Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Chapter 6 - Friends?

The next morning, I wake up in my room at Dad's house. I suppress a groan as I bury my head in my pillow. Yesterday was amazing, Alec drove me home and we just sat outside my dad's house in his jeep, talking more, getting to know each other. My dad was working late so we didn't have to worry about being caught. Eventually I'd gone inside and had dinner whilst watching trashy reality tv. When I heard dad's car pulling into the drive way, I'd immediately hurried up to my room to avoid talking to him. Now it's Thursday morning and I know I probably have to face dad on my way out of the house. I sigh deeply and force myself to get out of bed.

I trudged over to the wardrobe and search through the mass of boring clothes for something 'straight' looking. Sam's hoodie is folded neatly at the bottom of my school bag and I consider wearing it but quickly decide against it, silently cursing the thought out of my mind. Wearing his hoodie again would be a boyfriend kind of thing to do and Sam made it very clear that theres no chance of that happening between us. Ever. Besides, I have Alec now. I grab a pair of black jeans, a white baseball shirt with black sleeves and a pair of black converse. As a last thought, I grab a red flannel shirt and tie it around my waist, I carefully mess up my unruly curls, trying to give them an effortless windswept look. It doesn't really work but I don't have time to stand here for ages and fix it. I turn away from my mirror and grab my school bag before leaving the room. I hurry down the stairs, crossing my fingers, hoping dad won't be in the kitchen.

He is. Fucking hell. I silently walk past him towards the cupboard. I go to grab a breakfast bar from the little box on the second shelf. Dad clears his throat from behind me.
"Michael, I'd like you to eat breakfast with me today, we need to discuss this new club I've found. It's for misguided youth like yourself," He says, his tone serious and slightly passive aggressive, as usual. I panic and throw the breakfast bar back into the box.
"I can't eat here today, I have football practice," I lie, turning to face my father. His face lights up with a smile,
"You joined the football team?" He asks hopefully, looking proud. I feel sick as I nod and he jumps to his feet. "I'm so proud of you son, you're getting better," He pats my shoulder, his eyes shining with happiness.

I can feel tears creeping up on me so I nod again before practically running out of the house. I run down the driveway as tears begin to fall down my cheeks. My dad hasn't been proud of me in years. Not since I came out. I hate him. I hate myself. I hate that he probably thinks I'm going to be some star football player and I'm going to date some hot cheerleader girl and I'll never want to kiss a boy ever again. I stumble forwards, trying to grasp my bearings through the tears that blur my vision. I spin on the spot, willing myself not to let out a choked sob. I'm not entirely sure what direction I'm facing. Someone places a hand on my shoulder and I flinch backwards, scared. I trip and loose my footing. I squeeze my eyes shut as I fall, waiting to collide with the pavement. Instead, I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist, catching me.

I slowly open my eyes and brush away my tears. I focus on the person who caught me. I'm shocked to see Sam Foster, his eyes full of concern, still holding me in his arms.
"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice soft and worried. I nod and hurry to stand on my own, pushing his arm off me. I'm embarrassed. Sam gives me a look, I'm pretty sure he's judging me. "Stay here," He says. I nod weakly, confused. He walks back towards his house and it occurs to me that he must've come outside because he saw me crying. I vaguely wonder why he would care but I don't focus on it too much. After a moment, Sam's garage opens and his car backs out of it. He stops next to me and puts the window down.

"Get in," He says, gesturing to the passenger seat. I raise my eyebrows. Why now does he suddenly care about me again? I frown but get in anyways, I don't really feel like walking to school.
"Don't hurt me," I mumble, as I buckle my seatbelt. Sam doesn't reply. I look up and he's watching me with a hurt expression,
"You think I'd hurt you?" He asks, his eyes filled with what looks like guilt. I nod slowly, confused.
"I mean, yeah," I say, "I know you've never physically hurt me before but you still just stood there and watched your friends beat the shit out of me. Plus, hurt isn't always physical," I say the last part quieter but I'm pretty sure Sam still hears it. He lets out a small breath and I don't look at him.