Caged Mentality

POV: Khristos Larkin

I was extremely annoyed when my alarm went off at nine AM on Wednesday. So annoyed that I took my phone and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with enough force to make the battery cover fly off and the battery fall out. That shut it up.

I pulled the covers over my head and made myself comfortable again, shutting my eyes tight, letting my mind drift off. That was a bad idea. If I didn't control my thoughts, they always went back to Riel. Always. It was more than frustrating. Why couldn't my brain just stop torturing me?

After about ten minutes of trying my hardest to clear my mind of Riel, I threw the covers off the bed and got up, slamming my fist into the wall by the door as I left my bedroom.

It was so hard to keep going through every day without seeing him, without any contact with him at all, especially after getting a taste of him. I really didn't know what to do with myself, I just wanted to see him again. But I couldn't. I couldn't have him, so going to see him would be masochistic on my part. I'd rather not torture myself.

It shouldn't have to be like this. Right? I've definitely never had to deal with the issue of not being able to be with a person I wanted that wanted me back. This was so fucked up, Riel and I both wanted the same thing, but he just wouldn't let it happen. I didn't understand why it had to be this way. I've never wanted someone this badly, I've never had to go through this agonizing desire for someone out of my reach.

I hated it.

Deciding to go see my family, I buried thoughts of Riel in the deepest, darkest part of my mind, where I hoped they would never show up again. I didn't want to think about him anymore, I needed to forget him, I needed to forget my feelings for him. Unfortunately, that was much easier said than done.

I walked into my parents' house without knocking. Even if I was moved out, I was still their kid, I could come and go as I pleased. “Hello,” I called through the house as I wandered into the living room, “Anyone home?”

As soon as I took a step into the living room, my eyes locked with the dead brown eyes that belonged to my alcoholic mother.

“Hello, Khristos, make yourself at home.” She said, blowing a puff of smoke from her mouth, then sticking the cigarette between her dry, pink lips. What a fucking waste of space, my mother. This is all she ever did. “Roman and your father are out getting groceries.”

“I'll just come back later.” I muttered, not wanting to be around her. I couldn't stand seeing this shell of my mother.

“No, no, stay.” A small smile crossed her lips as she motioned for me to sit. “They'll be back soon. You can spare a few minutes to sit with your mother, can't you?”

“I could, for my mother. But I don't see her here, so I might as well just go.” I turned to leave, but she stopped me with her voice.

“Khristos, get the fuck in here and stop being such a prick. I carried you for nine fucking months and then I gave birth to you, do you have any idea how painful that is?”

Of course, the I-gave-birth-to-you-so-obey-me card...

“No, mother, I wouldn't know. I've never given birth.” I muttered through gritted teeth.

“Well, take it from me, it's horrible. And I can't say it was worth it.”

What a fucking bitch.

I clenched my fists, just standing in the doorway, facing out of the room. I regretted even coming here. If only Dad would get home and save me from my bitch of a mother...

“Well? You just going to stand there?”

“It's called compromising, mother. I wanna leave, you want me to stay, so we meet in the middle, which is me standing in the doorway.”

“Oh my God, Khristos, just sit on the fucking couch. Is it really that bad?”

Yes. It was. But I listened anyway, just to get her to shut up about it. I sat on the couch that was beside the chair she sat in, as far away from her as I could possibly be without getting off the couch.

“Thank you.” She said, without any real gratefulness in her tone. She shoved her cigarette in the ashtray, then lit up another one. I just stared at her blankly as she exhaled smoke. Killing herself slowly. “So how has your therapy been going?”

The therapy I was supposed to be at right now. The therapy I ditched because I fell for my therapist, who refused to be with me. The therapy that I didn't want to think about anymore.

“It's been going well.” I stated simply, neglecting to inform her of the truth. She didn't need to know.

“Good. It's been helping with your anger?”

If you consider adding to my frustrations helping my anger, then yes, it has.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. Why go into detail?

“He should work on fixing other parts of you then.”

What the hell does that even mean? She's such a bitch sometimes. Okay, all the time, ever since she started the alcohol.

“What other parts of me?”

“You know, like the fag thing.”

Oh, of course. I should have known... The part of me she hated most. The 'fag' thing. She said it like it was the worst thing that possibly could have happened to me... It was so stupid and unfair that she couldn't accept all of me. She hated me over my sexuality.

“Therapy isn't going to change that part of me, mother. I'll always be gay, I always have been. You just have to live with it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to live with my son being fucked up?” She demanded with an almost disgusted look on her face. I stood. I'd had enough of her shit, and my dad still wasn't showing up, so I just wanted to leave. She was just pissing me off. “What, now you're just going to get up and walk out of here? I thought your therapy was helping your anger, Khristos. You shouldn't be getting angry so easily anymore.”

“I'm not getting angry easily!” I shouted at her, my self-control slowly slipping away. It always did this when I was about to have an outburst. “You're calling me a fag and a fuck up, you told me giving birth to me wasn't worth it! You expect me to just sit here and take this fucking bullshit? You think it's okay for you to do this just because you're my fucking mother? It's not!” She just stared at me blankly as I yelled at her. That was adding to my rage. “You're a horrible parent, you have been ever since you started drinking, you're not even my mom anymore! I can't stand what you've become! Either go to rehab and forget the fucking alcohol or go to hell!”

