I step into the house, exhausted as ever. I even interrupt my parents' movie, but I'm too tired to care. As soon as I set my bags down, I trudge into the kitchen to raid the fridge.
"Brandon? How did the game go?" my mom asks. Ha. Football. What a joke.
"We won," I reply.
"...That's great sweetheart. We made pasta if you want any." I mumble something incoherently --I can't even understand it-- as I trudge to my room. Why can't I just be happy.
Satan-Roger's eyes reflect the dim light in my room. Other people talk to their pets; I can, too. "Satan, I need advice." He just lays there. "I need to tell my mom--" Before I finish my sentence, my phone blasts the awful default metal ringtone I've been meaning to change for months. "Hello?"
"Did you lose?" Christina asks excitedly.
"Nope. We're still in," I sigh.
"I'm sorry. Should've tried less. Whatcha doing?" she asks.
"Talking to Satan," I shrug. "I'm just really tired, to be honest." And I want to speak to Logan, not you.
"Me, too. But... do you think you can come over? We can, ya know. Be tired together?" she asks softly. I hear the bright grin in her voice.
"Is this a booty call?" I can't help it. What I should tell her is 'we're not dating or even fake dating, so back off'. In a nicer way, of course.
"...Yes? Brandon I can't believe you," she chuckles. "You really should come over, though. My mom and dad are visiting a friend. And... well I remember you said I look good in blue." Everyone looks good in blue to me. It's my favorite color. Geezus.
"Ah, Chris. It's like, 11:20. As much as I'd love to..." I trail off, hoping she won't make me finish the statement. "How about we go to the bowling alley tomorrow? I'll invite a few people." She says nothing. "Hey, I'll invite some cool girls you can talk to. It'll be fun, I swear."
"I'm getting the impression you just don't want to see me alone. Which is okay... I'm just wondering."
"Wondering what?" I snap. Her end is silent. "Is this a freaking test? To see if I'm gay? You actually believe that shit. Wow." I flip on my light switch to look for something to hit, or throw.
"Brandon! Why would I ever do that to you? That's ridi--" I hang up. Everyone is against me right now except Logan. It's like he's the only one who has been on my side since he's met me.
I consider falling asleep right now, but my brain won't let me dream if I don't shower. Maybe it's my gay side.
* * * * *
"So it's true, then," Matt says to me at lunch. What? What's he talking about?
"Of course it's true," Mitchell grins. "Freshman told me all about their little 'date'. You are a disgusting fag, Gay Boy. Sleeping with a freshman. Disgusting!"
"Conner told you?"
"He told me," Matt says softly. "I'm so sorry, Brandon--"
"The whole school knows you're a pedophile, Gay Boy. Disgusting. Freshman is half your fuckin' size." I'm in the middle of a circle of high schoolers. They all whisper and point at me in the center of the lunch room. Even the teachers at their table look at me and grimace. Why today?
"He didn't even want to sleep with me." I hear Christina's voice from somewhere in the crowd.
"Made out with a boy at the party!" Janie whispers to someone.
"I don't know him at all." Logan's voice sticks out. I can't even see him.
I push past everyone and sprint to the bathroom. My reflection shows that I've been crying. I try to wipe the tears away, but my duplicate shifts into two figures: my mom and dad. Shaking my head, I back away. This isn't happening. How does my body know it's a dream, and not shake it?Wake up!
"How could you?" my mom cries. "Such a disgrace!"
"You're a disgrace to this whole family. I hate you. We hate you." My dad shields my mother away from me as they walk away. I reach out to grab her, but all my fingers touch is the smooth, cold, glass of the mirror. Wake up!
The bathroom door swings open and the lights go out. 'I hate you. We hate you.' echoing over and over again. 'Pedophile. Disgusting. Disgrace.' Maybe if I turn on the light--
The room is pitch black as I sit up in my bed. I groan. The clock reads 7:30. It's too dark for the morning... I rub at my eyes and try to make my way to the bathroom when I trip.
"Get up, Gay Boy," Mitchell seethes. I scramble to my feet. Mitchell and the rest of the team stand around me in a circle. They're all in tuxedos. Is this--
"Your Fall Festival Fag this year is Brandon Owens!" Mrs. Evans announces. "Everyone give Brandon a nice congratulations! " I look at Mitchell with terror, begging him as he takes me by the collar of my shirt. That evil smirk creeps onto his lips and he raises an eyebrow.
"Say goodnight, Gay Boy." The last thing I see is his fist.
* * * * *
Please don't be dreaming. Please.
It's the worst feeling, being stuck in your own head.
Can I open my eyes?
How long will you stay there? Can you get out of it? What if you've tried everything? Who knows how long dreams can last. Hours can feel like minutes, or days.
Check your senses.
