Slowly (yes this story is VERY g a y)

C3: Friendship

It's been about a week since school started and I already regret the choice that both Jack and I made to have Mondays off instead of Fridays. It wouldn't be as bad if we had a morning class that day, but that wasn't the case. We chose evening classes which meant I now have a Pre-Calculus class at five followed by a three hour long Composition 1 class at six thirty to look forward to at the end of this week.

It's Wednesday and calculus is kicking my ass, but at least I have Jack to help me out when I get lost in class. I probably would've missed most of the important notes to take if not for her sharing her own with me afterwards. Those notes are coming in handy as I sit in my room and start the homework our professor assigned us. When it starts getting too frustrating I throw my laptop to the side of the bed and thank my lucky stars that my mother is calling me downstairs to eat because dinner is finished for once. It's not everyday we get to eat home cooked meals here. Most of the time our dinner consist of McDonalds or Taco Bell at midnight.

I get downstairs and see my plate already made and take a seat while my parents finish up getting plates of their own.

"How was school today, baby?" My dad questions when he takes a seat at the end of the table.

"It was alright I guess. Lots of homework even though I feel like we just started classes."

"That's the thing about college," Mom says, sitting across from me. "The work starts before it even starts."

I play with my food for a moment and then crinkle my nose. "What does that even mean?"

"Basically I'm just saying I'm surprised you didn't get homework on the first day because college is relentless like that. You just gotta keep your nose in those books and you'll be fine."

"If I do that I'm always going to be here. I can already tell from the work that's already been given to us," I complain. "I want to go out with a friend sometimes, you know?"

"Well, maybe you can spend more time with me while you study since your father never does. He's always out doing God knows what with whoever the hell he wants." She counters, not even bothering to look at him.

My dad, after swallowing some food, rolls his eyes and groans. "Jess, if I'm not out there doing what I do, we wouldn't have food on the table."

"You don't have to be out there doing what you do and you know that." She snaps, finally making eye contact. The tension in the room rises and I sigh internally, waiting for this to blow out of proportion like these arguments always do. I just hope and pray it won't turn physical.

My dad's expression turns foul and his mood shifts into something more sinister. Both of their moods are like that. They're switches that can be flipped at the drop of a hat. My mom seems to notice this particular part of their behavior, but can only recognize it in him. She can't recognize it in herself and because of this, she constantly accuses him of being bipolar. Sometimes she'll google the symptoms and start listing them off while they're arguing just to get under his skin.

"You're just pissed off because I'm not giving you any, Jess." He spits.

I look over at her, waiting for the reply and watching everything unfold. The more I stared, the more I could see what he was talking about. She was losing weight, and fast. Her eyes seemed a little glossy and unfocused. There was some truth in what he was saying. She was running out of what was keeping her going and it was about time she fought with him about it until he finally caved in and gave her what she wanted. The whole making dinner for us three was just a facade. There was nothing at this table that she wanted in her body more than what my dad was out selling.