The Boy and the Beast

9| obscured

I push my food around my plate.

My dad's been bad mouthing a man at his work for dating another man. He's always bashing on the man and making my sisters laugh.

My mother doesn't really react to his comments, but I can tell her little snickers are finding this amusing.

It's obvious that my father wants me as the alpha male. He wants me to become either the best football player or the meanest lawyer or follow him up in the farm business, he wants me to get married to the prettiest girl. He wants me to have children, two of them, so I could carry the gene on.

Only problem is: I don't want that.

I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb in my career—I'm a terrible liar, so there will be absolutely no way I'll be a good lawyer—or be married to a woman I don't love and have children I never really wanted.

I don't want to be stuck on the same time in my life: confusion. I don't want to be stuck with a person I don't love, just because I seek the approval of my father.

"Alistair, don't play with your food," my mother demands. "If you're not hungry, I can put it in the fridge so you can eat it later."

I drop my fork to my sisters and parents staring at me in concern. Their jaws move up and down, to eat, but I can't help feel as if they open and close their jaws because they have mocks for me. They're my family. They're supposed to support me.

Like a mantra, my words replays in my mind. I've planned each detail what I will pipe up, and I will say it exactly as I planned. If not, I'm partly screwed.

"What's up, Ally?" My dad's deep voice croaks from his spot at the corner of the table.

I swallow, hearing my own breathing so loudly. I'm milliseconds away from hyperventilating and dropped dead right here. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my whole body is ridden with quavers. I gulp again, resting my hands on my lap.

I sit back, staring at the mac and cheese. I actually love my mom's food, but I'm not even in any mood close enough to keep consumption down.

I take in a deep breathe, screwing my eyes shut so tightly, my vision blurs in splotches when I reopen my eyes.

"Eh," my tongue courses down my throat. I swallow, watching my father. He has concern written all over his face. Malarkey stares blankly at me, her brows knit together. It's the first night her fiancé [piece of meat] isn't joining us for dinner.

It's the perfect moment to tell them, since it's only family. Only us.

"I..." I can't get the words out of myself.

"Alistair, don't be scared to talk to us," Malarkey encourages.

"Please, talk to us. Last time you didn't talk you almost gave yourself a heart attack," my dad chuckles at his own muse. "We're open to talk to anything, son." My father gives me a reassuring weak smile, mid-chew.