CHAPTER SEVEN
ONE TO TEN
—
"Okay, are we together or not?"
Dmitri froze for a second, Tariq's question catching him off-guard, before realising what he meant by it. "I mean— I didn't want to give my parents the satisfaction of hearing that we broke up, so I didn't tell them when we did," he explained, finally seeing the massive flaw in his plan of asking— well, letting— Tariq come with him to see his parents. We're so fucked. "I haven't really spoken to them since I went to college."
Clearing his throat with a weak cough, Tariq nodded, hand that wasn't clutching his phone reaching up to rub his throat. Sore throat? "Makes sense, they're fucking bastards," he pointed out, as if Dmitri wasn't aware of just how bad they were, how bad they could be.
We're never physical. How can you say such things about us when we've never hit you?
Lost in his own spiral of self-pity, Dmitri stared at the road ahead of him, bathed in the warm artificial glow of the street lamps, a dim orange covering the streets.
San Diego was so pretty at night.
However, soon, he was pulled out of his thoughts by another bout of coughs from Tariq's direction, this time louder than the previous bout, more violent.
"Everything good?" Dmitri decided to ask, his eyes briefly flitting to glance at Tariq, whose own eyes were watering slightly as he proceeded to hack his lungs out. Jesus. "Need a cough drop?"
Tariq just shook his head, continuing to cough into his arm, like the stubborn motherfucker that he was.
So, Dmitri said, "Don't be fucking ridiculous," before repeating, "Do you need a cough drop?"
Nodding hesitantly, Tariq groaned, his voice a throaty whisper when he said, "Fuck my shitty immune system. I fucking hate it here."
I know.
Reaching into the glove compartment of his car, Dmitri rummaged around it with one hand, his other hand staying on the steering wheel. Finally, his fingers managed to settle on a lozenge, deep under his backup medication, old earphones and some of Eden and Trinh's makeup.
"You still carry cough drops with you?" Tariq questioned, hesitantly accepting the lozenge from his hand and popping it into his mouth.
"Habit," Dmitri muttered.
Tariq laughed. He actually fucking laughed, his fingers playing around with the hem of his t-shirt's collar, pulling the plain navy fabric away from his neck and saying, "So, do you still keep spare boxes of my vitamins, too?"
Sometimes, Tariq could be the most obnoxious person to handle. Or maybe that was all the time.
Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, Dmitri glanced at Tariq through the corner of his eye, and shrugged. "Habits are breakable."
Humming, Tariq rested his elbow on the side of the car, his head resting in the palm of his hand with his eyes fixated outside the window, probably watching the cars speed by. "Whatever you say, Dmitri."
Stop saying my name like that.
Nothing was said by either of them for a minute, because Dmitri was trying his best, his very best not to say anything to Tariq, not to ask him any questions that could lead to an argument.
Exactly six minutes of pure silence minus the low rumble of the radio later, Tariq lifted his head from his hand and turned slightly to his left to look at Dmitri, before saying, "Your parents are gonna have a heart attack when they see us."
Dmitri had to laugh at that, because it really was comical, how the last thing his parents had said to him during their last face-to-face conversation was 'we don't tolerate homosexuality in our house'.
"Let's hope they do," he mumbled. "Actually, no, they'll probably make me pay for their fucking medical bills. Let's hope they pass away, instead. That'll be fun."
Snorting, Tariq shook his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he did. "Only you can make jokes about your parents dying without batting an eyelid."
Well. "You know my parents," he reminded, his voice just a decibel softer than the GPS telling him that they would reach their destination in three minutes. "How are—" Should I be asking him this? It's too personal. This conversation is too normal. "Never mind."
The last thing that Dmitri wanted to do was to get personal.
"I know what you were going to ask," Tariq huffed. Oh. Oops. "My parents are... surprisingly really good. They're currently back in Pakistan for my cousin's marriage or whatever. But... they're really good."
That was news to him. Fuck, he missed Tariq's parents. They were practically his real parents during high school, and they never even knew his sexuality.
"And yes." Tariq turned his head to the left, shooting him a knowing stare. "I told them that I'm gay."
