Orphanage AU: Lams

Chapter 32: Breathe

I have nothing to say. My life is so boring. My family still hasn't seen Love, Simon. Curse them forever more. 

//Trigger Warning//- Abuse, homophobic slurs

---John's POV---

As I stepped out of the airport and hailed a taxi, I realized I was shaking and I mentally scolded myself. Breathe.

Slowly I stepped out of the taxi, tipping generously. My house was at the end of the block, and I recognize the faces that were asleep the night I left. Maybe it was me, but it all seemed like lifetimes ago. So what could I say to these faces that I used to know? Hey I'm home?

This was my street, I smiled at the neighbors. What would my parents say? I feared my mother telling me what was wrong. I feared my father who had much in store for me, I was sure, since I left without his permission.

I also was afraid for my brother. Maybe he was the one hurt... He was 16, the age I was when I told Father I was gay... and got beaten.

As people waved, I straightened my spine, smiling for the neighbors. Everything's fine, everything's cool.

As cool on the outside as I was scared on the inside. John, just breathe. Afraid Father would be the one to open the door, I pulled my phone our and tremblingly texted Mother.

John: I'm home

Mother: You're finally hooommme!

Mother always found a way to be so happy, or at least, she put on a happy front for me. I didn't even realize she was acting until I was around 19 and immediately hated myself for not noticing.

A few minutes later the heavy oak doors opened quietly, and I gathered it wasn't Mother who was hurt. She looked fine, except for a few bruises, which was typical.

"Mother." She held open her arms and I hugged her tightly, wincing as she returned my hug, pressing my bruises. I felt her shifting in my arms as I brushed hers, but we held so tight, I could barely breathe. Breathe. I reminded myself.

"My son." She pulled back and studied my face like we hadn't seen each other in years. It had been a few hours less than a week. She smirked. "You have a crush."

"Mother!" Like that, the solemn, grave atmosphere evaporated.

"I can tell. Come in." She slipped her shoes off and stepped back inside. I followed her, gazing around at the sparklingly clean surfaces of the open, airy room.

The decoration, as always, seemed overdone, the air, as usual, smelled sharply clean, with a comfy furniture scent form embroidered pillows and soft couches.

I was, as usual, broken with the tint of alcohol that floated about, a persistent reminder of Father.

Speaking of which... "Where's Father?" A servant shut the door behind us and I started, but Mother reassured me. It's ok, it's ok. Breathe.

"He'll be home in... half an hour?" As soon as she began to trail off I pulled out my phone, pressing home. I flashed her the time and her eyes widened. "Make that ten minutes," she corrected herself.

"So," I looked around for Junior. "What's going on?"

Mother gestured to a couch and I sank into it, missing the more cozy feel of the orphanage's armchairs. "Your younger brother greatly admires you." I smiled proudly. "He often follows your example on what to do about problems he has." I nodded, unsure where this was going.

"Yes?" I prompted her after she gazed out the window for a couple of seconds.

She sighed, continuing, "And secrets." I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing. "John," she started abruptly, shifting as her tone did the same, "do you remember when you came out to me and Henry?" She flinched as she said his name.

A small flicker of dread crept into my heart as I followed this path where I hoped it wouldn't lead. I felt my body constrict. Breathe. I told myself. Maybe you're reading this all wrong.

"Yeah," I replied softly. "We played piano."

Mother smiled at the memory. "I taught you piano."

"It was a love song... one from the girl's point of view, to a guy." I blushed as I remembered this. "I-I sang the words as I played the notes." Mother nodded. "Father said to say she not he though that wasn't the lyrics because-" I broke off and stared at my hands.

"So you told us." Softly, mother took my hand and squeezed it. "How old were you?"

I bit my lip fiercely. "Sixteen." My throat tightened. Breathe.

"And so is..."

"Junior." I looked at her, my eyes begging her to tell me I was wrong, that I was assuming things, but she just looked back at me, eyes sparkling with tears. "Did he..."

"Yes." she whispered simply. She cleared her throat. "He said you already knew." I nodded. "How long have you known?"

I counted the weeks. "A month or so?" I remembered him coming out to me and this time it was my heart that tightened. Breathe.

Mother looked weary and hurt. "John you should've told me." I stared back, for once in disagreement.

"I'm not sorry." I looked at my hands. "He wasn't ready to tell you, and I wasn't going to push him. I told him to keep it in, I promise, but-" I looked up. "He has every right to show who he and be proud of who he is."

Mother nodded in understanding. "Yes. Actually..." she looked almost sheepish. "That's why I asked you here. I can't bear to see him so hurt, he's normally so happy, I hoped you could convince him to do something to make Henry stop. Make him- or- ask him to pretend he's straight around his father, not to hide out of shame, just to he won't get hurt please-" She had a few tears streaming down her face and I blinked back a couple of my own. Oh god. This is happening. I took a shaking breath. Breathe.

"I'll do what I can." I promised her, feeling as desperate, "but I can't promise anything. He's naturally proud of who he is and doesn't like hiding it."

Mother looked up the stairs, in the direction of the room Junior stayed in. "Yes." she sighed. "I know."

Often, Junior was beat up at school. Or, well, not often, but more than the other kids. He was, in their eyes, a loser. Junior didn't care. He flaunted his differences. I was afraid he would do the same with being gay around Father.

"They had a screaming fight." Mother told me as I walked up the stairs. "He doesn't like Junior because it makes him a miniature of his father, something he doesn't want. Nor do we. He likes his middle name." I nodded. "His friends have already been calling him Michael for years."

I smiled. I liked the name Michael. I'd wanted to call him something other than Junior for a while now. Michael was perfect.

Breathe. I told myself as I walked to his bedroom door. But I couldn't help but hold my breath as I held my hand up to knock.

How many of you saw that coming?

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