Griffin runs up to me after school, grinning like a madman, showing off his dimples in a way he knows drives me crazy. He gives me a playful punch in the arm, "I've never seen your house before."

There's a reason for that, but now Griffin has me trapped. I can only hope my parents will have something better to do with their lives than ruin mine.

If only I would be so lucky.

I do a quick three-sixty, seeing no one who would ever notice my existence in sight. Namely Ben. Nervously, I lean in and give Griffin's lips a quick peck, pulling away almost instantly. My heart thumps in my chest, doing little flips. It can't believe I just did such a daring act, and my limbs urge me to run away from the situation. However, I plant my feet and give my boyfriend another kiss. I've never actually had a real boyfriend before, not one that cared to admit I was his boyfriend.

With Griffin I have to tell him to stop being so affectionate in public. Not that he ever listens. The idea of people watching me kiss another guy – or frankly anyone – sends sparks through my spine and adrenaline into my legs. Fight or flight kicks in, and I think you can guess which one I always choose.

Griffin swings an arm around my shoulder, and I duck away, hugging myself as we walk down the hallway. I look anywhere but at him. Students wash past me, some carrying music cases on their backs or in their hands. The high ceilings make me feel even smaller and I swallow hard, focusing on the floor. I usually keep towards the walls, between the middle of the hall and the long rows of wooden lockers. It's the No Man's land of the school hallways. All the nobodies walk along this path, those tossed aside by those higher on the evolutionary scale. Griffin pulls me into the middle, walking along the halls like a predator no one dare come near.

He pushes the massive glass doors that lead into the courtyard, full of students wandering around. I focus on a tree, watching birds flying south in the sky. They're the smart ones, they fly away when things get bad.

We make it to the seafoam green gate when Ben decides to show up. I just barely walked past the iron bars when I hear him calling, "Hey dude!"

Groaning, I turn around, trying to look excited to see Ben as he walks up to me. My heart drums in my chest as Ben gives Griffin a small glare before grinning at me. "Ready?"

I flinch, suddenly unable to look up from the ground, "Actually, I'm going with Griffin. But I'll go with you tomorrow! So it's, you know... even?"

Ben raises an eyebrow and I shrink even more, staring at the ground. "Even... okay. Fine, I'll see you tomorrow then. Have fun."

The way he says fun makes it seem as if he really doesn't want me to have fun, but would prefer I have a miserable old time. I probably will. If it was up to me, we would have gone to Griffin's house, lock ourselves up in his room while his army of little brothers try to get in while the older brothers make a bunch of gay jokes while we are, in fact, doing very gay things. The pure noise of his house makes me nervous, kids screaming, TV always on even if no one watches it, and radio blaring in some kid's room. Griffin actually shares his room with his older brother Warren, who he locks out whenever I come over.

But now Griffin insists he come to my house, the fortress of solitary self loathing. The only person I've ever had over before is Ben, yet here I am, walking into the metro station on the arm of my fucking boyfriend, going to my house full of fucking homophobes. What could possibly go wrong?

As if to foreshadow my inevitable doom, Rodrick Walsh bounds up to us as Griffin leads me into the metro. He punches me in the back, sending me flying forward into a plastic seat that looks like someone had a threesome on it. Griffin growls at Rodrick, "Don't do that around me."

"Around me." So it's perfectly fine if Rodrick does it not around him. I sit up, rubbing my head and glaring at anyone who dares acknowledge my existence. Ben happens to be one of them, walking past me into a different car. My heart sinks at the dejected, sad puppy eyes he gives me. But Griffin and Rodrick soon distract me, squishing me in the middle of the seat, between them. Both Griffin and Rodrick are considerably larger than me, even if I am about as tall as Griffin, and I can't help but feel like a tiny sliver of cheese stuck between two thick pieces of bread.

Rodrick looks over at Griffin, caramel face full of a sort of anticipation I've never seen in him before. "You sure you don't want to come hang out with me and not this freak?"

I cringe at the word.

"Yes, look, I know it sucks but you can just go watch a movie or something to make the time pass."

