Don't Wake Me Up || Discontinued

Chapter Two - Going, Go, Gone

I sat on my bed, studying the tattoo designs for a mere hundredth time. Although I hadn't seen Harry for three days, I wasn't sure what design I liked best. The tour started tomorrow, and there was a 99.9 percent chance that we'd get our new symbol within the next week.

I looked at the x's that filled the page, and the only three that weren't scribbled over: a two (Harry would get a three), a bush (Harry would get a swing set) or fknms (Harry would get aeae, and the alternate letters would spell fake names. Personally, I didn't really like that one, because, well, it was random letters. It'd see as if we got drunk tattoos. It was my turn to choose the design, and Harry had to agree wit it, since he picked the last ones.

I peered over at the clock; it was 12:46. The best idea would be to get to sleep because of the early  hour I had to get up tomorrow, but I needed to pick the design. If Modest! found about our planning, I'd be screwed. And not just by Harry.

I laid back on my bed and stared at the ceiling above me, thoughts zooming through my head. I decided on the twenty-three design, because of the way a bush could be interpreted. Sexual, I thought. I let my eyes close, and eventually fell asleep.

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I woke to the sound of an alarm, and quickly rolled to shut it off before I realized why it was going off at three AM. Tour day!

I threw the covers off of me and got onto my feet, balancing myself from the dizziness that occurred from my swift rising. Quietly, I swung my bedroom door open and went into the kitchen, making sure I didn't leave on an empty stomach again. I snatched an apple from the table and bit into it, juice falling from the inside. My bags were neatly stacked by the door, all ready to be placed in a car and driven away just to be returned once again. Although the first few dates weren't that far from home, I wasn't planning on coming back. After all, this place never felt like home, not after the incident. . . . .

December 29, 2011; The Tomlinson Household--

I sat next to the tree, gifts stacked underneath. Harry and I had both agreed to tell our parents today, and I was more nervous than the day I auditioned for X-Factor - okay, maybe that was worse. Mum came into the room with her mug in hand, and sat next to me on the couch. My sisters were already there, so it was all on me. "Mum, siblings, I'm gay."

In that moment, the room fell silence. I thought it would be okay. Then, the room exploded in different emotions - three of which were hate. They mouths spat venomous words, filled with loathe toward me. My eyes filled with tears as I was told by my own family how I don't deserve to be treated like a person, because I was a filthy gay boy.

 I'm considered lucky if they decide to stay in the same room as I am. They take priority over me now, so if they don't want to be near me, I must leave immediately. Imagine what its like to be treated as a second-class citizen in your own family - that is the life I live at home. The boys on the bus or plane fells like more of a family than what my real house - the one I was raised in - is.

Tears filled my eyes as I thought about the horrifying happening of 2011. Eventually, I was shaken from my thoughts as I heard a honk from outside. Time to pack up my bags. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped my eyes, then walked to the front door and opened it, exposing myself to the darkness of dawn. The usual van was outside, the attendant standing by the passenger-side door. I unlocked the storm door and grabbed two of my heaviest bags, then made my way to the grey vehicle. The attendant walked silently into my house and assisted me in the placing o the bags in the car as the driver sat there, keeping his eyes on me.

After the trips back and forth between the assistant and I, all my bags were placed in the trunk and backseat of the van. Finally, we spoke. "Ten minutes," the driver said. I nodded and slammed the door to the backseat. I had ten minutes to finish preparing. I ran up the stairs and back into my house to write a fast note to the family - the parts that still treated me like I belonged. I said how I would miss them, and call every day, and as I always wished: that my sisters would love me again. I wished them a safe time and that my phone is always there so they could call. Finally, I signed the note and left it on the table where someone was bound to see it.

I had my carry-on bag ready, so I took it and place it on the couch next to me as I waited. Before I knew it, headlights were coming down the block. It was time to reunite with my friends, and leave this place I liked to call home, even if I didn't feel like it. I ran up to my room t double check that everything was in place, and to make sure things that were a must-have weren't left behind. y list of items was still on my nightstand, so I read it over, briefly checking where the items would be placed. Looked like was readily packed.

I walked downstairs, grabbed my bad and left the house, locking the door behind me. I wouldn't be back for a while. . . I'd be somewhat free, with people who made me feel like family.