Oh. Oh my god.
Of course, he had more questions. It was only natural, after Tariq decided to drop that bomb on him. Should I ask him about...?
Tariq let out a deep sigh, one that sounded like it reverberated all the way from his chest, as he pursed his lips and said, "You can ask me questions. Not all of us are secretive about everything under the fucking sun."
"I'm not so sure about that."
Low blow. That was so unnecessary, what the fuck, self?
Thankfully, Tariq didn't snap back at that. If he did, it would have made the situation they were about to be shoved into very awkward. However, his mild discomfort was apparent when he slowly nodded, closing his eyes and opening them only after exactly three seconds had passed.
"I wasn't going to stay in the closet forever," he muttered, the words coming out scratchy. If it was because of his sore throat or his discomfort, Dmitri didn't know.
"Sure seemed like it."
Tariq just laughed softly, probably too exhausted to say anything else. Honestly, if Dmitri was in Tariq's place, he would've been exhausted by his words, too.
"I'm sorry," Dmitri finally got out, even though he wasn't entirely sure which low blow he was apologising for; he just felt the need to say it. "Don't know why I said that."
Before Tariq could reply, the familiar white fence that Dmitri hadn't seen in five years came into view, the jarring white exterior of his parents' house, along with the bright bulb burning on the front porch ten times more vivid in the dark evening which was slowly blending into night.
Fuck.
One look at the house and all Dmitri wanted to do was shrink into his little shell, and preferably never come out again. Figuratively and literally.
"Can't do this." Stopping the car outside the lawn that looked like it hadn't been mowed since he left, Dmitri let go of the steering wheel, his heart beginning to hammer away at his chest. Again.
He couldn't. He genuinely could not do it, not without someone with him. It was practically impossible.
Tariq is with you. He's right there.
Shutting off his brain, Dmitri clenched his fist, nails sinking into already bruised skin. "I literally can't do it. We should just turn around, right? I mean—"
"Hey," Tariq interrupted, lightly bumping his fist against his thigh. This feels too routine. "We can leave as soon as they finish saying whatever they want to say," he assured, even though it wasn't that easy. Nothing was ever that easy with his parents.
"I can't do it, Tariq, these are genuinely the worst people I know. I don't know if—"
Again, he was cut off mid-speech by Tariq and his stupid fucking soothing tone that somehow, made him feel more calm, yet more flustered, all at the same time.
"If you don't want to be here, you can leave. Like, right now. We can just say 'fuck it' and get out of here," he suggested, his words barely processing in Dmitri's brain. "Dmitri. You listening?"
Just Tariq saying his name was enough to snap him out of his thoughts. "Huh?"
Amusedly scoffing to himself, Tariq rolled his eyes as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "You're ridiculous. Do you want to do this or not? It's your choice, no one else's."
Not. Definitely not, was what Dmitri wanted to say, but all he managed to get out was a small, "Yeah. Should be fine. Everything will be fine."
—
Everything was not fine.
For starters, Dmitri's mom had greeted him and Tariq with nothing more than a look of pure distaste, her eyes saying everything that she was thinking.
Still a queer.
It was wild how he had managed to live in his parents' house for eighteen whole years without committing a murder.
Secondly, she had refused to make eye contact with Tariq, only making obnoxiously loud comments about everything under the sun to his dad.
Still, it wasn't too bad. It was manageable. Ish.
"Okay, Dmitri," his mom started, clapping her hands together and pulling a chair out for herself, next to his dad. Should I be doing something? This is fucking weird. "We're just waiting for everyone else."
Who?
Right as those words left her mouth, the shrill ring of the doorbell was heard, echoing through the house, along with some very familiar voices, muffled, but still loud enough for Dmitri to recognise who the voices were coming from.
And by the looks of it, so did Tariq, his shoulders instantly tensing as he shot Dmitri a guarded, almost concerned look. "Should've fucking listened to me and just left. Your siblings are literally out of their minds," he huffed under his breath.
"How the fuck was I supposed to know that—"
"Don't you want to get that, Dmitri?" his dad interrupted, although it seemed less like a question, more like an order.
