6
—

I contemplated for a moment and the man froze. "New York? Is that where he's been?"

The games were over. The man got up and approached me. I stared up at him. He leaned into my face and burped.

"God," I groaned in disgust.

"Don't worry 'bout none of that. It'll all be taken care of. Go to your momma and shut your mouth, or I'm afraid won't be able to protect you."

"I don't want your protection. I need—"

"—to shut the fuck up and go home."

"Sir," I protested.

"Kid."

We glared at each other for a long time, but I gave in first.

★・・・・・・★

I had put on my headset and made a playlist of podcasts to listen to while I cooked for my mother and me. The great thing about cooking for her was that I could have started at noon or night and was still on time for her arrival home.

It was 8:47 pm when I started, listening to my regular content as I whisked and stirred and tasted. I was determined to make the meal perfect this time, so I paid attention to one of the cookbook recipes I found in the attic. I was making her a meal that screamed her homeland—Spain. I knew she would love it.

I was listening to this guy talk about gay genes and how it's possibly present in us all. This piqued my interest, so I zeroed in on it.

At the end of it, I realised that I was in shit. He basically debunked a prominent motto of many. 'Being gay is a choice.' Apparently, it was not, and the asshole had convinced me of it. I had to do more research, so I stirred the pot and sat on the counter to browse the web.

I had leapt head-first into a rabbit hole and the deeper I got, the less it was possible for me to claw a way out.

All the information I found fucked up my structure more and more, poking holes in arguments I thought were bedrock. I even tried returning to the people who would reaffirm my initial ideals, but there was this voice that knobbed at the back of my head, finding nothing but holes in their arguments, too.

The arguments for the gays were in no doubt backed up by scientific evidence, while the arguments going against them were backed up by sayings, deflections, and doctored science. It didn't make sense to me. The gays were emotional, and we were logical. What in Christ's royal name was going on here?

It only made sense that I was being fooled. I cursed myself for being that impressionable and allowing—even for a moment—for their manipulation to affect me.

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair and gently tugging it. I had to go back to the structure. I set up my phone on auto-play and felt relieved to hear the reaffirmations. I ignored the doubts in my mind until they hummed into inexistence, but when I was going to go check the pots, a video came on.

It was about a cardiologist whose son came out to him. I was about to change it, but I didn't. I leaned against the counter and watched the man speak. Soon I rested my head, closed my eyes, and listened to every word.

A strange feeling infected me. My thoughts were jumbled so I couldn't identify it, but I felt it. It wasn't overwhelming or faint. It could be described as a heavy hand on my shoulder, its warmth exuding throughout my body as that person muttered, 'It's okay'.

My heart sunk, but not out of sorrow or heartache, but out of tenderness. A gentleness that swelled my heart and descended for it to mingle with my soul.

Suddenly, I was knocked out of it by the sound of a door slamming.

"Is something burning?" My mother yelled from the front door.

I looked at the food. "Shit."

She hurried in and watched me turn off the stove and open the kitchen window.

I faced her, forcing a smile. "You're home early."

She looked so tiny leaning against the doorframe. "¿Quieres oír algo irónico?" <<You wanna hear something ironic?>>

"Sure."

"Me desmayé." <<I fainted>>

"Oh, God." I blinked. "Are you okay?"

She leaned off the frame and approached the counter, observing the mess. "Estoy bien." <<I'm fine>> "You were cooking?"

"Yeah..." I gestured toward the food. "But... I burnt it again."

She nodded, clearly not caring about what I said as she stared at the cookbook. I caught her! If I hadn't been paying attention to her expression, I would have missed it. Her lip quivered. She hugged herself with one arm, using the other to hide her mouth and nose.

Her voice was muffled as she said, "We can start over." Her tone hinted at something I deluded myself into associating with our rocky relationship.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoed, unable to meet my gaze.

★・・・・・・★

After eating, my mother and I went our separate ways.

I lay on my bed and contemplated, sorting out my thoughts before I journaled. I looked at the entry and cringed at the scribbles. Upon rereading it, I realised that even though my minions had never seen my face, I would never show the skin of my mask again.

I wasn't going to lie and say I still didn't hate gays. The thought of their ungodly deeds still made me sick to my stomach, but I understood them now. I became slightly more open to the idea because it wasn't their fault they were that way. It was a birth defect. The same way I couldn't blame a disabled person for being disabled was the same way I couldn't blame a fag for liking ass. It was simple logic. Not even I could have argued that. You see, I was many things, but I wasn't an ableist.

I was aware of how much things were going to change. I thought it was just a perversion—I assumed it was all about sex, but it wasn't. Gay men like men just as straight men like women. The only question was, was I lucky to be the latter or cursed to be the former?

To answer this, I made a call.

"Ciro?"

"Yes, my prince."

"I have a question for you."

"What is it?"

"Would you like to go on an adventure?"

★・・・・・・★

A/N

The video Jude watched is attached to the header above. I highly recommend giving it a watch.