I furrow my brows, looking at Griffin quizzically. The only problem with being as tall as him, if I turn my head to look at him, like now, his nose presses against mine. He smirks, closing the tiny bit of distance between us. Yelping, I jerk my head backwards, which means banging into Rodrick's shoulder. He flicks my away, forcing my head into Griffin's face. Griffin steadies me, laughing as he kisses me again.

Rodrick doesn't seem amused, "Get your whore away from me. And you know I can't do that. He took all my money again."

Griffin frowns, swinging an arm around me as the metro stops abruptly. "Well, I can't help you this time. It'll be like whenever I have to work except this time I have a boyfriend to fuck."

I turn bright red and cover my face with my hands, groaning. Griffin pats my back, hand dipping to the edge of my shirt. Rodrick laughs humorlessly, sound dying away quickly. "Fine. Let's hope he's in a good mood today. I'll leave you two then."

Then he grabs my hands, jerking them away from my face. He glares at me, "You're a little pest. You'll regret ever existing," he bares his teeth like a rabid wolf, "you should have killed yourself like your sister."

He pushes me against the hard plastic, giving Griffin an almost desperate look. "Thanks for nothing," he spits, walking away.

I try to move away from Griffin, but he holds me in place. Glancing up at the poorly animated screen, I see we're almost at my stop. "What was he talking about?"

Griffin doesn't respond right away, "I'll tell you later. Just some home trouble."

The metro begins to slow ever so slightly before it screeches to a halt, sending everyone in the metro jerking forward. "This is my stop," I wheeze, lungs compressing.

He gets up, planting a hand firmly on my ass. I swallow hard, focusing on my breathing as we walk through the busy station. I want to move his hand; any number of people could see me. They all could laugh at my disgusting display. I swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat but it soon returns. I flounder for air even as we emerge into the sunny outdoors, away from the stench of the station. I gasp for air, rushing as fast as I dare down the sidewalk and through the thinning houses. His hand doesn't budge, giving me a little squeeze.

I turn the corner onto my street, finally building up the nerve to pull his hand away. He glares at me, "Why'd you do that?"

"This is my street, and uhm, my parents don't know I'm gay. They're religious and homophobic-"

"So are your bested friend's," he says in a babish voice.

"His parents don't know either! They both hate gays, I think. They're Christian so I guess they have to. And you having a hand on my ass looks very gay. Yeah."

He rolls his eyes, "Fine. Let's hope your parents aren't home then because I don't know how long I can't keep my hands off of you."

I laugh nervously, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. My house arrives far too quickly, my dad's dark blue car in the driveway. I know he probably won't emerge from the basement until the evening, but his very presence sends my limbs yearning to turn the other direction. Forcing myself to move, I open the door, stepping into the small foyer that leads to the living room. Griffin follows behind me, "Nice house," he says.

It's far too big for three people. So we end up with a bedroom sized broom and linen closet and a mini library for my father. I drop my backpack by the coat rack, gesturing for Griffin to do the same. "Let's watch something," he says, dimples flashing as he smirks. It tells me that he has no intention of watching anything.

"Can't. My dad's in the basement and that's where the TV is."

I plop onto the long cream sofa of the living room, staring at the fireplace. He looks up at the tall impressionist painting hanging above the mantel. "What's it supposed to be?" he sits next to me and I glance back to make sure my dad's not in the kitchen. The mostly chrome and granite space is as desolate as the rest of the house.

"I have no idea. My mom bought it a few years ago. There was a TV there but... she went on this cleanse a while ago: no television or whatever, and said it was a distraction."

He snorts, "Fun. Well, since we can't watch TV, why don't you show me to the nearest bedroom?"

He leans in, mouth finding mine. I groan against his lips, hands finding his strong chest. I guess Griffin got sick of people calling him short, because he went a little overboard on working out. I feel along his muscles, fingers wandering down his arms. Finding the edges of his jacket, I tug it off, the cotton material falling away as Griffin deepens the kiss. So much for finding a bedroom. He uses his hand to pull me forward onto his lap, other hand going to my ass.

