Dinner at 3 (Destiel AU)

VIII

"CASTIEL NOVAK!"

My groggy head shot up from where I stood in front of the gurgling coffee pot in my kitchen.  I turned to face my mother, whom stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a bright pink bath robe with little ducklings on it, her hands pressed firmly to her wide hips.  My dark partially greasy hair flopped down onto my forehead; I didn't bother to brush it away.  I was too damn tired.

"Hmm?"  I groaned, pulling a steaming hot mug full of fresh coffee to my pink lips.  

"IS THAT A HICKEY ON YOUR NECK?!"

My head shot up straighter this time and my eyes widened.  I started to curse myself inside my head but tried to remain cool.  I knew she probably thought it was Dean, and I knew my mom thought homosexuality was a choice.  My eyes widened more by the aching second and I could feel a fight coming on.  It was 2 in the morning on a Tuesday, but my mother had no problems with a brawl in the middle of our tiny kitchen.  

"Yea."  

She scowled and walked out of the kitchen and towards the back door, mumbling how I needed to knock that crap off, and I was just a young boy.  I shook my head and felt my already heavy eyelids grow heavier.  I hadn't slept in nearly two days, maybe I should now.  If I went to bed now though, I would only get two hours, oh well.  I lay on my couch, and as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out.

       When I woke up I had a grand total of 5 minutes to get ready, and get my ass out to the car.   I jumped off the couch in a quick rush and stumbled up the stairs on all fours, slamming the bathroom door behind myself.  I slipped and poked my self sharply in the gums several times with my tooth brush; my hair flopped every which way so there was no point in brushing the gross mat of fur.  

       So yea I guess you can say that my day started off shitely.  

      And that was just the beginning.

The first 4 periods passed slowly, like molasses dripping off a table.  It felt as if every second was 10 years and every minute 1000.  I counted each second, tapping every other one, creating a steady slow beat, in which I kept time with.  I was told several times by some of my lesser classmates to knock it off, but I was too tired to comprehend what the hell they were saying.  I stared off into space all through Japanese, looking at the wall blankly as the teacher recited Hiragana for the 59th time that day.  Then finally like a blessing from above, I was granted 30 minutes of freedom in the form of lunch.  I ripped my bag up and onto my shoulder, practically running out to the front of the school, where a few people were already sitting on park benches and on the front steps.  I found a grassy patch near the curb of the street and parked myself there, pulling out an extremely worn copy of 'to kill a mockingbird.'  The most annoying thing about enjoying classic literature at such a young age is the fact that many people ask you if you're doing it for a class or for fun, then think you're a show off if you say for fun, and a poser if you say for a class.  There's no freedom from prejudice, even if it was as small as what choice of book you enjoyed to as big as what religion you took part in, or even your sexuality.  Speaking of which a tall boy maybe a senior, whose hair was blonde and flowing, parted down the middle, walked past me, with astonishing posture.  He looked like a male model, but not in the good way.  I snickered to myself at how dumb the boy looked, but kept it to my self, where as he didn't.  He coughed the word 'fag' at me as he walked by and I felt every muscle clench up in my body, with fear and anger.  I softly shook my head, because I was the one with the hickey.  I was the one whom didn't look like an idiot, trying to show off my confidence. I wasn't the ignorant idiot who enjoyed the fine art of being a dick.  I was the one reading 'to kill a mocking bird' which was 4 grade levels ahead of me.  Thing is, no matter how much I tried to convince my self I was better, a small itching voice, deep down in the parts of my brain I tried so hard to forget existed, whispered at me.  Told me I was in fact a faggot.