Page 1 of Their Little House Tristan
Chapter One
Tristan
“Are you packing?” My roommate, Pierre, put his arms over my suitcase to prevent me from adding more into it.
“I am—” It was the last thing I wanted to be doing, but it was outside my control.
I reached behind me, grabbed the letter that had just been delivered to me, and handed it to him. As he read it, I continued packing. There was nothing he’d find in the letter that would change the result, and I was on a time crunch—one not of my own making.
“This is bullshit.” He tossed it on the bed. “They can’t just cancel your scholarship after the semester began. They can’t do that!”
“Except they did.” I didn’t think it was possible either, but according to everyone I’d been able to contact in the office, it was not only possible, but it impacted four of us. “I guess the foundation who sponsored it went under or something.”
I hadn’t really been able to focus after I was told it was real, and there was no way to fix the situation that didn’t include me writing a big fat check.
“They said I have till tomorrow to pay or be kicked from classes. And there’s no way I’m going to be able to afford it. Between the dorm and the tuition, we’re looking at over $20,000.”
His jaw dropped. “But, Tristan, you’re graduating in a few months.”
“No. No, I’m not.” And that was the harsh reality of it—all this hard work, all this time, and now it ended just like that. All because of my stupid scholarship.
I’d already talked to the office and e-filed all the paperwork needed to take a leave of absence. It wasn’t ideal, but they suggested it with the idea that some better financial aid could come through next year, or I somehow might manage to save enough to come back. But for now, I was done with the collegiate life.
And the reality was, I wasn’t sure which was worse: losing three and a half years’ worth of hard work, or being homeless with the only place left to go—my parents’ home. Sadly, I was pretty confident it was the latter.
My parents were not what I would call understanding of who I was, and that was putting it lightly. They were in denial. Full-on denial.
In their mind, I wasn’t attracted to boys. That was a phase I was going to outgrow. I was confused, rebelling, or misunderstanding my own attractions—the excuse depended on the day.
In their mind, after I graduated, I would marry a nice girl from the church—their church, obviously—and we’d have a gaggle of children, go to services twice a week with smiles on, and sit beside them in the pew. They had had my life planned out for me before I was even born. The only part of it that changed over the years was going to college because, for me, that had been nonnegotiable.
It was such a warped little picture of who we should be, formed by their own messed-up views on what made a “man” and not who their son was. And yet, no matter how much I tried to tell them otherwise, that’s how they were determined my life would go.
I’d sworn when I went to college, I’d never go back. But I had no choice, at least not for now. It was go home or be homeless and as much as they bugged me, they weren’t evil. They just didn’t understand who I was and had no desire to change that because it messed with their world view.
I could only imagine what they would think if they found out that my favorite thing in the world was to dress up in a onesie and diaper and suck on a paci while some sexy older daddy made me chickie nuggies or cuddled me as cartoons played in the background. I’d be shocked if they even knew littles existed. They lived in their own small world, one I’d come to realize I’d never be a part of.
“You don’t have to go today, do you?”
“I do.” And had already arranged my ride.
He walked around the bed and hugged me tight. “I wish we had gotten an apartment this year. Then you could stay.”
I’d wished that too, but the money didn’t work—not when the scholarship included this room. We had crunched numbers, and the hours we would have to work to make it happen weren’t doable, not with our course loads and planned internships.
“It’ll be fine,” I lied. “I’ll get a job, save the money, and finish next year.”
“And your parents?”
“My parents will just…I have to be—I just need a place to stay while I get a job.” Things with my parents were going to be tricky, but it wasn’t like I could change that.
“And when they try to set you up with girls, you…”
“Well, obviously, I’ll be too busy with my job.” Would that work? I doubted it, at least not completely. But all I had to do was buy some time.
Pierre understood my situation all too well. He’d grown up in a household similar to mine, which was probably why, as freshmen, we clung to each other. His parents hadn’t agreed with his choice of career. They wanted him to go into the medical field, specifically to become a doctor, and then ideally come back totheirsmall town, find a nice girl in their church, get married, and live out their ideal dream.
Instead, Pierre went to school for English, or, as, his father said, “to waste your time and money.” But, unlike me, my roommate’s scholarship was still intact, and he was already accepted into a very prestigious graduate program for the next year. I was happy for him, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I had a similar program waiting for me, or at least had the funds to finish this year.
