Why did it have to be me?

I sat on the sidewalk, head in my hands. The cold sting of early winter left slices of pain on visible skin, but it was what wasn't visible that hurt the most.

I pulled my knees up to my face for warmth, almost begging for some kind of comfort. There was no way I would be going back to school today. Maybe not even tomorrow. I couldn't walk back in there and pretend to not even be pissed off the slightest.

I could still hear the snickers as I walked down the hallway this morning, lockers being slammed just a litter harder as I passed by. People laughing just a little louder. People staring for just a little bit longer.

How people found out I was gay; I'll never know for sure. But news in this school travels faster than the Black Plague. All I did was come out to a friend who had already come out himself. He wouldn't tell anyone, he didn't believe in "outing". So how people's gaydar suddenly went off when I was around is beyond me.

The worst part was the slurs. I could get beaten to a pulp. Those bruises would eventually fade away somewhere deep into my skin, never to be seen again. But the emotional scars, the one's you can't see but you know they're there, those are the most painful.

A few people walked passed me on the sidewalk as I tried to decide my next move, although it seemed like I was invisible to them.

I got up, dusted off my dark denim knees, dug my hands deep into the pocket of my black pea coat and made my way home. I knew my mom would wonder why I was home early, but there was nowhere else to go.

About a half hour later, I arrived at my front doorstep. Inhaling deeply, my knuckles pounded against cherry wood, and my mother's face appeared through the oval of frosted glass on the door. I could tell she was confused, but opened the door anyways.

"Blaine, honey, you're home early!" She said. Stating the obvious, all I could manage was a nod. "And- you've been crying?"

I just wanted her to let me inside.

"Could we talk about this later? It's really cold out here." I almost pleaded, and she pulled me inside by the collar. My whole body was stinging from the sudden brace of warmth, and a quick glance in the mirror allowed me to see my red face with white streams of frozen tears running down my cheeks.

"Blaine, honey, let's talk about this now. What's wrong?" Her words were sincere and voiced concern. I looked at her, into her hazel eyes that were just like mine, desperate and ready to just collapse in her arms.

"We should sit." I told her, my heart racing.

Obviously, I had to tell her what was going on. What had been bothering me, what had been eating away at my mind for the past 7 years. I didn't know how she would take it, and in a way, I had to brace myself.

When we were sitting together, I ran a hand through my dark curls that still felt a bit stiff from the icy weather. I turned my body towards her. I tried to make eye contact, but she looked so worried and confused it broke my heart to even be near her.

"I don't know how to say this, mom. I mean-" I inhaled sharply. "You must of had some idea, already, right?" I asked her, my voice cracking.

She looked at me, her blonde hair falling from behind her ears. She placed her warm hands on top of mine to stop them from shaking. Just from her touch, I felt a million times lighter. My heart pounded through my chest, and all of the sudden, tears began to swell up in my eyes.

The next thing I knew, I was sobbing into her thighs, curled up like a child, weak and afraid. She rubbed my back to soothe me as I muffled my words between deep breaths and whimpers.

"I don't know what to do.. I- I can't change this. It's- it's who I am, mom! It's just so damn hard."

"Shh.. Blaine. It's going to be okay."

"No- no it's not. I'm going to get the shit kicked out of me." I whined.

"Blaine, honey." She said softly, pulling me up so I could look at her, our hands still intertwined. "Everything will be okay. I still love you. You're still my child. You're still Blaine Anderson. And you still have to watch your mouth." She said, with a little laugh at the end.

I never felt closer to my mother. I never felt more loved, more cared for, more important than this moment right here with her.

"I love you." I muffled through more sobs, falling into her shoulder. She caressed my neck, made more soothing noises and told me she loved me too.

I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting alone in my room, staring blankly at the blue wall adjacent to me. My body felt numb, completely useless and irrelevant. That's just everything felt the past few months, when I knew that everything was leading up to this. When I was just waiting for the climax, then for everything to come crashing down afterwards.

The radio played like a distant echo throughout the room. The only thing that saved me was music. It was the only thing loud enough to drown out the rest of the world, especially when I could hear shuffling and a booming voice through the floorboards. My father was home.

"Where is he? Let me talk to him." My father's deep voice growled. I felt my fists clenched as the stupid sounds from his mouth got closer and louder and even more irritating.

My father wasn't always the nicest man on the planet. I honestly hardly knew him since he was always on some sort of conference call in another city, but from what I saw and experienced, he wasn't the type of person I liked to be around. He was always stressed out, strict, very traditional, and seemed to get his comfort from a bottle. So I was surprised when he swung open the door, he was intruding completely sober.

"Why are you crying, son?"

I shook my head. "No reason, I'm fine."

"Good, boys don't cry. That's for women and homos."

My chest went tight. All of the possible emotions that could of spilled out of me were almost bottle necked at my collarbones. That's when I saw my mother's face drop in horror from the doorway. My father was pacing around my room, his bulky hands on his hips.

"Everett.." My mother croaked, my father turning to her at the sound of his name. I sat there in disbelief and pain; was she going to say something?

"Good thing I'm a fucking 'homo' then, right Dad?"

The words came out of my mouth before they even processed through my mind. My breath hitched, wait, what did I just say? My father turned to me, slowly in shock and in anger, and spoke rough and low.

"Come talk to me when you're out of this phase."