He's My Dork {5}

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                I opened my eyes and looked up at my ceiling. I stretched and checked the time on my alarm clock, seeing that it was almost ten in the morning.

                I crawled out of bed and rubbed my eyes, leaving my bedroom. I made my way upstairs and into the kitchen, where Colin was sitting at the counter.

                Colin glanced at me and frowned deeply. “Collie, what happened to your hand?”

                I looked down at it and mentally cursed. It was disturbing shades of purple, blue, and black, and was swelling pretty badly from when I had hit my backboard.

                “I slammed it in the door on accident,” I lied, dropped it under the counter and out of sight as I sat down next to him.

                “That looks really bad, Collie. You should ice it,” he said in concern.

                I waved my good hand dismissively. “Where are mom and dad?” I asked, peeking around the kitchen.

                “They were outside talking to the neighbors. Why?” he asked.

                “I need your help Colin. They’re mad at me for sneaking out last night, and they don’t want me to see Misha. But I’m supposed to hang out with him today. Can you pretend that we’re hanging out together today? Then I can sneak off with Misha, and you can go to Ant’s house,” I said.

                Colin hesitated. “They were really, really mad when they found out you snuck out of the house. Collie, are they being mean to you?”

                “Nah, just upset that I’m gay,” I lied. “So will you help me?”

                “Yea, sure. I was supposed to meet up with Ant today anyways. Do you need me to drop you off at Misha’s house?” he asked casually.

                “Nice try, but no. Just drop me off at the ice cream place up the street from Emma’s house,” I said.

                The backdoor opened and our parents appeared. Mom forced a smile as she looked between the two of us.

                “Hello boys. I’ll make you some breakfast,” she said, moving towards the cupboards.

                Colin stretched and rested his head on my shoulder, closing his eyes. I rolled my eyes but let him keep his head there.

                Dad watched us with disapproval, but didn’t say anything. He left the kitchen and I heard his bedroom door shut a minute later.

                After a few minutes, mom set French toast town in front of us. She smiled softly as she looked at the position we were in. She lightly tapped Colin’s shoulder.

                “Come on Colin. You brother is not a pillow,” she said, laughing a little.

                That’s right Colin. Your brother is not a pillow. He’s daddy’s new punching bag, I thought bitterly.

                I shook that thought out of my head immediately. Slapping me wasn’t child abuse, and neither was pouring mouth wash down my throat. My dad had never abused me. And gay or not, he loved me too much to ever take his homophobia so far as to actually hurt me.

                At least I sure hoped he did.

                Colin pulled his head away from my shoulder and both started eating our French toast. Mom left the kitchen after cleaning up.

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