I can smell something. Something sweet. A cinnamon roll. One eyelid parts slightly. Blue walls. Blue curtains. I'm safe. Sitting up, I check the clock to see 9:17 a.m. I hate nightmares.
It wasn't even a reasonable nightmare. Just random and offensive. When other people have the dreams, you just think they're silly. Just wait until it happens to you.
The cinnamon roll sits on a plate by my bed. Well, only for a short time anyway, before I snatch it up and devour it like I'd never seen food before. My mom must've been in my room recently, because it's still warm and soft. I relish the genuine flavor of it, savoring every piece although I eat it quickly. My mom always knows what to do, whether it's a glass of wine, or a cinnamon roll, or a hug. Just as I lick the last of the frosting off of my fingertips, on cue, she knocks on the door.
"Come in," I sigh. She wears a smile. In her hand is another plate.
"You were uspet last night. I could just sense it." She sits by me on the bed. "I couldn't sleep... worried about my baby boy. Tell me about it."
"Do you think I'll be a decent brother?" My mom opens her mouth. I interrupt her before she answers. "Be a person, not a parent. Really." She nods, staring at the carpet. It's almost a whole minute before she answers.
"I think we all have things to work on. I, for one, haven't taken care of a baby in sixteen years," she says slowly. "And even then..." she trails off. The way she looks at me, a tear rolling down her cheek, makes me sorry for everything I've ever done. Makes me feel like I am just a burden. Coming home drunk, blowing up when things don't go my way. My mom deserves better than me as her kid. I wrap my arms around her. "You were," she sobs, "the best thing that ever happened to me at seventeen years old. I mean it."
"Mom--"
"Brandon. Just... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I don't do everything right. I have a sixteen year old brother. I never told you. I have a brother who's younger than my own son. I just can't be the mom you want me to be and now there's going to be another baby and your father has no clue and I'm so scared. We only wanted one child. That's what we agreed on. Now--" She breaks down into uncontrollable, heavy sobs.
I have to hold it together.
"Please don't apologize," I try, my voice cracking. "I'm a horrible kid, but it's not your fault, I swear."
"Brandon, I-I just want to be a good p-parent. I want to help you be closer to your dad. I want you to have a nice car and enjoy football because you used to love it. You were bullied and I had no clue. What kind of mother doesn't know about her child being picked on? For years?"
"That's not your fault, mom. It's not. It's... my fault. Shhh," I whisper. Now, tell her. Just get it over with. "It's just me. I don't know what's going on with me. I mean," nope, you can't tell her. "there's just so much pressure on me. I don't know how to deal with it." Mom sits up and smacks my arm.
"Of course there's pressure on you," she rolls her eyes and swipes the tears off her cheeks. "We're young parents. Everyone expects us to fail, and since we haven't, people in this godforsaken town are just waiting." She composes herself. "So you drink. The sheriff's son drinks, too," she says with a chuckle.
"And the principal's son," I add. Mom breaks a piece of the cinnamon roll and hands it to me after taking a bite herself.
"Promise me this: you'll settle down with a nice girl after you go to college and have a job. Don't do things the way we did." A nice girl. I try not to scrunch my nose at the thought. "Well, enough sob story from Julie. And you have a visitor downstairs." Logan. I smile, but not too big. He's here early...
I fumble down the stairs--I must've hurt my knee last night-- and head to the living room. Instead of the messy blonde hair and green eyes I've been used to for a while, I'm met with brownish-red hair in long dreads. I stare at the unusual girl and she stares right back with her green eyes.
"Well, someone broke their promise," she shrugs.
"Aiden?!" I ask in shock. She shrugs again. "What? How did you-- you look--"
"Oh come on, I haven't changed that much," she giggles. "Come here, Babylon." Oh gosh, our spy names. I grin and hug her with a tight squeeze. "Look at all 6'2" of you. Gosh."
"Um, 6'3" actually," I correct. When we were about eight, she beat me in checkers twice and my consequence was that I had to stay shorter than her for the rest of my life. I was so upset about it. I didn't talk to her or Mitch for the whole day.
"Ugh, look at you! I bet you get all the chicks in that preppy school." Aiden circles around me. "The last time I saw you, you were... well you didn't even out yet," she laughs.
"I was fat. I know." My eyeroll tells her I don't want to talk about it beyond this point. "Well, let me help you take this stuff to your room. We set it up all girly with pink shit everywhere."
"Brandon Shay, you did not," she warns.
I haul a humongous camouflage suitcase to Aiden's room while she drags along a few bags herself. The room is plain white right now, but Mom says if Aiden proves herself worthy, she can paint it however she wants. "Too clean," she points out as soon as we step foot inside.
"Well, I'm assuming my mom told you the plan. Shouldn't stay like this for long." Aiden flips her dreds over one shoulder before flopping on the bed.
"Memory foam? Geezus, Sandy was right. You guys are stacked."
