〖 chapter twelve ⋆ look in the
mirror 〗

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

He liked it better when his father was out of the house before he came down for breakfast. He was usually ready to go before Laurel, who got up earlier to shower and get ready, which meant he would go downstairs to eat what his mom made or get a banana to fill his appetite a bit.

He liked it better when it was his mother who went in a little after they left for school, giving him time to spend with her and his sister – if Laurel actually had time to eat breakfast with them and wasn't rushing to finish in the car. But that day, his mom was the first to leave and his dad was sitting at the kitchen counter drinking his coffee and looking at the news on his phone. Peacefully.

His parents didn't like leaving them at the house alone in the morning, right before school, due to the one time where he decided to skip and bring Laurel to see the Empire State Building. Really, it had only been once and it was because he had a Chemistry test that he hadn't studied for at all, so why not take a day off and spend time with his little sister? Apparently, his parents didn't see it in the same light as him, but whatever. It's fine.

But even though his father sat in the kitchen, he never actually ate breakfast. He had never seen his dad eat anything in the morning unless it was on the weekends while he peeled the banana and took a bite, looking down at his phone. It was uncomfortable and he wanted to go back to his room to kill the time until Laurel was ready, but he didn't budge from his place.

Moving would be a sign of weakness, he had already let himself have that last night as he stood in front of his mirror.

It had happened as it always did; he was tired of pretending – more than usual now – and he felt that pressure building again. He finished his shower, drying his hair a little with his towel as he stopped in front of his mirror and looked at himself. Usually, he avoided mirrors like the plague.

Because when he saw himself, he knew who he really was. He saw the person hiding beneath the mask who was clawing to get out but unable to do so. The emotions in his eyes that he tried to hide from everyone (they couldn't know the truth) and he crumbled slightly. It was a terrible thing to do, his heart tried to ruin everything that his brain had built up. The walls, the image...

But it was different last night. Because while most times he would see himself and be overcome with the overwhelming guilt of hiding and hatred for himself and everything around him, recalling every lie and everything he hid – all his guilt, all his pretending – and then he would walk away, ashamed of himself and trying to forget and play into his image more (maybe then he wouldn't hate himself), last night he didn't let himself be overrun by his sins.

They weren't sins, he told himself. It was quietly of course, a small whisper in the darkness of night for only his ears, and he told himself that he wasn't a sinner. His happiness wasn't a sin. "I am valid," the whisper rang through his ears, "I am right – I am good."

His mind tried to override him with what his dad would think, of what could happen if he truly let himself heal and believe the words he uttered, he wouldn't allow it. He hated himself – he hated himself so much because his brain thought this was okay; oppressing himself was okay. His parents praised his behavior, their shiny trophy to show off to their friends (look at how wonderful my son is while yours is failing...) but he couldn't do it himself anymore.

He was so tired. Terribly, terribly tired. And it hurt too much to continue. He could love himself, maybe one day. He wanted to love himself instead of hating everything about him, instead of continuing in the path he was on which would lead to a broken life that he would hate every moment of.

"Application going along well?" the voice of his father broke him out of his thoughts. Of course it was about college, of course it was about the future. Not his friends, not how he was doing (not that he would tell the truth if he did ask), no; it was about college.

"Yeah," he nodded, "A bit slow, wanna make sure everything looks good."

"The deadline's coming up soon, so don't take too long," his dad took another sip of his coffee, "Wouldn't want to miss it."

"It's only early action," he reminded his dad, "I'll still have time for regular decision if I don't make this deadline."

His dad looked at him and it made his skin crawl. He regretted staying down here, he really should've gone back upstairs. "You're making the deadline. Don't wait up, you've had plenty of time to complete the application by now."

"I have school, dad, and my friends. I don't have all the time in the world to think about Columbia," he told his dad in a calm voice even though he wanted to yell at the man. Truly, he did.

"You should be thinking about it during lunch, writing some rough drafts. And make sure to let the college counselors help you out. Maybe if you stopped tutoring that Parker boy you would have more time," his dad suggested and he balled up his fist.

