|𝟑𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃|
In this touching coming of age drama, 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐄𝐋 goes through life in search of answers that no one can supply him with. When he discovers the source of his pain and the seemingly obvious remedy, he decides to end his own l...
The entire junior year we tried. My God, did we try.
Try not to see the elephant in the room. Try not to see the growing rift between us two. Try not to cringe whenever the words of makeup or pretty dresses touched our ears.
I really tried, Bronte. For you, I really did. I packed up all my old Barbie's and my lunchbox that once led me to Phoebe. I stuffed them in the attic and didn't touch or look at them for years. I never wore makeup again or let my fingers graze over the soft fabric of woman whenever my mom dragged me along for shopping.
I flirted with girls. Led a few on too. Even though nothing but their long hair interested me.
I did it all. I did it all for you. You have to know that. I did everything within me to hang on to this shred of normalcy you gave me.
Stella slumbered for an entire year with no signs of ever waking.
That all changed when you finally convinced me to go to church with you. Finally convinced me to sit in one of those wooden pews.
My mother is a Buddhist and my father a Taoist. Two things they brought with them when they left China. You remember the story, don't you Bronte?
The one where my mother was knocked up by an American on vacation before he ran away. The shame and dishonor she brought to our family when she conceived me... Lucky for us, her best friend was there to save the day. They ran away from her dishonor to a place where they could raise me.
That's what I grew up with. Words of simplicity and kindness. Burning incense and the Nei Jing Tu.
So imagine my surprise when I heard words of hate laced through written scripture. Preaching at the front while others nodded along.
This peek into your world was more than enough for me.
At the end of eleventh grade I realized, I couldn't be with you as long as you continued to hate what was the real me.
Bronte, you were: b) the one who failed me.
In the sweetest, most ignorant way, you failed me.
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