Tongue wandering into my mouth, his fingers slide under my waistband, sending shivers up my spine. He squeezes hard. I gasp at the force, trying to pull back but Griffin's hold around my back stops me. There's no where else to go. My breath catches in my throat as Griffin kisses me again, eyes shut. Even with the warmth radiating off of him, I still tremble with chills. The cold, late October air still haunts me even as the heat kicks on in the background, groaning to life. Except it isn't the heat unit I'm hearing.

The sound of a car door closing snaps me out of the daze induced by Griffin rubbing my ass and sucking at my neck. His spell wears off as the footsteps draw to the front door in plain view of us. Anyone could see him pulling down my collar, trying to find my sweet spot, my ass exposed to any person to walk through that door. I leap away from him, pulling up my pants just in time for that dreaded door to open.

She chose now, of all times, to come back. Days of silence and here she is again, ready for another round of fighting.

My mother doesn't look up at first, taking off her coat and muttering to herself. She does that a lot. She'll speak to herself as if there's some imaginary being hovering over her shoulder, telling her exactly what to do. She runs a hand through her short curly hair, pulling it back into a little ponytail when she looks up at us. Her eyes widen and Griffin looks quizzically at me, hand reaching for my thigh, but I slap it away, glaring at him with as much malice as I can muster. "What? Oh," he turns his head around, looking at my mom with a look of pure horror.

"She didn't see any of that did she?" he hisses under his breath, putting space between us.

I shake my head, speaking to my mom through gritted teeth. "Hi, mom."

"Hello...boys," she walks into the living room, smoothing out her blouse, "what are you two doing?"

"Talking!" I say, face bright red.

"Oh fun, talking is healthy, what about?" she drops her purse onto the coffee table and steps across from the opal carpet and onto the charcoal tile of the kitchen. I know she stopped listening, moving on to the next interesting thing, but I still answer her.

"Girls, yeah, pretty girls in our class. Because we share a class. That's it. We're two friends who share a class that both like girls, heh heh," I wince, and Griffin smacks me.

"Only closeted gays would tell their mom they're talking about girls," he says under his breath.

Good thing my mother doesn't hear him.

My mom laughs without humor, "Well, I doubt I'll ever see the day you get a girlfriend, but it's good to see you're making friends." She grabs a mug from the white cabinet, sagging against the counter while she shoves it underneath the single cup coffee maker.

I watch her shoulder slump, dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than ever. She closes them for just a moment, and I can tell she doesn't ever want to look at the world again. It's the same feeling I have all the time. "I don't want to know," she finally raises her hands, "you forgot to do the dishes. Or maybe that was your father... Speaking of which, where is he?"

She rubs her forehead, sipping the just finished coffee hesitantly. I point towards the basement door, "Where he always is."

"Ah..." she walks into the living room, staring at the door for a while before turning to Griffin, "I'm Helena, and you are?"

"Griffin, ma'am," he winks at me and gives her his signature smile, dimples making me melt inside.

My mom used to introduce herself as Mrs. Ivanov. That's who she was. Mrs. Ivanov, not Helena or Mrs. Helena. But ever since about a year ago, she's been Helena. Just Helena, sometimes Ms. Helena. I wouldn't be surprised if she started using her maiden name when neither my father nor I am around.

She waves her hand lazily, walking to the basement door and opening it, "There are snacks in the fridge but don't touch the vegan sausage I bought. It's for a meal."

"Your mom's vegan?" Griffin asks as I stand, yanking on his arm to pull him up.

"No. I'm vegetarian. The only way I join them for dinner is if there's no meat in it."

A lame excuse, but it saves me from listening to the constant arguing whenever we actually have a meal. If I opened up the freezer, I'd probably see several packs of vegan sausage waiting to find their way into some dinner. A dinner that we'll never have. She always says she'll make a dinner, but she never actually does. It's part of her perfect picture of our family.

And the last dinner we did have... I don't want to think about it.

I glance at the painting, if you stand at the very far end of the room, all the way back into the kitchen, you might make a dead bird in the sea of blues and blacks. But the closer you get, the more you see that there really is nothing there. It's all just an illusion.

"Are we going to your room now?" Griffin whines as I lead him up the circling stairs.