"You call your mom Sandy?" I ask and open the curtains to let some light in. My phone vibrates twice. Good morning text from Logan.
"Yeah. She hates it. But hey, you don't respect my privacy, I don't respect you. Simple." Aiden kicks off what can only be described as Jesus shoes and lays back on the bed. "So, how's life? Got some hottie cheerleader on your arm?"
"Uhh, no. Not quite." My phone vibrates again. "Nobody, really."
Aiden sits up on the bed in a flash. "Oh my god! Does Mitchell still live around the corner? Brandon I have to see him!" she sqeals. My expression is either blank or livid. I can't tell because my mouth is dry and almost numb. "Did you tell him I was coming? What did he say?"
"He doesn't know... uh, we don't talk much anymore." Aiden's face drops instantly.
"No way... wow. I thought you guys would be best friends forever. You guys were glued to each other. At least you talk a little." Ha. At least we haven't killed each other yet is more like it. "Can we go see him? Ah, I'm so excited! If you didn't recognize me, he definitely won't. What do you think he'll say?" Aiden slips on her Jesus sandals and fixes her bangs. "Should I wear a ponytail?" She pulls down her camouflage shorts. "No. I think I'm alright. This tank top okay?"
"Aiden, hold on. Do we have to go right now? I kinda woke up fifteen minutes ago," I say with an annoyed chuckle. Buzz... my phone again. Except it's Christina; I can tell by the heart beat rhythm.
"It's like, ten o'clock. Go get dressed. I have to see Mitchell. I love that kid," she squeals. "You sure this tan tank is okay? Should I wear the white one?"
"Maybe? Aiden, really--"
"Aunt Julie! We're going to go see Mitchell," Aiden smiles. "I'm so excited."
"That's great, sweetie!" Mom nods. "Why don't you help yourself to another cinnamon roll before you leave. They're in the oven." Aiden skips out the door. "She's different huh?"
"Has she always had dreads?" I joke.
"A wild one, for sure. I hope she's alright. She's so thin, don't you think?"
"Well, Aunt Sandy is skinny, too. Most of your family is." I rub at my eyes. "Ugh, I don't want to go to Mitchell's house."
"If it's going to bother you that bad, I'll drive Aiden there --"
"No, it's alright," I sigh. "I just hope he's not a jerk to her. Did you see her face? You'd think she's going to see some famous dude."
"Well, go for Aiden and keep sane. Just be respectful. You never know! Maybe having the three of you together will spark some lovely memories for our troubled Mitchell," she smiles.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. "I'll get dressed. We should be back by at least eleven." I give her a kiss on the cheek. "Oh and if you see Dad before we do, please warn him about Aiden ahead of time? He can be judgemental..."
"Oh, hush. Your father will be fine. Now go shower and make yourself presentable." I salute before trotting upstairs.
My phone has three messages: one from Logan, one from Chris, one from Stephanie. I ignore the last two.
By the time I'm done showering and putting clothes on, Aiden has practically tried to rip my arm off. "Let's gooooooo Babylon. C'moooonnn--" then she runs to my beat up truck. I simply shake my head and follow her. "Does he still have that stupid dog? I wonder if it died." Aiden keeps answering her own questions for maybe ten more seconds before I interrupt.
"So, nobody told me why you were banned from Cali."
"Sandy thinks I'm acting out. The hair, the clothes, the weed. In truth, I just really want to relax." She rests her feet on the dashboard. If-- when I get a new car, no one will ever do that. Ever. "I'm sure I'm on lockdown for now, anyway. Sandy overexaggerates."
We pull up in front of the Kern house in under two minutes. Deep breaths. It's okay. We'll stay for maybe half an hour and then go get ice cream or something. No big deal! Aiden and I walk up to the big wooden door and she knocks once. "Heads up," I whisper. "Mitchell's nose is broken."
"How did--" The door swings open before she can ask. Ugh, Marshall?
"Hey, Faggot," he says harshly. What an idiot. I almost laugh. Well, his use of language means Mitchell's parents aren't home. Greeatt.
"Who the hell are you to say that?" Aiden snaps and jams a finger at his chest. His hazel eyes go wide as he looks her over.
"This is Marshall. Ignore him." I roll my eyes. "She is here to see not you. Where's Mitch?"
"Not before you tell me who she is." What is he, gatekeeper? I'm tempted to shove past him.
"Let them in," I hear Mitch grumble from the kitchen. I push Marshall aside and lead Aiden to the living room, where a sharp pair of foreign green eyes meet mine. My heart skips a beat.
How could I forget that Michael was in town?
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Author's Note: Longer chapter since it took so long, lovelies uvu. Tell me what you think, anyway!
p.s. Since it's getting harder to keep up, I'm going to *gasp* ask for at least ten votes before the next chapter. I don't want to stress over updating if nobody's gonna read/like it anyway... :( Anyway, thank you all! :)