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〖 chapter eight ⋆quivering lip 〗
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"I just want to feel right again."
He didn't know why he added 'again', as if there was a time when he did feel right. But it seemed right, it seemed that adding it might lessen the blow of how he actually felt. It wouldn't seem so bad if he said again, referring to a time when he felt on top of the world, the king of the universe. When the sky was the limit and he could smile without care and he wasn't hiding or pretending or trying to be someone that everyone else wanted. It seemed easier for them to digest if he said that, added that to his confession.
It wasn't the truth, though. He never had a time when he was on top of the world and he was truly himself. Maybe when he was much younger and the pressure to be someone else wasn't placed on him but that was so long ago he couldn't remember. He had to be the perfect son, the boy who loved sports and watched football with his dad and went to baseball games and enjoyed every minute. The boy who didn't complain about dinner or where they were going out to eat, who would pick something off the menu without 'they don't have anything I like here!' because that would embarrass his parents and he couldn't.
Shut up and accept it. Eat without complaining – who cares about what you actually think? Opinions don't matter here.
And those were silly examples. Food isn't important and he could muscle through a meal of sea food or Italian even though he'd rather just have chips at home, but it grew into something more. So much more. Is that alright? No. Every time he got asked that the true, honest answer was no but he always said yes because that's what everyone wanted to here. They wanted him to be okay so he would. At least, in their eyes he would allow them to believe that.
But the blow of his father got to him. You're not doing the damn musical. The way his father stared at him, looking into his soul with such sternness. Deciding and forcing him to stay silent and accept it the same way he used to look at him when he tried to complain about dinner or where they went to eat. So he accepted it again. Fuck your wants, to hell with what you want to do with your life – Columbia will be good for you.
Columbia would be hell for him and he knew already.
He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to cry but knowing he couldn't. He couldn't cry because he never cried. The Golden Boy didn't have a reason to cry and neither did Icarus, not really, so he didn't need to. But he needed to, him – Garrett Lockwood – needed to cry because everything was piling up and there was so much pressure now and he needed a release.
