“Hey faggot!” I winced at the sound of the one and only star quarter back. He wasn't wrong, I was gay, but that word was just so offensive. I hated that I came out, hated the fact more than you could ever guess. It had cost me all but three of my friends, most of my freedom and every second that had been left of my childhood. When I loudly and discourteously turned down the prettiest girl in the whole school she screamed at me “what, are you gay?!” to which I decided to truthfully reply “yeah, got a problem with that?!” At the time I felt triumphant, giddy even and shouted at the top of my lungs 'I'm gay!' it had felt so good...but it wasn't worth the price I had to pay...not a week later I went from one of the top five popular guys to having three friends, had the shit beaten out of me at least once a week and went from relatively care-free to being the man of the house, a mom when mom couldn't be there, the cook the cleaner and the surrogate father three days later after I killed my father.
I may have not been holding a smoking gun or bloody knife, but it was my fault he died all the same, even if the cops didn't see it.