I stood there with my fists clenched, my jaw tight, and my eyes full of fury as I waited for some kind of response. All she did was stare at me, smoking that goddamn cigarette.

I lost all self-control at that point. I seized the table lamp beside me and threw it across the room, tearing the cord from the outlet, then threw the table it had been sitting on. I flipped the coffee table over. I picked up the guitar controller for Rock Band and smashed it into the television until the guitar was in pieces and the TV had a broken screen.

My mother simply watched me do all this. The room around her was a disaster, and she just sat there, smoking a cigarette while she watched her son destroy the living room. I hated her. Yet I was taking my anger out on everything except her. I was breaking so many things, making a huge mess of the things my father had paid money for. Expensive decorations were strewn across the floor- picture frames with unique art were broken, floor lamps were deformed, the TV stand was pulled out from under it and broken in half. If you're gonna do something, go all out, right?

I hadn't noticed my father enter the room until his hand was wrapped tight around my arm, preventing me from pulling more books off the shelf. I was stronger than him, so I could have easily broken free, but his grasp pulled me out of my rage. I was thankful for that. I hated how it felt every time after I had an outburst, I hated looking around at the destruction I'd caused because I lost self-control.

“Kris...” He said quietly, disappointment and concern making themselves very apparent in just one word. I turned to him, seeing the same feelings replicated in his eyes. I felt horrible. He released my arm and it fell to my side as I turned away from him, panting heavily.

It was silent for a long moment. He probably had no idea how to respond to this, and I had no way to say how ashamed and sorry I was. I trashed his living room, all the stuff he worked hard to earn the money for. This was the worst I'd ever done to his house.

I waited for him to speak, but he still wasn't saying anything. I heard footsteps into the room, then Roman's arms wrapped around me tightly, his face buried in my shoulder. My eyes softened and I hugged him back. He was so forgiving and caring, he was an amazing little brother.

“I'll get this mess cleaned up later.” My dad said quietly. “Let's go sit down in the dining room and talk.”

Roman and I followed Dad into the living room, and we sat at the table, Roman beside me and across from Dad. I was so grateful for a father that didn't yell at me for things like this, and a brother that accepted me no matter what. My family would be perfect if it weren't for my mother.

“What happened, Kris?” My father asked, pure concern in his blue eyes. I met his gaze, considering the best way to sum up what happened. I explained to him how I wanted to leave but Mom wouldn't let me, my gaze falling to the the table as I told him the hurtful things she said. I then informed him of how I lost all control over myself. When I finished, I looked up at his thoughtful, understanding eyes.

“I can understand why you got so angry. But you should be learning to control your temper better. Why are you here instead of at therapy?”

Of course, he had to notice what time it was... What was I supposed to tell him? I guess I didn't have a reason to hide the truth from him, if he asked any further than my simple answer, “I skipped.”

“But why?” He asked. I knew he would.

“Because... It's a long story...” I paused, exhaling slowly as I mentally worded everything. “Last week, I had a small outburst, and instead of taking things out on random objects around the room, I... Kissed my therapist.” I paused again, waiting for some kind of reaction. Nothing. He wasn't upset with me for that? His expression remained the same, so I continued. “That made me realize I had feelings for him... And so he took me to his condo and we talked it over, but he refused to be with me, because I'm his patient, and he didn't want to be in a relationship with me just to end up hurting me. Which is stupid, if he was so afraid of hurting me, then why would he?

“But yeah... I got pissed and stormed out, telling him if I couldn't have all of him, I didn't want to see him at all, because it would just be torture. So I skipped today's session.” I explained, my gaze shifting to the table again. I wasn't sure what to feel, sad or angry. So I ended up with a mix of both. I was too exhausted to really act on my anger though, so it was more sadness that showed through.

“I see... That's a pretty big problem, Kris, you need to keep going to the therapist.” My dad stated. “We could find you a different one.”

“I don't want a different one. If I'm going to have a therapist, it has to be Riel, but I want him more as a boyfriend. If I can't have that, I don't want either.”

My father sighed, probably searching for a solution to the problem. I didn't think he could help at all though. A brief moment passed before he spoke. “I want you to be happy, Kris... But you need a therapist...”

“I'm not going to see him for therapy if I can't have him as a boyfriend. That would just kill me.” I stated, holding my father's gaze strongly. He didn't understand...

“Then you need to go to a different therapist.”

I rolled my eyes and stood. He was just annoying me now. “I don't want a different therapist. I told you that.”

“You need one. So either suck it up and go see Dr. Carlin, or deal with seeing a different therapist.” He also stood. Roman just looked back and forth between Dad and me.

“You can't make me, Dad. I don't live under your roof anymore. I'm on my own, you can't control me anymore.” I informed, turning and heading out the door. I wasn't gonna stay here and take this shit anymore. I shouldn't have even come over in the first place. “I'm not seeing a different therapist, and I'm not seeing Riel unless he changes his mind and decides to date me.”

“You need therapy, Kris. I will take you there by force if I have to. You have a month to go on your own if you want, but if you haven't by then, I will drag you there every Wednesday. Don't think I won't.” He said firmly as he followed, stopping before we got to the door. “I'll be here, cleaning your mess, if you need me.”

I slammed the door on my way out.