Hope for the Worst || Minsung

Fifty

"Minho, what do I do?" I whisper-scream in a panic.

"I'm not sure. I couldn't tell what she was thinking." Minho replies.

"Yeah, me neither," I say, grabbing onto him. Minho lets me lean into him and comforts me.

"Look, I think it's best for me to leave right now to let you two figure things out." Minho says, slightly lifting himself up.

"No! I don't want you to go." I plead.

"Jisung." he says with a specific tone of voice.

I sigh, "Fine. You're right."

"I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah." Minho leaves one last kiss on my lips before leaving. I follow after him and see my mom sitting at the dinner table.

She stands up and rushes over to Minho. "Here, let me escort you out. Jisung, can you wait in the dinning room, please?"

I nod and, after giving Minho one more glance, I go to the dinning room. I sit and wait while trying to listen in on the muffled voices in the other room. No luck, though.

I hear the front door close and my mom walks into the dinning room. I have no idea which way this is headed.

"Mom?" I look up at her.

"It's okay, baby. You're fine." she assures me. For some reason, it's not very assuring. "Is there anything in specifics that you'd like to say?"

There's no avoiding it anymore. My sexuality.

I take a deep breath. "Mom, I'm gay."

She nods, as if processing this information. My hands are unsteady and my breathing isn't any better. I'm shaking all over.

"Jisung. Are you aware of what you just said?"

I take a second to think it over. "Yes, I am." I say.

My mom stands from her chair and walks to the other side of the room. I watch in confusion as she opens a drawer and pulls something out.

"See this picture?" she says, holding out a small photograph. I take it. "That's your birth mom."

"Yeah, I know..." I stare at the picture with sad eyes. "How could I forget?"

My mom gently flips the image faced down on the table. "Why do you think I was the one who raised you?"

"Because my birth mom was an abusive alcoholic?"

"And why do you think I put a roof over your head? Food on your plate?"

"Because no one else would?"

"And have I ever treated you like she did? As terribly as she did?"

"No."

"Okay," my mom looks me directly in the eyes. "then why do you think that it's okay to act this way to me?"

"W-what?" I stutter.

"This 'homosexuality'. This isn't who you are! You are my child. You do not like boys!" she screams at me.

Tears.

"This is who I am, mom. I'm not-"

"Stop." she says. "If you refuse to believe, then I'll help you, you scum."

My mom comes to my side of the table and pulls out my chair. She motions for me to stand, to which I subconsciously do. I watch my mom go back to the drawer. She takes another item out and walks back to me.