"Yes," I heave a sigh, already hearing the telltale knocking of my mom banging on my father's office door.

This is exactly why I didn't invite Griffin to my house.

I pass along the hall until I reach my door. Griffin does a little three sixty, looking at the photos on the walls. "Is that her?" he points to a picture next to the bathroom door.

I thought I'd turned that one around, but Griffin must have moved it. She's smiling at the camera, hands folded neatly in her lap. "She looks like you," he marvels but I tug him away, turning the frame over again so I don't have to look at her anymore. I already have to see her every time I look in the mirror.

"This is my room," I say, instantly shutting the door behind us. I can already hear the yells starting to waft up through the ventilation system.

"What's that sound?"

"TV!" I say, leaping onto my bed, "probably some war movie. My parents like loud, really, uh really violent stuff."

"Thought you said your mom was on some weird cleanse."

"Not anymore!" I say, laughing weakly.

He raises his eyebrows and sits down next to me, shrugging. Then his lips find mine, "As long as they're distracted," he mumbles into my mouth.

"Y-yeah," I laugh nervously, throat closing up.

I can't bring myself to kiss him back, falling back against my bed. I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending no one else has come to disturb my silent torment. Griffin slides on top of me, rolling us over so I splay out on his chest. "What's wrong?" he asks, hands wandering down my lower back.

I move my legs so they rest on either side of his body, wrapping my arms around his neck. "It's stupid."

He feels along my thighs, closing his eyes and making a small noise. "Come on, I don't just pick my boy toys off the street. We're connected, dude, you have to tell me."

Dude. That's what Ben calls me. I always hated it but now that it comes out of someone else's mouth, I hate the word even more. "It's nothing, you can do whatever you want to me now."

"Oh I intend to," he laughs as if it were such a silly thought to think he would need my permission, "but I want to know what's going on first. Your house has this weird vibe. What aren't you telling me?"

He kisses me and I lean into his lips, throat completely closed. Maybe I should tell him, he is my boyfriend after all. Maybe he can make me feel even just a tiny bit better. I take a deep breath, sitting up. "How?" is all that comes out of my mouth.

"How what, baby?" he sits up slightly, arms around my lower back, face by my crotch.

"How am I supposed to live now? She's, she's gone and my parents can't stand the sight of each other and, and," I fall against him, gasping, "and I hate it."

I let go, reaching for that hand to pull me out of the quagmire of darkness I seem so permanently stuck in. But just as I reach up to grab Griffin's hand, to let someone in, it disappears. Griffin starts laughing. "You're right, that is stupid. Stop being so dramatic. Parents fight all the time it's like the mark of a marriage. You have it better than a lot of people, like Rod. You'll get over it. Just breathe for a minute and stop getting snot on my shirt."

Just get over it. I wipe my nose, not realizing I started crying. "Yeah, you're, you're right. I shouldn't have said anything. It's stupid."

He rolls his eyes, "Now we can go back to having fun."

Griffin sits up and yanks at my pants, hands sliding down to my bare thighs. He lets out a little moan, "God, you shaved, Jesus, that's hot," his eyes dilate, and he tugs at my pants more, probably wanting to feel more of my legs.

But I can't focus on him touching me. I try as hard as I can but even as he squeezes my inner thigh and pulls off my pants, I can't think clearly. Is all I'm feeling really just me being dramatic? Me knowing I have two parents at each other's throats this very minute? Two parents who would kick me out if they knew what I'm doing with a boy right now. But I try to take his advice and let go.

Letting go of all feeling and just lay there, numb to everything. Numb to him touching me in places I don't want to be touched. Numb to hearing the yells in the distance that certainly aren't coming from a war movie. I can become numb to everything.

And the truly sick part is I almost like it. Because when you feel nothing at all, the pain goes away, even for just a moment. And although I know it will come back, maybe I can numb myself to it too.

---

Hey guys!
I'm kind of curious about this so have a question of the chapter:

How do you feel about Rodrick?

He's one of the few characters that actually isn't based off of someone from my life, he's more of a personified creation I made so I can look at him objectively. 

Have a great quarantine (those of you looking at when quarantine is over will cringe so hard at that)