Working Through the Rest

The Difference Between Facts

By the next morning, I'm hungry enough to need breakfast. However, I don't wake up early enough to get food before anyone else, and I know from experience that leaving it longer makes the entire experience worse.

So, I drag myself out of bed and trudge downstairs, trying to mentally prepare for throwing myself back into the madness. The madness that has changed. It's no longer noisy and chaotic with three people going towards the kettle at once. Instead, conversation is minimal, the occasional word coming from Lily and James, who are already eating.

I feel a pang of guilt in my chest as I watch. It feels like this is my fault, because I am surly and unreasonable and I need to simply open myself up a little. The feeling only lasts a moment, however, before I remember two things. Firstly, they're doing this for me, because dad is the unreasonable one. Secondly, it's their decision. Completely and utterly their decision. They know I won't hold it against them if they stop.

I walk in slowly, going to the cupboard to get a bowl. Mum, Lily and James chime in with a chorus of greetings that I return with a smile. I pour a bit of cereal and milk into the bowl, and then I sit down at the table.

This the first time since I tried the drink, that I haven't had coffee with my breakfast. It feels a little strange, but I don't want the caffeine. I intend to spend today alone and sleeping passes the time.
"So," dad says as he sits down, "you weren't at dinner last night, Al."
"I wasn't feeling up to it," I mutter.
"You didn't eat what we left. Are you feeling sick?"
"No," I continue quietly. "I just didn't want to come down. Lots of people. Me. Doesn't work. Not when I feel – like this."

Lily smiles at me sympathetically and I attempt to smile back. I really hope the questions stop soon. They're setting me on a path that I'm fairly sure will head to a spiral of bad thoughts. I'd rather avoid it.
"So, Albus," mum smiles. "How was the end of term? How's Scorpius?"
"Scorpius?" I freeze momentarily. "Scorpius is – Scorpius is fine. Yes. Fine. Term was good."
"I'm glad."

I bite my lip, debating whether I should say the thing running around my head. It's likely to set off an argument that I really don't want to have. But at the same time, I want him to know how useless he is.
"I got an apology," I blurt before I can stop myself.
"What?" mum looks at me.
"One of the boys who helped beat me up last summer, I got an apology from him. After something – something went public."
"You came out to the school?" dad looks at me worriedly.
"Is there something wrong with that?"
"With lots of people knowing? Albus, are you sure?"
"Do I have that choice anymore?" I point out. "Anyway, it's fine. Anyone who had an issue with me hasn't had that grow at all. Most people are being nicer to me, actually."
"That's good," dad says slowly. "Yes. That's good."

I'm not convinced that he's actually pleased, but I'm fairly sure that he's at least pleased that I'm in less danger of being beaten to a pulp again. He doesn't hate my identity enough to wish that on anyone.

Because that is what he hates. He hates my identity. He doesn't hate me because I am his son and there is some unexplainable, instinctual love that I understand less and less as time goes on. He doesn't believe that I'm really gay, and that's what he hates. The fact that I'm rushing even though I haven't ever been so cautious about something.

Is this his attempt to stop me having my heart broken?

Knowing him, it probably is.

And if he passes that off to the rest of the world, then that's what they'll believe. Because he's my father and parents want what is best for their children. Parents want to protect their children. Which is why it hurts so much.

I stand up sharply, ignoring the others. I need to get outside, or out the room at least. If I don't, I'm going to keep spiralling. And I'm scared, too scared, to let that happen.