I knew that the end of the journey towards my home after what just happened wouldn't be a pot of gold, but I didn't expect it to be this heartbreaking.
I didn't expect to see my ever so tough mom finally letting down her facade as she cried. Cried because of me.
I didn't expect to see my dad not even daring to meet my gaze, ashamed. Ashamed of me.
I didn't expect to see my parents, the only two people who understood me to finally give up on me.
And it hurt. It hurt way more than it would have if they would have just shouted at me, or even told me to get out and leave forever. For someone who enjoyed and bloomed in silence, I suddenly hated it. Scratch that, I loathed it.
I stepped closer to my mom's hunched figure on our sofa, in hope that she won't push me away.
Suddenly, like an anchor to my drowning mental state, her arms reached around my waist and pulled me closer. A soothing voice whispered in reassurance,"It's not your fault, Cairo. They don't deserve you. No one does. We will get through this, okay? We always do."
We always do.
But how worth was surviving, just to die all over again?
YOU ARE READING
Soft Boys
Short Story"Boys don't wear pink." "Boys don't cry." "Boys are not supposed to be fragile." "Boys don't have a feminist side." "You are such a girl." Cairo Crosby endured every judgement that came his way silently. After all, living in a narrow-minded society...
