Chapter Twenty-Three

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"Frankie? Are you still up there?"

Frank slammed his suitcase shut, cringing at the name. Her name. "Yeah, I'm in my room."

He heard the click of his mother's shoes stop right outside his door. "You've been in here all day," she said when she realized the door was locked. "Is something wrong?"

Yeah. I'm a boy trapped inside a girl's body. "No, I'm... working on something. I'll–" he swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to do so. "I'll show you when I'm done."

"Okay. But make it quick, I'm going out again tonight." She clicked away.

Frank ran his hand down the back of his head and down to his bare neck. It felt nice to have short hair; he had always hated the way it tickled his skin. The only concern was his mother's reaction.

His jaw hardened. Who cared about her reaction? This was him, this was his body. He should be able to do what he wanted.

Frank's hands started to shake, as well as his breathing. Coming out wasn't easy. No, it was one of the hardest things to do. To tell his mother her only daughter wasn't actually her daughter... well, that was going to be difficult.

"Okay," he told himself. "Okay. Just act natural."

With that, he slipped to the kitchen.

His mother was facing away from him as he entered. Frank sat down on the counter, white-faced and shaking. "M-Mom?"

"Yes?" She replied, still not looking up.

"I'm, er– what time are you going out?" Frank knew he was stalling.

"Soon, actually. Dave's picking me up in–" she finally caught a glimpse of him. Frank didn't even dare to breathe.

Her eyes scanned his body, taking in her son's appearance. Her gaze landed on his chest, and Frank's breath hitched. He hated when people looked at him there.

Finally, she spoke. "You cut your hair."

"I..." Frank's voice sounded small. He cleared his throat. "I did. Do you like it?"

She didn't answer. Frank didn't expect her to. He decided to go and tell her flat-out.

"Mom, I'm– I'm... gay," he blurted out. That was much easier to say than "I'm transgender."

His mother stared at him like he grew another arm. "You like girls?" She whispered horrifically.

"No," Frank replied. "I like boys."

His mother blinked in confusion.

He sighed. "I just told you I'm gay," he said slowly. "But I am attracted to boys. Put two and two together, Mom..."

His mom still didn't understand. Then it hit her. She took a step back, eyes wide with fear. Yes, fear.

It hurt to see his mother look at him as if he was a monster.

"I'm a boy," he said softly. "As in... transgender. I was born in the wrong body."

His mom didn't respond. Frank tried again.

"I'm your son," he pressed. "Not your daughter. I go by he or him. And–"

His mother made a low sound in the back of her throat, small and scared. Frank reached out to touch her arm reassuringly, but froze when she yanked it away.

"Don't touch me," she spat.

Frank's eyes welled up with tears. He dropped his hand back to his side. "Mom, please l-listen. I know th-this is h-hard for you. I mean, it's l-like y-you lost a daughter. B-but d-don't think of it like th-that. Think of it like y-you gained a son."

"You are not–"

"It's hard for me, too," Frank spoke over his mother. "I'm trying to make it easier for you, but take into consideration it's–"

"YOU ARE NOT A BOY!" His mom exploded. "A BOY CANNOT HAVE GIRL PARTS!"

"No, I am a boy!" Frank retorted. "Just because I don't look like one doesn't mean I am one!"

"You are a girl, Frankie. You–"

"Frank," he corrected quickly. "I'm changing my name to Frank."

"Frankie, you will always be a girl," he mom said heavily. "As long as you live under my roof, you will not wear clothes that are overly masculine and you will grow your hair out. No daughter of mine–"

"Son."

His mother slammed her hands down on the counter, hard, hard enough to send a glass of water tumbling to the floor. Frank drew back in horror as broken glass and water sprayed everywhere. He locked eyes with his mother.

"This is your last night here," she spoke calmly. Scary calm. "When I get back home tomorrow, I want you out. Gone."

"You mean you're kicking me out?" Frank croaked.

"That's right," his mom said, picking up her purse. There was a honk of a car from outside. "That's my ride. Remember what I said." She walked over to the door. "Goodbye, Frankie."

"Frank," Frank corrected. His mother gave no response.

As soon as the door locked shut, Frank dropped to the floor, shoulders shaking and tears running down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead onto the wooden floor, sobs echoing off the bare walls.

His mom was kicking him out. He knew it was going to happen; he had prepared himself. Still, it hurt. This was his home. He'd lived here for sixteen years and, just like that, he was expected to leave. There was one thing left to do.

"G-Gerard," Frank gasped when he picked up. "I–" he broke down sobbing.

"Frank? Honey, what's wrong?" Gerard asked.

Frank shook his head, even though he knew Gerard couldn't see him over the phone. "My– my mom... I'm... I'll tell you later." Frank let out another sob. "Just please come over."

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