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"I'm so sorry." Ciro sat up, eyes equally widened as he held his arms up in surrender. "Jude, I'm so, so sorry!"

"Why would—" I tried.

Ciro climbed off the bed, eyes still concerned as he staggered towards me. "I took it too far. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking about..." The guy thought the name was better left uncalled, hoping I would figure it out on my own.

I squinted. "Thinking about what?"

"I wasn't thinking about how you'd take it," he explained. It was clear his diversion was unsuccessful, so he admitted, "I wasn't thinking about... Jonah."

I huffed, face contorting in disbelief. "Why do you always think that? Why do you always think it's about him? It's not! I don't care about him. This is about me! I don't fuck with that gay shit." His brows furrowed at this, so I patted my chest for emphasis. "It's me, Ciro, just me. It has nothing to do with him."

"Then why—" He took a deep breath. "Okay, I understand."

"No, you don't."

"I'm trying to."

I chuckled humourlessly. "You're really not."

His lips went between his teeth and when he set them free, he said, "I'm sorry, Jude. I took it too far and I know you're not cool with things like that. It's my fault. Would you like me to leave?"

The truth was, I didn't. There was this ugly part of me, this disgusting part that wished I stayed in that bed with him. It made me feel gross and disgusting. Was I already infected with the cancer? The gay cancer.

I held onto my head and then my chest to control them. My airways closed and my ribs locked my lungs in place. I felt Ciro's hand on my back, trying to solicit comfort, trying to calm me down—I wanted to calm down—but that proved to be physically impossible.

I felt the cancer slowly polluting my brain, infecting all my organs and nerves and cells to spiral out of control. My entire body started quivering uncontrollably, my muscles locked uncomfortably, and my head was spinning so fast I felt nauseous.

Consciousness was barely within my grasp. I felt it being heaved from me; my eyelids becoming too heavy for me to lift.

The last thing I saw was Ciro's concern, hearing his muffled words, and feeling his tender, yet firm grasp on my arms as he shook me. 

★・・・・・・★

"Jude, why aren't you eating?" My mother asked, bringing me from my thoughts.

"Sorry," I reply before shovelling a spoonful of peas into my mouth. "I zoned out for a second there."

She shook her head in disapproval. "Anyway." She sighed, returning to her meal. "Why don't you tell me about your day?"

"Well..." I kept my eyes on my own plate, absentmindedly sorting the food there. "I passed out earlier."

I heard her spoon drop against her plate, so I looked up. Not even a single emotion marked her face, quickly diminishing my hope.

She asked, "How?"

"I think I had a panic attack."

She sighed loudly, shaking her head again. "You're too soft, Jude. You need to toughen up."

"Sure."

"Sure?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say, Mom."

She smacked her lips. "You have no idea how you sound, do you?"

I finally made eye contact with her to ask, "What do I sound like, Mom? Or may I ask who? Jonah? Is it—is it Jonah, mom?"

"Do you... do you want to end up like him?"

I bit back my smart-ass response to resort to my food and mumble, "No, Mom."

"Then why—"

"I don't, mom."

"Good, because you're steering in that direction—you better check yourself."

"Mom—"

"Listen, Jude." Her voice throughout was as monotonous as a robot. "Just because your daddy isn't present doesn't mean you have to act like a pussy. Look at me, I am a woman, yet you're softer than me. You have no idea how easy you have it, don't you? All you have to do is get up, eat, and wash your ass. I do all the housework around here, take care of you, and work. Yet, I'm not the one pissing my pants—oh, sorry—having 'panic attacks' from stress or passing out after 12-hour shifts."

I stared at her for a long time. "I'm sorry, mom."

"You better be sorry. Finish your food and go change. I need you to go run some errands for me."

"Tonight?"

"Don't let me push it to now."

★・・・・・・★

With clenched jaws, I sped down the street.

I hated her; I hated her so fucking much. Sometimes I would fantasise about killing myself just to spite her. God, the look on her face would be priceless. Two sons dead? Would that have finally driven her to the edge? Would she have finally managed to crack another expression but disappointment or disgust? I had no idea. All I knew was the urge to strangle her and see the life drain from her soul was getting stronger by the minute.

'You're just like Jonah!' 'You're worse!' 'Both of my sons—ruined! Why God, why?'

I seethed through my teeth as I zipped down the freeway, nails sinking into the steering wheel as my back refused to touch the seat.

I saw traffic approaching, and that enraged me even more. I stomped on the brakes to stop, banging my head on the steering wheel. The little blood trickling down did nothing to quell my rage—may have infuriated me more—I smashed my fist into the horn and yelled for the people to go on.

There is a woman beside me. "You're bleeding! Are you okay?"

"Shut up, bitch!"

She gasped, clasping her hands against her mouth. I didn't remember giving a single fuck. I glared ahead of me and stomped on the accelerator the second it was possible.

My idiot mother wanted this specific kind of coffee that I had to drive out of town in a desolate area to retrieve. I also had to hope the store was still open.

I drove for an hour more before I even got close, and another half-hour to reach the destination. I had cooled down by then. I had just turned the corner and made out the store ahead when something fell into my line of sight.

It was a black drag queen.

I slowed down to get a better look. I had never seen one in real life before. He was insanely tall, bedazzled in jewels and decorated in a hot pink everything. It was indeed a sight to see. He was on the phone with someone, ready to cross the street, so I stopped to let him pass. I flashed him a smile, and he walked past, yelling, "Thank you, darling!"

I waited for him to reach the centre of my car before I stomped on the accelerator.

★・・・・・・★