I don't think that I do, actually. Sighing, Dmitri got up from his seat at the table and made his way to the door, the loud pounding on the door getting louder the closer he got.
When he opened the door, he was instantly greeted by his siblings, all three of them staring up at him, the overpowering scent of their deodorant hitting his nose at once.
They always claimed that they wore deodorant to feel "more manly". Dmitri always ignored them.
"Who invited the queer?" Drew laughed, shoving Dmitri as he walked into the house, Nate and Joshua following him in. Okay. It's okay.
Ignoring the glaring lasers that Tariq was shooting into his head, Dmitri sat back down, fist involuntarily clenching as Nate sat down next to him.
"Joshua, my son!" Oh my god. "How are you?"
Joshua just snorted, sneering at Tariq. "How come Dmitri's here? Thought we were only calling the family," he stated, Drew and Nate howling immediately after, as if it was the funniest fucking joke in the world.
"Yeah," Nate echoed, because none of them had a fucking mind of their own. Then, he nudged Dmitri in his right rib, much harder than a playful nudge, as he said, "You're still a queer? And you brought the other—"
"Man, just shut the fuck up," Tariq declared, and that was all he had to say for them to stop talking. Thank you, Tariq.
With a clear of her throat, Dmitri's mom stopped the chaos that was about to ensue, smiling. "Actually, that's why I called Dmitri. I found something. For you."
Oh god. Please, no. "What?" he questioned, the food on his and Tariq's plate remaining untouched. It was a shame, considering his mom made some of the best food, but knowing her, she probably would've poisoned it.
And even if she didn't, it didn't hit the same once he realised she was a homophobe. The food was poison on his tongue, anyway.
"We found a place for you to go," she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears.
"The fuck is wrong with her?" Tariq whispered to Dmitri, setting down the unused fork in his hand. Frankly, Dmitri didn't have the answer to that, either.
Sniffing softly, she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, looking around the table with hopeful eyes. "Dmitri. We found a place that caters to adults, too, it's simply wonderful, they have prayer meetings every day, there are priests, pastors. There is a cure, Dmitri."
Before he could even process her words, maybe find his own words to say, a loud cheer erupted from his right, and soon, all three of his siblings were clapping, a few whistles coming from somewhere as well.
Conversion therapy? Church camp? It wasn't the first time they had suggested it, and Dmitri was sure that it wouldn't be the last. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the fact that that was the reason they had called him. To send him to a fucking priest.
"I don't think any of you understand what Christianity actually—"
"Dmitri," his father cut him off with a shake of his head. "Don't argue with us. After your grandfather passed, we decided to take matters into our own hands. This has been going on for too long, and there's no one to encourage it any more. We're giving you this opportunity, this chance to fix things. Take it."
Tariq scoffed, standing up. "All of you can rot in the hell that you believe in," he said, eyes blazing. No, Tariq, no. Obviously, he couldn't hear Dmitri's inner monologue, so he continued, "Because as far as I'm concerned, this isn't Christianity. Y'all are out of your minds."
I'm going to throw up. "I'm leaving," Dmitri muttered, leaving his unfinished plate of food there, hoping, praying that Tariq was following him because he wasn't about to turn around to check.
With shaky limbs, he walked all the way out the door, using his hand to brace himself against the wall of the house, the world tilting under his feet. Oh god. Fuck.
"Do you think they'd care if I vomited on their porch?" he managed to get out, nausea spreading through his system, despite having eaten practically nothing the entire day. Don't gag, don't gag, don't gag.
Of course, his body never listened to his brain, and he gagged into his hand, bile rising up his throat, the anxiety too much for his body to handle.
"Are you gonna be sick?" Tariq questioned, and only then, did Dmitri realise just how stupid he looked. God, I hate this.
"Might throw up by the end of tonight," he muttered in response. Conversion therapy. "Might throw up right now on this porch."
Tariq shrugged, his frame nothing more than a silhouette in the darkness. "It's what they deserve."
"I can't fuckin' believe this shit," he whispered, pushing himself off the wall and mechanically moving towards his car. Once he was in the driver's seat, he hunched over, his eyes stinging, a searing burn pricking at them. No. Don't cry in front of fucking Tariq.
