Hollow Graves (Lesbian Story)

Chapter One

Note...book was written over 6 years ago and no edits have been made.

The Flu
~

   I'd only been home a week and I was already fumed with a mass of irritation. I told myself repetitively from the moment I put my suitcase in the car to standing in front of my parents' front porch, I would regret this vacation. All week I masked my face with a false smile. Nightmares of my childhood would taught me even when I was miles away. Not that I grew up beaten and locked in a room. But still...it felt like a nightmare so in my book it was.
   Attending Standford University for the last three years had been a gift from God. I should start praying to him so tragedy of a lost scholarship wouldn't be my next letter in the mail. Those three years and only one visit back to my folks home. My brother begged, more like made me feel guilty for not coming more often. His speech, 'I'm supposed to be a big sister and do my duty to keep him alive in that house.' So here I was. In a house I was not happy to be in for my summer vacation. No trip to Cancun with my fellow lady friends. Or road trip counting the many panties I'd collect on the way back. I was here. In my parents. Yay me! I had told my brother no maybe a hundred times on visiting. Maybe not, but close enough, until I visualized my brother hating me if I didn't come. He was my little brother. Obligations in all. I hated that word. Obligation. Preachers preached it. My parents preached it. It was as if to them it was my destiny to be obligated to others. The should have just tattooed it on my skin to make the word stand out better. Wait in line people, I'm obligated to help you.
   The bright side was it was summer. There was a lot to do in Cali. Los Angeles was the place to get lost in the world rather you meant to or not. Or lost inside someone. Whichever you would prefer. I knew what I had plans for.
   But now...here I was, letting the frustration from my parents drench off me like excessive sweat.
   There was a reason I had not been here in three years. Coming here reminded me of that reason, swiftly. Remembering my mothers discourteous question, I snorted.
   It was the first thing she asked me when I came back. "Have you grown out of your...situation and met a man yet?" That was what my mother asked me. Her important question. Not, how have you been? You have any friends? How's school? She had this look of hope in her eyes that I'd something along these lines: Yes mom. I've finally found what you all saw in me this entire time. The love for a man.
   My situation. That's all I wanted to comment her. How could I look at her and not want to scream. Or laugh.
   Coming out to my family as a gay woman was all that was needed to put a wedge between our relationship. My parents hoped it was a phase. A situation I'd overcome. My parents found yet again, disappointment when I told them, 'I still loved women.' Yes. I said it just like that with humor added in my voice like an additional topping, that was unnecessary and more for mocking her absurd question. They wanted my fingers laced in a man's hand. What I wanted my fingers and mouth on, was not what they pictured. I was nice enough not to Gove them an image.
   Les-be-honest. Before telling them I was gay, I was nervous as if I was shitting in a public restroom stall, with other women inside. It isn't often, someone shitting with others to hear and smell. So, I was nervous. Funny thing is once I finally told them I had the biggest grin on my face as if they would jump up cheering for me.
   What I got was far opposite. My father's eyes popped out like you'd see in a Looney Tunes cartoon as my mother started rocking back in forth in her chair, as if experiencing psychogenic shock. My mother's ivory skin, blanched giving her a ghostly gloom. As far as my father's Irish features, the pink had left his cheeks making it appear as if cyanosis was developing around his lips. His lips and eye s drew in tight and horizontal.
Looking back on that long memory, I could only laugh every time. It was sad, deep down. My sexuality wasn't about them and they had tried to make it that way. I ignored their narrow-minded, religious mentality.
I told them I was heading to the store an hour ago. Truth be told, I headed to a nearby gay bar to loosen my tension. Now face back on the front steps of my parents porch, I sighed heavily and long. I put my, 'hey. Glad I'm here,' face back on, like I was performing a theatre act. I've been trying to master it for a week now. Who could really pretend that long? I wasn't a drama major. My career as a Paramedic was within reach. My parents thought I should be a doctor. Right; and miss being in the back of an ambulance rig saving lives in every form I could.
Here I go. I knocked on the front door.
Seconds later my mother opened the door, arching a brow at me. She covered her mouth coughing into her hand and I grimaced.
Germs. Ugh.
"Honey, the door wasn't locked. You have a key."
   I didn't respond. I wanted to come in and avoid any discussions and that cough she was producing rapidly. I realized, when I came out at age sixteen, this wasn't a home to me anymore. And I didn't walk into other people houses. So, yeah. I would always knock.
A home represented a safe haven. A place where no judgment and persecution existed. I didn't get that here.
   I headed to the bathroom realizing my bladder was screaming to release all of the beer I drank. After I was done, I stood over the sink, washing my hands, catching my reflection in the mirror. I looked miserable being here. The only thing I could thank my parents for, was my good looks. My light-tanned complexion emanated off of me luminously.
