I'll Follow (Lesbian) (GirlxGirl)

Eyes

IT'S MIDNIGHT WHEN she finally comes to talk to me.
"Samantha?" She calls through my wooden door. Her figure blocks the light from the hall that seeps through the cracks around the door. She doesn't wait for my reply before entering.
I'm sitting in my computer chair when she enters, pajama'd with a pillow clutched near my stomach. She stands awkwardly.
It's been a long time since she's been in my room. She awkwardly perches on the foot of my bed, careful not to touch the bedspread too much.
"Is what Aaron says true?" She finally asks, sighing. She doesn't look me in the eyes, just stares at the ground, the window, the pile of clothes in the corner-- anything but look at me.
"Some of it," I reply. She wants this to be easy, but for once I'm not going to do all the talking.
"Samantha," she sighs. "Now you're into girls?" She asks carefully. I almost laugh, but the lump in my throat prevents me.
"Yes, I'm a lesbian," I confirm. My voice wavers, but the word is out there. My mother swallows. Her expression is pained and confused.
"Samantha, that's really no way for a proper catholic girl to be speaking," my mother says tightly, staring at the ground directly below my feet.
"Since when are we such a proper catholic family?" I ask, spinning my chair slightly to diffuse the energy knot built up inside me. She looks at me dirtily.
"Since forever," she snaps, sounding childlike.
"Really? Or was that another decision that Robert forced upon you?" I ask, my voice dropping low. I know I shouldn't have said that.
"This isn't about your father," she replies, clutching the scar on her neck instinctively. "This is about you,"
"Is it about me, mom? Or is it about you and your inability to accept me for who I am?" I cut in, getting angry.
She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off again, standing.
"Or maybe it's about your inability to be a parent?"
"Samantha," her voice is low, but fails to stop my tirade.
"Why did you sit there and let Aaron call me a slut, mom? How could you just watch while he hurt and forced me into admitting something sensitive, whether you liked what it was or not?" I yell, fighting back tears.
"Tell me," I demand, tears finally springing free. My mom still doesn't meet my penetrating gaze.
"Samantha, I think you should leave,"
"What?" I ask. She can't possibly be kicking me out.
"I think you should leave," she repeats, staring at her hands. I feel myself becoming hysterical. I take a step towards her.
"Look me in the eyes and say it again," I mutter, low and furious. She remains quiet. I begin to repeat myself.
"Look me in the eyes and--"
"I think you should leave," she repeats, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes are not the beautiful blue of my mother's, but the washed out grey of a stranger. She looks tired, and worn out, and as I stare back into them, I realize that I haven't seen her eyes in years.
"Fine," I say, my throat dry. "Your husband can beat you for years and years and never get reprimanded, but heaven forbid I fall in love with Presley," I mutter, shaking my head. I gather up some belongings into my backpack, put on a heavy coat and head out the door, leaving my mother in my bedroom-- eyes glued to the floor.