Cinderella Can't be a Guy

((Just a quick announcement, I have rewritten this so it has tripled in length.))

I look over the dress hanging from my closet door with a slight sigh. I run my hands along the silk fabric of the skirt. I wish I could dress like myself all the time. But Mother wouldn't hear of it and she definitely won't let me go to prom in this. I'm not giving up that easily though. I have to go to prom as-

"Thomas! Get down here!" Mother yells upstairs and I sigh harder. I hate that name. It isn't my name.

I hide my dress behind my 'appropriate' clothing so that hopefully Mother won't find it if she finds a way into my room. I spent a good penny on that dress and it would suck if she just threw it out. Like she would. I go downstairs and enter my mother's office since it is slightly open.

My mother is a very professional woman who appears to not have emotions most of the time. She dresses professionally all the time, her makeup and hair are always perfect. Her hair is a dark almost black brown and she has brown eyes. She's a head manager so she has that commanding personality and feeling about her. She's always right no matter what. It pisses me off.

"Yes, Mother?" I ask patiently, already beyond annoyed with her. That tends to happen when you use the wrong name, pronouns, and terminology.

"Have you started dinner yet?"

"No," I reply and she knows it so I'm not sure why she asked.

"And make sure to make your brother's lunch," she says as if that isn't something I do every single day. I mean, seriously! She stopped making our lunches in elementary school. It is not hard to make your own lunch yet my brother can't manage it... or I guess he's just not been given the chance to try.

"Speaking of that testosterone filled jock, where is he?"

"Football practice, doing what you should be doing," she replies with a glare at me.

My lips tighten in anger, it is the only sign of the anger I feel towards her. I leave her office before we can get at it again. I go to the kitchen and I start on my brother's lunch and dinner. I am not sure why Mother makes me cook when it is stereotypically a female's job. She's always trying to make me a manly man all the time. Of course, she doesn't have the time to cook or the skill

I enjoy cooking so I'm not complaining. It is one of the few things that are Mother approved that I can do that makes me feel good and makes me feel like me. I easily finish David's lunch and focus solely on dinner.

David appears after an hour roughly and roots in the fridge. "Get out of there," I tell him. "Dinner will be ready in less than half an hour."

David is a bit lanky but still more muscular than your average high schooler. Yet he somehow still keeps a lanky look. He has brown hair and eyes. He's about half a foot taller than me which I'm not short so he's a giant. He's not light either which just adds to the confusion of how he still looks lanky. I guess that's what makes him a good football player. I really wouldn't know since I'm not interested in sports at all.

He ignores me and grabs a snack. Though I'm not too concerned about him ruining his appetite since he has an endless hole for a stomach. He disappears upstairs to his room. David doesn't pay attention to me. He doesn't respect me. I don't know if it is because I don't act like the older brother that everyone but my best friend and her family think I should act like or not. He respects Mother but you can't not respect Mother so that doesn't count for much.

No one but my best friend and my second family, basically, accept me for who I am. I'm sure more would if I didn't have to hide who I was but Mother won't accept me for who I am in any way, shape, or form. Mother won't let me be myself. She has her mold and she's dead set on forcing me into it.