   I had wavy dark coconut hair that dropped right at my shoulders. My caramel eyes stared back, scrutinizing myself. My slender toned shape told everyone I loved to work out.
A loud knock distracted me.
"Come on, sis. I gotta pee. Get out."
   My lovely brother, Christian. The same one that begged me to come here, showing me brotherly love. I grinned waiting an extra few seconds longer and then opened the door stepping out.
Before my brother closed the door he snatched my attention, whispering. "Did you take my magazines?" he asked quietly. His look said, 'I hope you did.'
   I could tell he wasn't talking videogame or entertainment magazines, unless you were thinking the type of entertainment that came from the excitement of a pleasurable orgasm. That's where my money was leaning toward.
   "No," I whispered back already feeling sympathy for him. Truth was, I didn't need his magazines. My brother was in child's play. I had a collection of lesbian DVD's and called my 'fuck me,' ex girlfriends or flings when I was horny. Literally all the women I slept with in the past, would say, 'fuck me.' And I did. Righteously,so with strong precision.
My brother frowned, muttering, "shit."
   "Watch your mouth," I hissed. "I think you know who has your magazines," I pointed out.
   "Yeah, yeah," he said closing the door.
Great! Now over dinner I would look forward to my parents lecturing my brother on the proper respect of a woman's body and his own. How he should repent and thank God that he was given another chance to redeem his soul.
   By the time dinner rolled around, my parents ordered pizza. My mom looked pallor than earlier with my father looking just as bad. They both caught the flu after getting their vaccination. The fact that there was pizza in the house signified how sick my mother was. Cooking was like her second religion and eating outside food was like joining in with a cult. How she did not see her church as a cult, I do not know. Not saying all churches were bad, or that religion was bad. Only, it was practiced horribly wrong by many.
   My parents looked physically weak as they plumped down on their chairs. My brother Christian began digging into the box of pizza pulling out two slices. I scanned over my parents thoroughly assessing their skin.
   See, I'm a great EMT.
   They seemed diaphoretic as if I could soak a tile from their skin alone.
   "Patricia...honey. What's wrong?" my mother asked, yawning for the tenth time.
Tris. I go by Tris. I wanted to argue, but it didn't seem like the right time.
  "I think you two should go see a doctor."
My father waved my concern off as if I was being dramatic. "Eat Patricia," my father demanded.
   "It's Tris." I guess that was the right time. I hated when he dismissed everything I said. I furrowed both brows nipping on my inner cheek with fume. "I'm serious. You two don't look healthy." I didn't get along with my parents but I loved them and wanted them alive.
   "Patricia. Tris. Whatever. Eat. Maybe if you were on your way to med school...like we discussed, I could rely on your opinion more."
Fucking unbelievable. I narrowed my eyes at my father. Why did I care for this man?
   "Paul," my mother yelped. "Patricia is a smart woman. If she wants to be a paramedic, that's her choice."
Thank you. Now if you would show me some damn love and support me being gay, that would help. That was asking for too much.
My mother began coughing excessively and after a minute she gained back partial composure. Her coughs sounded as if the inside of her throat was raw and bloody like beef going through a grinder. I stared sicken by that thought. My imagination was too much for me to handle at times. "We've heard nothing but great experiences from her ER tech job at the hospital."
Go on.
   It wasn't often or even rare to hear either of my parents praising me.
   My brother finally paid attention to what was going on. He took another bite from his pizza gazing at our father, waiting for his response.
   Instead of my father responding, he arched a brow at my mother and then reached in for a slice of pizza.
   Absently I slapped his hand away. When I realized what I had done, I didn't give into his stare. It was too late to take it back so I went along with my original goal. "Bad enough I'm sitting at this table with you two. Don't need you contaminating the food."
   I suspected my father was staring at me, frustration and annoyance the highlight of his expression. I didn't care. I reached in, grabbing my parents both their slices.
   Across the table, Christian smirked at me and I grinned back, just a little.
   After the twenty minute lecture I knew my parents were going to give Christian, I walked into the living room, perching on the couch like a lazy monkey after eating too many bananas. I grabbed the remote sidling me flipping through the few channels my parents did possess. My parents weren't big on television and tried to convert my brother and me into the same belief. That television was a 'brainwashing machine.' So was chirch three times a week but I didn't need to tell them that. I already did the night I came out and they went on and on about me needing to be re-baptized. I felt bad for my brother, for all the shows he was missing out on. Then again, if he was smart like I was he would have been going to his friend's house watching some real TV.
   It was after seven and only the news was on and some old television classics like Magnum and Little House On the Prairie. I took a vote and decided I would get more excitement from the news. Not that I was against old school shows. I loved Little House On the Prairie. Laura was beyond my favorite character and when she became a woman, God, she was my first celebrity crush. Watching the news for several boring minutes finally a breaking story came on.