Rules Of The Game: Book 1

25; Turning The Tide

𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

Pink and grey? Copper and black?

I scowl and hold up one outfit to myself and then the other in front of my mirror. Both would fit the vibe I'm going for in their own ways. Except which is better?

If someone had told me six months ago that I'm agonizing over outfits today to impress my crush, I would've laughed in their face. I've never had an actual, attainable crush in my life.

That's probably because I never assumed my crush would be a boy. Sure, my bisexualness was always whispering in the back of my brain, but I made sure to keep that door duct-taped shut. Until now.

And I might be sick.

Not from being gay. Bisexual. Whatever.

If Miles walked into this bathroom right at this second and asked me to bang it out with him, I'd agree before a pin could drop.

The thing that makes me nauseous is people finding out. Like the public, my friends, or future employers. Anything outside of heterosexuality gets people fucking murdered in other countries. Other cities inside of the States, even.

Still, I don't know if I can keep lying to myself. Especially after the week I've had dancing around Miles. Our time together last night nearly sent me over the edge. Moving away from him each time one of my cousins started to look back at us was torture in itself.

That's why I need to rip the band-aid off. Talking to my parents is the way to start.

I hastily change into black sweatpants and a grey shirt, tossing the plaid copper-and-black jacket on top. It takes a second for me to finish getting ready before running out of my room in a rush to catch my parents before they leave for the day.

As I descend the stairs, I see my mom digging through her purse on the island. Dad is standing near the foyer, zipping up his photography equipment.

Mom turns at the sound of my feet pounding down the stairs and smiles. "Good morning, sunshine!" Her smile falters as she evaluates my body language. "Is something wrong...?"

I seriously underestimate her years of professional therapy training. There's no way I'm not an open book right now.

Irregardless, I smile as merrily as I can, even as my nerves start to flutter. This will be a huge gamble, like when I told Griffin. They'll either run to the store and buy a pride flag to hang off the front porch, or my ass will be living on the streets. At the very least, I know that my dad won't be fucking shooting me.

"Hey, mom," I reply. My voice cracks. Shit.

"How was your guys' night?" Dad asks, oblivious to the situation, as usual. He's still bent over his bags, trying to unstick a zipper.

"It was fun. Lots of fun. At least, as fun as horror movies can be." I ramble on, and mom clears her throat, finally catching my dad's attention.

He looks up and eyes me, taking note of my tight posture. "That's good. Say, is everything alright? You look kinda sick. Did you eat too much candy?"

I look between them both, and my heart skitters.

There's no good way of doing this. Griffin was easy because I could've ignored him if worse came to worst, but my parents? I'm stuck with them until I'm 18; they're my sole providers. There is no chance of ignoring their texts or reactions.