Somehow, Tariq had entered the car, too, and he was seated in the passenger's seat, his fingers tapping against the black screen of his phone. Finally, he said—
"Scale of one to ten?"
Dmitri paused, the shock of hearing those five words causing his entire body to freeze. It had been so, so long since he had heard those words.
"Four," he decided, the nausea not reducing for even a second. "Only because I'm still fucking anxious and I'm definitely gonna puke."
Nodding, Tariq unlocked his phone with his fingerprint, the blue light from it reflecting onto his face. "Start driving," he instructed, and Dmitri didn't know why, but he listened, just driving straight ahead, not looking back at his parents' house.
Once they were a considerable distance away from the house that never failed to make Dmitri feel like shit, Tariq broke the oddly comfortable silence with a rough, "Okay. Now that we're away from those bastards. I'm—"
"Where are we going?" Dmitri said before he could say anything else, because he knew what Tariq was going to say. And he didn't want to hear it.
I'm sorry your grandfather is dead. I'm sorry that the only person in your family who didn't give a fuck about your queerness is dead.
"Listen to me for one fucking second, Jesus."
Dmitri shut up at that. Oops.
"Okay. You haven't eaten, I haven't eaten," he pointed out, even though that explained next to nothing.
"The fuck am I supposed to with that information?"
Tariq held a finger up, coughing into his other arm, and fuck, Dmitri had to do everything in his power to stop himself from feeling bad for him.
A few seconds later, he mumbled out a soft, "Sorry, I'm low-key sick. I have such a bad sore throat, it hurts." Then, louder, he said, "Do you want to get something to eat?"
Huh? As quick as the words left his mouth, Dmitri shot back a reply, his mouth working faster than his brain. "No."
Tariq paused, clearly not expecting that answer. To be honest, Dmitri didn't expect himself to give him that answer either. Why would we— ?
"Just— Dmitri, just hear me out."
"Stop saying my name."
Eyebrows knitting together, Tariq stared at Dmitri, the pure incredulity evident on his face. "What the fuck else am I supposed to call you?" he asked, voice deadpanned.
What the fuck is going on? "Stop saying my name like that," Dmitri corrected, eyes constantly flitting from Tariq to the road in front of him.
Tariq let out a small laugh at that, which soon turned into him coughing into his hand again. Oh my fuck. "Sorry. I'm sick, so—"
"You have a lot of things to apologise for, but this isn't one of them. You can't help it if your body hates you."
A strange look crossed Tariq's face, one that Dmitri couldn't recognise. Appreciation? Man, I don't fucking know.
"Yeah." Yawning softly, Tariq rubbed his eyes, apologising once more. "Hear me out. Just for tonight, we forget about all the shit, okay? All the fucked up shit that we've done. Because I'm just— I'm really fucking tired, and by the looks of it, you are, too. We don't even have to talk if you don't want to. Tonight, we forget about everything, and we just go and get some dinner."
That was way too much information for his brain to process. Way, way too much.
Pros: I get to eat dinner. The nausea might go away. Cons: Tariq. Tariq. Tariq.
"Okay," Dmitri agreed, because he was really fucking tired, and really fucking hungry. "But— scale of one to ten? For you, I mean."
Muscles visibly stiffening, Tariq's eyes flitted to Dmitri, before they dropped back down to the black screen of his phone, offering up a weak shrug. "Three. Maybe four."
A three in Tariq's books was I'm not in pain, but I'm sick; not to the point where I can't function, but just enough for my annoyance to be at a slightly higher level than normal. Dmitri knew that. But he also knew that Tariq liked to downplay everything when he was sick.
"Just for tonight?" Dmitri asked, his heart pounding away in his chest. Fuck.
"Yeah. Just for tonight."
—
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AN: hope this can get ur minds of the e word ):
i hope everyone is doing well nd keeping safe. very stressful time, nd if this is stressing u out, make sure to do sumn that distracts u :)
thank u all for reading ❤️❤️ i hope everyone has a good day today <3