My...Stepbrother? {3}

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                I knocked on Trace’s bedroom door when I got upstairs. I waited patiently as I heard shuffling inside his room as he came to the door.

                He unlocked it and opened it a crack, peeking out at me and glaring. “What do you want?” he growled, not opening the door any wider.

                “I, uh, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for whatever it is that I did to piss you off,” I said sincerely. I didn’t want to fight with my new stepbrother.

                “You’re annoying. Get away from me. Don’t talk to me,” he snapped. I stuck my foot in the door before he could shut it.

                “I’ll break your foot if you do that again,” he said flatly.

                I shrugged and pulled my foot away, placing my hand on the door in case he tried to shut again. I looked into his eyes with a deep frown.

                “Look, I’m sorry for whatever I did that was so annoying. But we’re stepbrothers and we’re going to be living together now so I think we should at least try to get along,” I said. “At least for the sake of our parents!”

                “I don’t care. Now go back in your room and pretend we’re not stepbrothers. I don’t like you,” he hissed and slammed the door. I didn’t even try to hold it open this time.

                Dropping my hand away from the door in defeat, I went into my bedroom and quietly shut the door. Maybe unpacking would help me clear my mind and figure out what to do.

                I dug around until I found my speakers. I put on my iPod, playing some Linkin Park as I began to go through the boxes to unpack all my stuff.

                I began to sing along with my music as I started putting away my clothes. I looked down at myself and realized I was still wearing my jeans from yesterday and no shirt. Maybe that made Trace uncomfortable…?

                But, no. Why would it? Besides, Trace didn’t even know I was gay. Did he? Had Brandon told him? Hell, had my mom told Brandon? Of course she must have. If Brandon wasn’t accepting of my being gay, my mom wouldn’t have married him, no matter how in love they were.

                It was something I loved, and at the same time, hated, about my mom. I was her only child and I was her prized possession. She did whatever she could to protect me, especially against homophobes since I was openly gay.

                She had cut off ties with friends of hers when they had insulted the fact that I was a homosexual. That was the part I didn’t like. When she cut off ties with people just because they didn’t like me for my sexuality. It hurt my mom, and I knew it. I could suck it up when it came to homophobes. I didn’t like them, obviously, but I could live with it.

                I hated seeing my mom upset. She was like my best friend. I hated when my being gay caused problems for her. But I couldn’t help who I was, and my mom understood that.

                “I bet she can’t move it like that with a dick in her, with a dick in her, with a dick in her!” I sang, bobbing my head with the music as I put away my last pair of jeans.

                “I bet she can’t either.”

                I jumped and nearly smacked my head as I turned to face an amused looking Brandon. He laughed and shook his head as he leaned in the doorway.

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