for my bed and dresser, which have to stay. I hastily pull my stash of drugs from underneath my bed. I pull out the pipe along with the Marijuana, and start smoking it, bathing in the scent and letting the smoke overwhelm the room. Better way to let my parents know of my existence.
I laugh, then go downstairs, tugging my bags with me so I can make less trips. I go into the basement and pull out our crate of spray paint, then lug it back up to my room.
When I get there, I paint a thick, single red line on the wall. Then an orange line below it, then yellow, then green, blue, indigo, violet. There's a leaking rainbow on my wall, in the shape of the flag. Along with the scent of Marijuana, this is the best way to sum me up. I grab the last box, letting the cans of spray paint roll around on my floor, the rainbow dripping onto my carpet.

~

I'm walking down the street, tugging my things along in a wagon since they were too heavy to carry. My shoe laces are undone, and so is my tie, and my undershirt is haphazardly buttoned and soaked through with sweat. I'm panting heavily, and I don't know where I am. I shouldn't have clicked the WiFi.
I keep thinking back to the final stand I took against my parents, and I shudder, knowing that they very well could report me to the police as a runaway and a substance abuser, and a vandal. Then I would go to jail.
I can't go to jail. I have to think about my fans.
I shiver despite the heat, and roll the wagon to a stop, the contents swaying precariously. I collapse next to it, rolling in the grass and breathing in its earthen smell.
I suddenly feel arms around me, and I start struggling against them. "Jack, Jack, calm down!" I hear a familiar voice say, and I lay still.
"Jack?" I ask.
"No." Says the voice, and I open my eyes and wait for them to focus on the face of the speaker.
When they do, I stare at him for a while longer, staring into his clear, liquidy, lake blue eyes. 
"N... Nash?"
What was Nash Grier doing here?