A Chance For Him

Chapter 9: Not so confident

(This chapter will be angsty, there will be mention of abuse, self-harm, and Toxic Masculinity. As well as, some slurs against those in the LGBT+ community, please know I do not condone the use of these words, but my story is meant to be realistic in some ways. I posted a meme video above^ to lighten the mood if it gets to be too much.)

Previously on "A chance for him"~

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, for instance, if someone were to ask you about you're parents. You ever notice how some squirm when you tell them you're adopted."

"Yes."

"It's similar to that." I suddenly felt really insecure. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes." Keith's voice was more assertive than I'd ever heard it.

I took a deep breath. "Ok," I took another, "ok, then I'll tell you. But, this is something I haven't even told Hunk or Pidge before."

~~~(Note: This won't be a regular thing, I just thought it was necessary this time)~~~

Keith rubbed my arm, "Take all the time you need."

I nodded, and with all the serious energy I could muster began, "When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. He said, 'Son when you grow up Would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned?'"

"Wait." Keith cut in, eyebrows crinkling, "Are you saying the lyrics to my chemical romance song?"

"No." He raised his eyebrow, in the most emo way possible, "Yes."

"God, I was actually worried about you you know."

"I'm sorry. I just.."

"You just what?" Keith was mad, I winced.

"I just..." He seemed to notice how I was curling in on myself and calmed down.

"Lance, I want to know you, but I can't if you won't let me."

I know he's right, and for the first time in this new life, I've been given, I feel a wave of bubbling anger towards him. The need to prove him wrong. To prove that I'm better than him. To make him look at me. To make him see me, but no. He is looking at me now. He wants to see me, my pride, which seems to have latched itself to my very soul, isn't letting him.

I calm as I see the concern in his violet eyes, clearly confused by my mood swings. I can trust Keith, I love him. I always have. That love has always been my driving force. I breathe in, count to ten and let the memories from my first life flow.

~~~~~

I'm seven years old, this year and Papa thinks it's time I start acting like a boy. I'm not sure what he means. I've always been a boy, so doesn't that mean that everything I do is a boy thing. He said the first thing I have to do is stop wearing girls' clothing and playing with girl toys.

I don't want to, I love playing with my sisters and Mama and Abuela. We have spa days and wear pretty clothes. I love skirts, they're so free and cute, but Papa gets mad when I wear them.

Papa has never liked it when I play with dolls or dress up with Veronica. I'd often find my dolls broken or my clothes replaced, in the morning. But Papa would only glower and mutter when he saw him with new ones. It was my birthday party this year when he drew the line. Anton, my best friend came over for the night, Papa liked him because I played "boy games" with him. We were in my room while Mama and Abuela were cooking a birthday feast.

"I'll trade More (I don't know how to accent) and Sanchez for Salazar."

"Ok, deal." We were trading soccer cards, I didn't care about soccer, but Anton loved it. So, did Papa. Anton's goal was to have the cards of the top ten Cuban soccer players of all time, his idols. Sanchez was his last card.