Can't Afford To Lose Another Second With You (Scömìche)

Boys & Dresses

After Scott decided on escaping trough the window once it was getting late (he insisted on staying the night but I told him if my parents found out we'd get in serious trouble), I just scribbled into my sketchbook, trying to get my mind off of everything that happened today. I considered starting a painting or at least finishing the one I had to do for my art class of Scott but I didn't want to think about anything too serious now. That was until my mom opened the door and interrupted my drawing session.

"Mitch, we need to talk."

"What's wrong?" I asked as innocently as possible, raising my eyebrows. I knew exactly that I had crossed a line with my parents but that's what I wanted. They might throw me out of the house but it's not like I couldn't afford at least a small apartment somewhere close by until College started. I was legally an adult, too, so that was not a problem.

"What's wrong?" My mom gasped. "You ask what's wrong? I think you know exactly what's wrong."

"Mitch," my dad began sternly, appearing behind my mom, his voice in control. He didn't want to waste his energy on me. "I- we hope you know that you've crossed a line with us. What you've done is unacceptable."

I tried to keep playing the game. "What have I done? I don't know what you're talking about."

My mom stepped forward but was grabbed by my dad and took a few steps back, visibly furious.

"You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female, it is an abomination," Mother spat. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't you think that's a bit outdated?" I said, trying to keep my faked nonchalance.

"Don't-" My own mother couldn't even look at me anymore. But that's what you get for being a shitty parent. And I was not sorry in the slightest.

"Mom, dad, I know you hate me," I said as I crossed my legs, examining my already chipped dark navy nail polish. "But I need to get something straight- one, I'm not. But you knew that already. Second, I might have had a guy over just before you came back home. So what? You guys fucked too to make me, what's the point in being angry about human nature?"

"Human- human nature?" She looked at my dad, helplessly. "Mike, aren't you going to say anything about that?"

"What am I supposed to say, Nel?! What do you want me to say? It's not exactly surprising. He's eighteen, we knew it was gonna happen sometime."

"But. Not. With. A. Boy," she spat. I almost felt sorry. Her face was red and she looked as if she was just about to choke. Almost.

"I know!" Mike said in defense. "I'm not saying it's okay, I'm just saying-"

"Exactly!" she cried. "You're not saying anything!" She turned to me. "Mitch. My son. You having- sleeping with a- a guy is one thing. Explain the dress."

I blinked, my heart stopping in my chest. Did she find- I made sure to hide the clothes! "I- uh, like dresses?" I tried. "I don't know, what do you want me to say?"

She stood up and came closer, making me flinch in my seat. She could easily slap me and for a second I thought she was going to but then she took a deep breath, her face still crimson.

"Boys don't wear dresses."

The sentence felt as if someone stabbed me in the heart, but I tried not to show. As much as I hated my parents, they still hurt me. I couldn't feel indifferent to what they said. And that realization was the worst. It wasn't that my parents hated me and would probably be a lot happier if I was dead, but it was that no matter how bad they were, how bad they treated me, I couldn't help but care about what they said. I couldn't stop wanting to make them proud, somehow, even though I knew for sure they were the last people in the world to deserve it.

They said they didn't raise me that way. They didn't raise me to be gay and to be gender queer, but that's the point. If they had raised me at all, I probably wouldn't be as fucked up as I was now. If they had raised me it would mean that some part of them cared about me, but seeing that the only reason they got me was probably because of a drunken night I wondered why they didn't send me to a foster home to avoid their responsibilities for good. I don't know if I'd be better off that way, but just maybe I wouldn't be shouted at right now for being happy.

"Seems like they do," I replied, my voice shaking slightly but I hoped they wouldn't notice.

"Who is this boy?" my dad wanted to know. Probably so he could do something about our relationship.

I shook my head. "I'm not telling you."

"What do you mean you're not telling me?"

He was mine and even though I was so happy I wanted to tell everyone around me, scream it at the top of my lungs but I knew exactly once I'd tell my parents they would find a way to take him away from me. I couldn't risk that.

"I'm not telling you" I insisted, looking straight into my father's eyes. There was a glint in them, making me hate my dad even more than I ever had. What was it, though? Was it- could it be what I thought it was? Understanding? Then why the fuck was he letting Nel treat me that way?

"Mitch," my mom began. "I don't appreciate that you told me you liked wearing dresses." Okay, good, so she was referring to what I said and not my ruined dress that was hidden somewhere in a random guest room. "I want you to throw away all of your dresses. I'll make sure you don't hide them. And I want you to break up with your boyfriend."