Page 3 of Pet Project

Of course, the machine is empty. He’s trained me too well, making me his house slave and all. Leaving anything in the dryer would be tantamount to stealing in his mind, not that he ever uses any appliances or knows anything about housework. I’ll never understand how this racist asshole ever passed the background checks and home visits with CPS to be granted custody of me, but I gave up questioning it a long ass time ago.

Stripping down to my underwear, I throw my wet clothes into the dryer for thirty minutes on high. Crouching down next to the machine, I try and get at least a little bit of the warmth to seep through my skin. The rhythmic sound of my jeans tumbling around behind me somehow manages to lull me into sleep… or maybe it’s a concussion?

The feeling of hands on my legs pulls me from my slumber and I shiver as my eyes focus, but not from the cold. Creepy Old Fuck is touching my nearly naked body while my stepbrother stands in the corner watching. My brain is slow to come back online. Somehow, I seem to have missed my underwear disappearing.

I push the wannabe rapist off of me and try to run up the stairs that lead directly into the house. That has to be how they got in here since I didn’t hear the metal doors. But I don’t make it to the door. Michael grabs me by the throat and slams me to the concrete floor.

“Youwillearn your keep, you little shitstain,” he says while my vision is going in and out of focus like akaleidoscope turning. “Now that you’re eighteen, I don’t get anything for keeping you around. Mr. Curry here likes a littlechocolatewith his perversions, so you get to entertain him.”

I use what little movement I’m allowed to shake my head. I know he can see the fear in my eyes, and it excites him.

“It’s him or the cross, boy.”

I shudder at the thought of ending up on the wooden X-shaped contraption that I saw him moving up to the second floor apartment, but I’d rather be beaten bloody over Mr. Creepy with the rotten teeth touching me anymore.

“Cross,” I gasp out as soon as the grip around my throat loosens. I know I’m not likely to get out of this alive, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to catch herp-a-siphal-aids in this basement.

3

TOBY

THREE YEARS AGO

“I don’t expect to hear from you until you have completed the program, Tobias.”

I hold back my snort due to the fact that if my mother suspects even for a second that I am not going along with their plans to send me to this “leadership retreat” I will end up with a personal escort in the form of my Aunt Celia. She’s the one who found the commune in Montana or Minnesota or one of those “M” states and convinced my parents that I need to learn how to be a proper man.

“I will do my best, Mother,” I tell her with my fingers crossed behind my back before I climb into the car. “I will devote every ounce of my energy to completing my program.”

I’m not completely lying. I somehow got a full scholarship to Wrenshaw University in Pennsylvania, that she just doesn’t know about. I have every intention ofcompleting my bachelor’s degree program for business management with a dual enrollment at the local community college for culinary classes if I can somehow swing it financially. I’m going to open a café and bakery someday.

I just have to figure out how the hell I can get to Pittsburgh on my limited funds without anyone finding out and dragging me back to their “leadership retreat” in Wisconsin… is that where it is?

I tune out the rest of my mother’s words as she lectures me on becoming a proper man and making her proud and blah, blah, blah. At this point, there’s nothing more she can say that will twist the knife of betrayal any more than it’s already been.

While my father is a stern man, I knowheloves me, even with the fact that I came out as being pansexual. His only question was if I would still marry a woman and give him grandchildren someday. I was honest when I told him it will be a long time before he becomes a grandfather, and he told me it better wait at least until I can legally drink. I remember laughing at that, wondering how many times I drove him to a bottle or two over the years.

I thought I was lucky that my coming out was so uneventful, but of course my mother and her fucked up family had to ruin it. That very same night, she called either her sister or her father or some other uber bigot in her fucked up extended family and sharedmytruth with them. So, here I am a week later, getting shipped off to their little “retreat” community.

Father glances at me in the rearview mirror a few times during the forty-five minutes it takes us to get from our house to the airport. I didn’t expect him to tell my mother to stay home, but I’m thankful he did. I don’t want my last memory of the man I’ve always admired the most being tainted by her venom.

My heart drops when he pulls off into short term parking instead of just dropping me off. He helps me get my bags from the trunk and leads me through the parking lot.

“I’m going to get your boarding pass. Why don’t you go grab us some coffees and we can have a little chat before you have to go through security.”

I watch my father, the man I’ve looked up to for my entire life, go to the self-serve kiosk at the airline ticket counter and I struggle to hold back my heartbreak. I’ve watched the movies and read the books. I’ve read the blogs and know it’s common, especially in extremely conservative families like ours.

Being disowned sucks ass.

I expected to lose Grandfather and my cousins. I expected to lose Aunt Celia, not that I think I ever had her to begin with. I wasn’t even surprised at my mother. Disappointed? Sure, but not surprised.

I thought my father would still love me, though. I didn’t think he would force me to go somewhere knowing they would abuse and torture me just because I was attracted to more than just women.

“Tobias? Did you forget the coffee?” Father asks as he holds out that damned slip of paper to me. Grimacing, Ibring it up to my face. I guess I should probably know where I’m going so that I can figure out the cost to switch it over to…

“Pittsburgh?!”

My tears can’t be contained as I throw myself into my father’s arms. I’m certain the scene is making more than a few of the uptight pricks in the check in lobby of the Birmingham airport uncomfortable, but I don’t give a shit. Not only is my father not sending me to a conversion camp, he is giving me his blessing to be myself.

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