Page 10 of Taking Care of You
I grab my things and skirt past her, hoping she won’t bother me if I don’t speak to her. No such luck. “Where you been the past few days?”
“Crystal’s,” I murmur.
“Bullshit,” she spits back at me, stumbling a bit when she walks over to me, getting in my face. While I’m only five-five, my mom is five-two on a good day. Even as small as she is, she still scares the shit out of me. I shrink away from her, my back hitting the wall. “You were probably out sucking dick. Being a slut. That’s all you faggots do. Be a slut in these streets.”
I fight to keep my wince to myself.
This is why nothing anyone at school says about me being gay bothers me. My mother has been insulting me for years. There’s no need to cry about words people I don’t really know say when the person that’s supposed to love me unconditionally says the worst shit imaginable.
I came out to her and my dad when I was twelve. I knew I was gay for years before that, though. I only came out when I was sure. Since then, my mother has been hurling insults at me and making me feel like shit about my sexuality. Hearing it at school occasionally means nothing when I live it every day.
“I wasn’t,” I whisper. “I was hanging out with a friend. Nothing…happened.” I don’t know why I paused. Nothing happened between Ethan and me. But she picks up on it and pounces.
“You ain’t nothing but a whore. Who were you fucking last night, Jakoby?” she asks while poking me in the chest. “Out here on your knees, embarrassing me, aren’t you?”
Embarrassing her? How could I ever embarrass her when she’s like this? I’m embarrassed byher. If I did have friends other than Crystal, I’d never let them anywhere near my house because of her. Thank God Crystal knows how she is and doesn’t come over often, or my mother would embarrass me even more.
Hanging my head, I stand there and wait for her to finish her tirade. It goes on for another few minutes, where I’m called everything but a child of God before she’s too winded to continue.
When she’s done, I squeeze past her and go to my room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. I know slamming the door will only have her barging in to start more shit.
I toss my clothes on my bed, flopping onto it and putting my head in my hands. I hate it here so much. It’s a normal occurrence for her to use my sexuality against me. I wish I wouldhave kept it to myself. If I’d known my life would become so fucking unbearable because of it, I would have.
It’s a struggle to be here now. The closer I get to leaving, the harder it is to keep everything in. I want to say so much to her. I want to tell her how much she's hurt me with everything she's done. I want her to know how much it’s isolated me from people. It’s the main reason I can’t stand to get close to anyone because they’ll only see me as gay, not as Jakoby. Like it’ll make up my whole personality.
Maybe when it comes time for me to go, I’ll let it out. I’ll tell her everything.
Or maybe not. The plan is to just pack my shit, hop a flight, and leave. That’s my best option. Because I’m sure as much as she wants me gone, she’ll try anything to make me stay. For no other reason than she wants me as miserable as she is. Hell, maybe she wants me to stay so someone else can live in misery with her.
It’s baffling why she’s so unhappy. We don’t live in the best neighborhood, but we make do. My dad tries his best, working long hours to make sure we have a roof over our heads. If she pitched in, we probably could have moved somewhere else, somewhere nicer. I can’t figure her out and I think it’s too late to try.
I bang my head gently against the wall behind me. I can’t wait to leave.
4
Ethan and I only have one class together this year. It’s English, the first class following homeroom.
When I get to English class—super early since my homeroom is only two doors down—I keep casting nervous glances at the door, wanting to see how Ethan acts towards me while he’s around his friends.
Honestly, I don’t expect him to speak. I try to tell myself over and over that it’s okay if he doesn’t. It’s a bald faced lie, but it helps me feel better, so I half believe it.
But God, it would suck. Hanging out with him was the most fun I’d had in a while. It would hurt if he pretended he didn’t know me.
When Ethan walks into the classroom, I drop my gaze and rummage through my backpack. There’s not much in there and if I’m not careful, it’ll start falling apart in my hands, so I give up pretending I’m looking for something and straighten up in my chair.
When I glance up again, I see Ethan look around the room until his eyes lock with mine. If I’m not mistaken, they actuallylight up when he spots me. But that can’t be right. There’s no way in the world Ethan King is excited to see me.
I raise my hand in an awkward wave. He returns it with much more confidence and walks over to my desk.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” he asks, leaning against the table across from mine.
“Uh, good.” I clear my throat, trying to sound a bit louder. “It was fine. Yours?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, the bell rings and he hustles to his seat. Our teacher is a stickler for people being in their seats when the bell rings, and Ethan would get more shit for not following the rules, since our English teacher is one of the football coaches.
I put my backpack on the floor and sneak a look back at Ethan. He sees me and winks, making my cheeks heat. What does that mean? Friends wink, right?
“Alright,” Mr. Redding, our English teacher, says, getting everyone’s attention. “It’s your senior year and I want everyone to pass. I’m not going to overburden you with classwork or homework, so you’ll have two group projects due this semester. That’s it. After that, we’ll do some small quizzes and homework to finish out the school year. Nothing fancy.”
