My Home Is With You [LGBT+]

Sixteen

ALMOST EVERYTHING was destroyed.

My home was suddenly gone, and I found myself in a crippling depression as I lay in a hospital bed hooked to oxygen so my lungs could be cleared from all the poison I inhaled.

"Oseias?"

I look toward the door where someone I never expected to see stands.

She steps forward, tear tracks staining her cheeks, makeup smeared, and clothes wrinkled and in disarray. She approaches my bed but avoids looking at the mess my body is, covered in bandages and red burns that sting. I can only assume that I'll have scares as a pleasant reminder of one of the worst days of my life.

"How do you feel?" She asks, reaching for one of my damaged hands.

I pull away, yanking my hand out of her grasp and biting back a scream of agony and frustration.

I want to make a sassy retort like, how do you think?

But I don't.

I stay silent and simply stare at her.

"I think it's best if the kids stay at our place," a new voice says.

Her husband.

I always liked him; he has always been kind. It's probably because of that, that I don't understand how he can deal with her attitude sometimes.

"Oh really?" I croak exhausted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You're welcome to stay with us?" She adds with a lilt of a question at the end.

"Oh, is that an invitation?" I can't help but glare.

"We're simply trying to help," she says, her own eyes narrowing as her arms cross over her chest.

"How kind of you. So, then you won't mind me asking where were you when our parents, your fucking sisters, were deported? Where were you when Alessandra called me in tears, terrified? Where were you when I struggled with two fucking jobs just to make enough for rent and three kids? Where were you when I needed my family, when I needed guidance because I wasn't fucking ready to be an adult? Where were you when I was starving? When they barely had enough food to eat? WHERE WERE YOU!" I scream, tears rolling down my temples and wetting the pillow beneath my head.

Her face turns a cherry red in anger, "I have my own family to take care of!"

"We are your family! As far as I'm concerned, you were out wasting money on a bullshit diet and going out with your fucking friend, knowing full well that we were struggling to survive! You preferred a woman who calls herself your friend than your own fucking family, so don't tell me about your bullshit. Your six-year-old doesn't even take that much time from you."

I've never cursed at her before. She's only a few years older than me, but she is my aunt, she was someone I had to respect. But I'm tired. I'm tired of respecting someone who doesn't respect and care for others who matter. I'm so damn tired of her pity and suddenly faked concern that I can see right through.

I tilt my chin up, daring her or her husband to tell me I'm wrong.

"You can't," I continue, "you can't take them. They're mine, you can't take the kids from me."

"I can," She frowns, "You're not even 21 yet and as you said, you're not financially stable to raise them. They're going to live with me until we figure things out. You're welcome to come."

I can see her swallow her pride as she tries to approach me and tell me she does care for me, that she's sorry when she's not, "and I-I'm so-"

I flinch away from her, "get out."

She stares at me in disbelief. Refusing to move after she offered me her pity and help.

I can almost see her thinking; I will not be humiliated.

"Get. Out," I grit, hands curling painfully into fists.

"Oseias," she begins stubbornly.

"I think you should leave," Maximilian interrupts, having heard the commotion from outside.

His icy blue eyes narrow as he steps between the bed and my aunt protectively, "He told you to leave, so please respect his decision."

"Who do you think you are, buddy?" My aunt's husband asks, through his confusion.

He has never met Maximilian before and my aunt stares at him agape in mild surprise and outrage.

"He's my friend," I intervene, "now please leave."

"Look who's taking. You really prefer some stranger over us? You're family?" She asks as if hurt.

"No, I simply prefer someone who isn't fake and actually cares about my wellbeing. Now please leave, I'm really tired," I mutter, "and if you're really taking the kids... please just... love them? It's the least you could do."

I can tell that Maximilian is having a hard time keeping his composure as he shows them the way out with a simple gesture toward the door. I want to reach out and ease the tension that's built upon his shoulders. I want to tell him that I'm okay. But I don't.

I wait until my aunt stomps out of my hospital room like a child about to throw a tantrum.

Her husband hangs back for a minute, eyeing Maximilian with clear mistrust.

And although he looks at Max, his words are directed to me, "We'll take care of them, all of them, so don't worry, ok? We should have taken all of you in and I'm sorry this had to happen for us to realize how much you've been struggling. I hope you get better Oseias."

He leaves and I've never felt as relieved as I feel now.

Maximilian approaches me without restraint and takes my hand in his, carefully uncurling my fingers.

I wince as I loosen my grip with his gentle coaxing, and I can hear him tsk when he sees red staining the once white bandages.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, not really knowing what I'm apologizing for.

"Don't be, you're okay and you needed to get that off your chest. I'll get someone to take a look at this," he says, a small smile directed at me.

"Thanks," I sniffle as I wipe away a stray tear.

He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, "You're welcome baby boy."