Dinner sucked, as expected. The only good thing about it was Zack kept rubbing his foot up my leg... Mom blathered on about what a 'fantastic neighborhood' this is, how 'Zack will just love Metral High'...
Metral High...what a fucking joke. The only thing I've learned at that shit school is how to not attract attention. The teachers barely teach us anything, just handing out test after test, then bitching at how stupid we are, how we'll never amount to anything in life if we don't get it together...
And then there's Coach Anderson. I have never met such a sadistic asshole. He's just another guy who becomes a gym teacher so he can humiliate and mock us...lousy dipshit...
I'm not saying much as we eat, which earns me a couple of dirty looks from Mom. Zack doesn't mind my quietness, judging from the aforementioned foot rubbing. His parents really don't seem to care either, but who knows? They're not saying much themselves, just letting Mom jabber on about...what is she even going on about now...?
"....overrun with homosexuals, lesbos, and even those pathetic bisexuals...absolutely disgusting! I haven't gone back since, I feel dirty just THINKING about it! I mean, who knows what they do when they don't have any customers...it's bad enough that they're allowed in the mall, but to let them work there? It's horrifying!"
Oh. Wonderful. One of her usual homophobic rants...I glance at Zack. He looks like he's about to start sobbing. I feel black fury rising, tasting the bitter anger in my mouth. I have to bite my lip to hold back my shouts. How dare she start up with this, without a single thought about, hey, maybe our guests don't share her views, or even, perhaps, that their son might be one of the 'pathetic bisexuals'...? I take his paw under the table, trying to offer some comfort. He squeezes mine, and gives me a sad smile. I whisper, "Wanna go back upstairs..?" He nods quickly, looking relieved. We excuse ourselves, Zack's parents giving him a reassuring and sympathetic smile. Wait...does that mean they know?
We go back to my room, and I shut and lock the door. He sits on the floor against my bed, his head on his knees. Hell...his shoulders are trembling...I think he's crying...
I sit next to him, and put my arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry...just ignore what she said, but now you know why I can't ever tell her..."
He says nothing, but turns himself towards me, and presses against me, sobbing quietly into me. I hold his trembling body against mine, feeling his tears dampen my shirt. Eventually, after about ten minutes or so, he stops shaking, the tears drying. I hold him tighter, stroking his hair and neck.
Finally, he looks up at me. "Why...does she hate me...us...them...so much...? What have we done?"
What can I tell him?
"I don't know...she's been like that my entire life, and probably before that."
We sit in silence for another five minutes. Eventually:
"We moved for a reason, came to this town specifically..." he says. I hold him as close as I can, letting him talk, trying to comfort him with my touch. "My old school wasn't known for its tolerance of people who were different...pretty much the opposite. Anyone who was stupid enough to openly admit their homosexuality was constantly harrassed, mocked, even beaten up."
I bite my lip to keep from telling him how it isn't much different at Metral, that the term 'faggot' is as common as the gum under the desks.
He continues:
"I made that mistake. I proudly declared myself bisexual. I proudly came to school paw in paw with another guy...I came home from school with a bloody nose and broken arm. He didn't come home."
I look at him, hearing the sudden darkening of his tone. "What happened...?"
"He got beaten up worse than me, and killed himself afterwards. Drove his car straight into a lake, and locked the doors...the water came in through the various vents, and the car sunk, and he drowned...when they fished him out, he was holding a note in a plastic bag, explaing why he had done it, how he couldn't take any more..." He breaks off, sobbing again.
I hold his head against me, resting my head on his. "I'm so sorry...but it wasn't your fault..."
I continue this, whispering comfort into his ear until he relaxes, pressing into me. But he's still trembling slightly.
Christ, what is wrong with this world...? Why is there so much intolerance and sadness...?
(END OF CHAPTER THREE)