Bloom (Malec)

Spilling The News

I dread going downstairs the moment I wake up. With a heavy sigh, I drag myself out of bed, cursing the boring black blanket once more for good measure before I hop in the shower. 

I take my time getting ready, showering longer than usual, but even so, it's barely seven when I'm ready to go downstairs for breakfast. I stifle another sigh and grab my bag before wandering downstairs. 

Izzy, Jace, Max and my father are sat at the dining table, breakfast laid out before them, eggs, bacon, pancakes, the works. My family doesn't settle for anything less than superb. But my mother is nowhere to be found. 

"Morning!" Max greets, grinning up at me. I smile back, ruffling his hair up as I walk passed him to take my seat beside him. 

"Good morning, Alec," my father smiles at me and sets the morning paper down beside his half empty plate. 

"Morning, dad," I smile slightly at him and begin to fill my plate with small amounts of food. I find my appetite much smaller than usual today, but I try to ignore the nagging knot in my stomach. 

"Where's mom?" Izzy asks, earning a minor wince from me. 

"She's in the kitchen making herself a coffee. Alec, would you mind checking on her?" My father's eyes move to me and my hand tenses around my fork as I nod feebly and push my chair back.

The walk to the kitchen feels like miles as I force my legs forward, my heart dropping considerably the closer I get to the entrance. 

My mother is leaning against the counter, her cream coloured dress cut off just before her knees, her high heels looking like spikes against the black marble floor. Her back is to me, her hair intricately twirled back behind her ears and cascading down her back. She's staring out the window, the coffee mug in her hands untouched. 

"Good morning," I say quietly into the space between us. The distance feels so vast I can almost hear my own voice echo. She turns slightly, looking at me with an unreadable expression. 

"Oh, morning, Alexander," she replies dryly. I swallow thickly, feeling like I'm suffocating, as if the walls of the kitchen are closing in around me. 

"Do you hate me?" I whisper before I can stop myself. I sound weak- something my mother has never allowed me to be- and younger than my years. I watch her expression falter, her carefully composed features become confused for a moment before she sets the mug down and walks toward me. 

"Alexander, I could never hate you," she confesses, her hand patting down my unruly hair. I chance a glance up at her. 

"But I'm gay, mom," I remind her, the word sounding like a curse on my tongue but I swallow it dry. 

"I know that," she tells me, nodding once and dropping her hand as if I've burned her. I fight back the tears- it's not even 8 am, far too early to cry. "But you're still my son, despite that."

I want to scream, I want to tell her that it shouldn't be 'despite' anything. I want to tell her that it shouldn't change a thing, that I haven't changed all that much at all, and the changes that are happening are good. I want her to be able to accept me fully, every inch of me, even though she never has. 

But I realise in this moment that I'll never have that. All those years spent vying for attention and acceptance from her have always been in vain. My mother will never be the mother I want her to be. She will always be horribly blunt and disengaged. And I realise that whether I'm gay or not, she'd never love me as wholeheartedly as I want her to. 

I'm right in saying it doesn't change anything. 

But this isn't a battle I want to fight. Not now, at least. It can wait.