That Parker boy wasn't just someone he tutored, that Parker boy his father so easily dismissed as someone unimportant and who held no value to his future, that he was just a waste of time, was his boyfriend and hated that he couldn't say anything in his defense. Nothing too quickly, nothing too suspicious. But he wanted to. Though, before his mouth could open to spew out everything he wanted to tell his father, his brain stopped him – he couldn't.

"He needs some help, and I don't mind," he lied, "And he's nice, dad."

"But you have other friends, you don't need more. Especially ones who can't even appreciate sports," his dad said.

His jaw couldn't help but clench, "Not everyone has to like sports, dad. You don't like theatre but that doesn't mean Laurel has to hate it, and I don't like cars. You shouldn't just disregard them because they don't like the same things as you."

His dad looked at him, a silencing look. And then, with the upmost authority and in a vile, disgusted tone, his dad said, "He's bisexual, Garrett. I heard his aunt say it last year during a band performance. I don't want you hanging around him, getting his...illness."

He couldn't help himself as he rolled his eyes, scoffing at his father. "Sexual orientation is not an illness. He's bi, whatever. I don't care."

"You should. He could infect you, ruin everything," his dad said with no respect, "All you need is to find a nice girl at Columbia. You'll get a job at the law firm I work at and you'll be set. Peter won't be a part of your life so stop wasting time on him now."

"No."

Greg Lockwood raised an eyebrow at his son. "No?" he repeated, "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean that I don't care that he's bi and I'm not gonna stop tutoring him just because he might not be in my life later. Maybe Clayton won't either, or Tatiana, but they are right now and I care too much about them to just let them go because we might drift apart during college," he told his dad, increasingly raising his voice.

"You watch your tone, young man," his dad said lowly.

"No, I don't think I will," he fired back, "I like Peter. He's nice."

"He could ruin everything you've worked so hard for," Greg tried to convince his son, but to no avail.

Because he was done. Garrett Lockwood was done. He just wanted everything to stop, to end, and he wanted to sleep because he was so goddamn tired. All he wanted was to look in his mirror and say again that he was valid and good, and for a moment as he defied his father he felt as if it were true, but as Laurel bounced down the stairs with an innocent smile on her face – unware of the conversation that had just happened between the two men, unaware of the tension – he didn't feel as powerful as before.

Going to the door, backpack slung over his shoulder with Laurel following him with an apple in hand, he didn't feel as if he could love himself in the future. He was so tired of pretending, so tired of lying and trying to be the perfect son, but he felt bad for yelling at his dad. He felt bad for almost ruining everything. It was all going to hell, everything up in flames, and he didn't want that either.

He was a sinner, maybe, because children were supposed to obey their parents and that was the last thing that he wanted to do. That was something he was actively going against. He wasn't good, he wasn't valid, he was just a sinner.

"What were you and dad talking about?" Laurel asked as they got in the car.

It was better not to say anything, it was better to just shrug and lie to her. He was sick of it, but that was all he knew. He forgot how to be honest after all the years. "Columbia, applications," he listed.

Laurel hummed, buying his lie. She should, he had perfected his skill after so long of having to get through conversations just like this. "When's the deadline?"

"Week and a half. Dad's freaking out about it, but what is he not?" he tried to joke, forcing himself to smile as he glanced over to his sister who couldn't help but snort.

"True. Hopefully he'll be here for dinner tonight, but he's been working late a lot for the past week or so. Big trial coming up and everything," Laurel commented.

He wanted to nod, give some sort of illusion of agreement but he couldn't. He didn't want his dad around, he didn't want to suffer through dinner where his dad would ask him about the Columbia application again and ask if there had been more progress – even though he had asked the same thing that morning – and get disappointed when there hadn't been. He didn't want any of it.

He just wanted everything to be fine, but it never would. Not when he was still too scared to change anything, no matter how tired he felt.