Us

T W E N T Y F I V E P A R T 3

This chapter will spend some time in Y/n's dreams while in her coma. Those parts will be in italics. Feel free to ask questions if you have any!

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️: There are some heavy topics in this chapter such as abuse, homophobic language, etc.

If you are in a dark place battling depression or anxiety, don't hesitate to reach out for help. The Lifeline & Crisis Hotline is 988.

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Y/N POV

It was bright. My surroundings felt... familiar. I blinked a few times, trying to focus my eyes on the things around me, but to no avail. My body felt as if it was being pushed towards something, but I couldn't see what. At least until I was close to it. It was my home. My childhood home. I went to knock on the door, but it opened before my knuckles could begin their pattern.

It smelled like fried chicken and mac and cheese were being cooked. I heard the TV on in the living room. ESPN was playing their usual highlights, more like lowlights, of the Orioles games. The washing machine was running too. I could smell the bleach through the powerful smell of the chicken grease.

I decided to go upstairs. I noticed my door was closed as well, but cracked a bit. My mother didn't like when I didn't have my door closed all the way. I rolled my eyes at that thought and walked in quietly so I didn't startle whoever was in there playing. I expected my younger brother but I was wrong.

It was me.

I was playing blissfully with my Bratz dolls I begged my mom for. I preferred them over Barbies. I sat on my bed and quietly watch my younger self play in her own little world. I remember this scenario well.

The girls were having a slumber party. Sasha and Yasmin were best friends with secret crushes on each other.

Wow, I really was gay from the get-go.

I looked at my younger self, admiring her soft, gentle disposition. She spoke softly to her dolls. A luxury she wished was afforded to her through her short life so far. Soon, she had the two dolls sneaking away from the party to talk.

What younger me didn't hear, was the conversation my parents were having about me in the other room.

"We need to do something about her before it's too late James! She's going to become one of them!" my mother said in a near sob.

"I know Candice! I know. She's already starting to dress like them. Act like them. Soon she'll turn into one of those people. I won't have it but we need to be smart. We don't want to push her away." my father replied. Somehow, my legs had guided me to their room so I could have a better listen of their conversation.

"Y/n is just, I don't know. Maybe we can try conversation camp or bury her in the church. Or maybe another talking to. That usually straightens her up right?"

"I'm not sure how much more help that will be. She doesn't want to listen to us. Maybe she needs therapy or something. Therapy for troubled kids."

"So they can talk her head up and ruin what we've created? Absolutely not. Let's just go talk to her."

"You're right come on." I followed my parents across the short hallway into my room and watched them emotionally explode. My body floated through the walls, and my heart broke at the next scene.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N!" my mother gasped.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE? WHAT IS THIS?!" my father yelled, bursting into the room behind my mom.