Storm (G/T)

Small Talk

"Don't you have school?" I ask Austin, who lays with his head back against the cushions of the couch.

"Not currently, I have winter break. I'm also taking off work. Great way to spend it, sick and all that. Luckily I found you when it was the first day. You got school too?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. I can't show up often anyway."

"How come?" He coughs into his arm.

"It's hard to afford," I explain vaguely. "I've spent a lot of my own money in the past year and I'm on minimum wage."

"Maybe I could help and chip in," Austin offers, sitting up and meeting my eyes.

"I don't think they'll accept your currency, assuming it's bigger than me and in some language I've never heard of." I'm the one to break eye contact. I've driven myself into the rabbit hole, haven't I? "I'll get it somehow."

"So you can still afford a house and car and all that?"

"It's a little beaten up house, more of an apartment with no neighbors. No car." I feel ashamed to share about my lack of money. Then I remember the reason I'm here in the first place. "I guess it's not much of a house anymore, no matter the size. I'm trying to save up, but things are getting in the way..." I decide to stop before I get into details.

"I understand, I've had to sustain myself since I was kicked out. Goodness, I regret coming out so much. It makes me happy to know you've been through the same situation," our eyes meet again, but it feels wrong. "Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure..." I feel like things are about to go downhill.

"What's your sexuality anyway? I'm impartial to gender, but lean a lot more toward girls. I guess my luck of being with a guy got the best of me. I assume you feel the same, if your partner wasn't a traditional gender."

"Yeah." I've never had a partner. That's not what got me kicked out. I feel sick. Not sick like Austin, sick with nausea. Why does lying about this make me so upset? "I need a minute." There's no where to go. I'm stuck. I can't do anything anywhere. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

"Are you alright?" his face shows concern. I don't need that, I don't want that, I can't have that.

"I'm fine." I'm not. I'm not fine. It's getting worse. "I need to get to a trashcan. Now." I hold my hand over my mouth, and panic sets in with both of us. "FUCKING GRAB ME-" he swoops to get me and nearly sprints over to the trash in the kitchen, almost dropping me onto the counter where it sits below. I let loose.

"Did I get you sick?" His voice is frantic, and he's showing extreme unrest. It's justifiable, a human in his house just vomited.

"No," I heave. "I got myself sick." I try to keep my voice steady, but find myself straining harder than usual.

"What happened?" His question makes my stomach turn again, but I hold back.

"I've never been with anyone. I didn't date anyone. I'm-" I cough over the edge of the counter. "I'm straight."

"Okay... it's fine to tell white lies, I really don't see what you're worked up over-"

"My parents kicked me out because I'm a girl." I collapse onto the edge of the counter, and he throws his hands under in case I fall. "I'm broke because I needed surgery and hormones to prove it."

It registers all at once for him. "Oh, oh my. I'm so, so sorry." His eyes glaze over and he blows hair out of his face. "You don't need to be afraid of telling me that, I'm not upset and I won't think of you differently. You pass very well."

"Thanks, it was worth it but everything still fucking sucks." I get back onto my hands and knees and cough again, making him fly his hands back. More retching. This is hell. "I'm being locked away for the winter and living off of what I find in the streets all because my goddamn brain won't work and I'm addicted to making myself feel better."

"You know why I'm keeping you h-" he pauses. "I'm sorry. Are you feeling alright?"

"No..." I slump down again. "I didn't want you to know. I don't want anyone to know."

"It's okay, it really is. I don't see you in a new light and I wouldn't have had any way to tell." A pause follows.

"I think I'm done." I look up without moving my head, and give a half-hearted smile. "Thank you. So much."

"Of course, and I hope you're done. I don't need to wash human vomit off my hands, it's probably got acidic powers or something." He quickly goes into the next room to wash his hands and allows me to fall into his palms, and we trek back to the couch. I'm happy he cares about making me feel alright about it, but I'm still mad at myself for spilling my guts out... in more ways than one. Maybe I should've kept quiet.