Cut Out Hearts And Life Supports

I rush home quickly, pulling my hood over my head as I past a few strangers. My breath catches as one of them looks at me and I walk faster.

Xenophobia. Fear of strangers.

I turn the corner on to my block and run the rest of the way home, careful where I place my feet and the extent on how far my leg muscles are stretching. I reach my two-story house and hop up the stairs gently, causing little to no sound.

Mom likes to sleep when I'm at school and will probably just be getting up.

I silently open the door and step inside, taking my shoes off on the carpet. The smell of food baking comes from the kitchen so I quickly walk through the entrance, face brightening at the site of my mom.

"Hey mom!" I chirp happily and grab one of the freshly baked cupcakes. I slide my finger across the top and lick the vanilla icing. "yummy. When did you make these?" I ask curiously as I take in the messy kitchen.

My mom smiles and takes her own cupcake, copying my actions with her finger. "While you were at school. I thought it would be a nice treat."

I nod in agreement but have to force a smile.

That means she didn't sleep. Which means she was thinking about dad.

I take a deep breath and look at her closely. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She turns her gaze to the currently baking cookies. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I bend my head back and look at the ceiling. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. It's been the same thing for five years." I mumble loud enough for her to hear.

I hear her take in a shaky breath and know that she's about to crack. "This conversation is finished." I close my eyes and can hear the shuffle of feet and the sound of her loading the dishwasher.

"You need help?" I ask as I open my eyes and look at her, changing the subject so she won't break down crying.

She nods and gives a slight smile.

As I help to clean the kitchen, I think about my mom. About how it must feel to have to raise someone like me by yourself.

"Does it bug you that I'm gay?" I ask her suddenly, making her stop mid-step.

"No honey, why would you think that?" She asks in a voice that tells me that she's lying.

"It's just that you were always so excited for me to grow up and find a wife. You know, to have kids that look like me and make you and dad grandparents." I say numbly because I couldn't care less about the subject. "I can't really do that if I'm gay, right?"

My mom and dad had always wanted a straight as a ruler kid that had the ladies hanging off of him. A jock because he was a quarterback and she was a cheerleader. They had always thought that I had the looks and everything but I guess that mom never had the thought about me possibly being gay.

My dad never knew that I was gay because I told my mom at the age of fourteen, two years after he died. She was so shocked and in denial that I actually felt bad for her, but she slowly got better until she finally just ignored it.

She's silent for a while then looks at me distantly. "That's not the point. You're my son." Her voice has doubt in it though, and that scares me.

What is she doubting? Why won't she talk to me about it?

When I see that the conversation isn't going to be picked up any time soon, I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and leave her alone. I grab my bag and trudge up to my room, making sure to click on all the lights along the way even though it's only 4:00pm.

Achluophobia. Myctophobia. Scotophobia. Fear of darkness.

I place my bag beside my desk and start on my Biology homework.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The sound of my quiet alarm wakes me easily because I am a light sleeper. I slip out from under my sheets and take a deep breath, trying to ready myself for another day of school. A day with no one but myself and the people I call classmates.

The ones that look at me like I'm an experiment rat gone wrong.

I pull on simple black skinnys, a bright purple shirt, and grab my multi-coloured converse before heading downstairs for breakfast.

Mom is still sleeping so I quietly make my own breakfast and then make my lunch when finished. I check the clock and see 8:03am so I decide to get my bag from upstairs. I slip my phone into my pocket and throw on a black hoody over my shirt.

I stop by at my mom's bedroom door and peek inside to she if she is awake. Her body lay still on the bed with her back to me but by the sound of her breathing, I can tell that she's awake. Why didn't she come and say good morning? Why didn't she make my breakfast like usual?

These questions just make me even more confused and unloved so I close my eyes and push on my closed eyelids with my fingers. Mom always tells me to do this when my emotions are too high. When I find myself calm enough, I silently leave the room and walk back downstairs.

I walk out the door and slam the door, but then quickly cover my mouth with shock about my sudden outburst. Taking deep breaths, I pull my hood over my head and make the journey towards school.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I continue to read the book we were assigned in English, but then get bored of it and quietly set it down. I sit in the very back of the class by myself where the other kids are sure to steer clear of. The teacher doesn't even pay attention to me when I pull up my hood and slide further down into my seat, having the feeling that someone is watching me when I know that no one is.

But then I see him staring at me three seats to my right. Tyson. The guy that everyone wishes they could be or wishes they could be with.

Unfortunately including me.

A small part of me has always wondered what it would be like to hold someone like him. To call him mine. He's strong and handsome, with a scary personality and actions. But the rest of me is too chicken shit to even say hi to him.

He continues to watch me and it starts getting hard to breathe. The sound of my heart thunders throughout my body and I feel like screaming.

Ophthalmophobia. Fear of being stared at.

I glance at my clenched fists and keep stealing glances his way until he finally looks away. I grab the book again to try calming myself until it slowly works.

The bell hits me with a start and find myself running out of the classroom without my books in hand. I just need to get out of here, need to get home to my mom so I can feel safe again.

But once I am partway down the hallway, I remember why I wait in class for 10 minutes after the bell rings. Because swarms of students are now being let out of their classrooms, filling up the hallways. Some bodies are pressed against others just to get through to their lockers and I can't even see to the end of the hall.

Agoraphobia. Fear of crowded places.

My fears just seem to be throwing themselves at me as if they like to see me being tortured because soon the crowd is with me and I am pushed against the wall with the thought of passing out.

I get dizzy as I see all the bodies around me so I start to shuffle to the side until I feel something hit my side. Looking down, I see a door knob and throw the door open without looking to see what it leads to. I ignore the yell of some of the student body as the swinging door hits them and close the door behind me before taking in my surroundings.

A janitor's closet. Feeling better with being alone, I slide to the floor and curl up into a ball. I count as the minutes go by and my heartbeat turns to normal. 5. 10. 15 minutes go by but I still can't seem to move from my ball on the floor. It feels too safe to leave but I know that I need to see my mom.

I slowly get up and peer into the hallway to make sure it's clear, then quickly walk home. I rush through the door but am greeted by only silence meaning that she must be sleeping. I run upstairs anyway though to wake her, needing to talk to her about my thoughts on Tyson and ask her questions that you would ask your best friend.

But her room is empty. And for some reason I can't quite put my finger on, it looks bare. Stripped of its belongings. I quickly rush through the house finding the emptiness unbearable until I come to the kitchen.

Where a note is sitting on the counter, black words almost vibrant against the white lined paper. I take it in my hands, the feel of it shake from the trembling of my body.

It reads:

Dear Gale,
Your Question last night got me thinking. Thinking about things that would be unbearable to say to your face. The truth is, it really does bug me that you're gay. That you can never be the man that your father wanted. And that's what hurts me the most.
I couldn't stand looking at anymore, for you look too much like him. A version of him gone wrong. And I suppose that was both mine and his fault that you turned out the way you are. I couldn't stay in that dreaded house any longer,seeing him having a heart attack every time I step in my bedroom.
I needed to leave my old life behind. And that includes you. I hope you understand to the best of your ability and take care of yourself.
Mom.

The piece of paper feels like a thousand pounds and I find it falling to the floor. When did I let go? When did she let go?

I fond myself unable to breathe, unable to stay here. It's like my world has come crashing down so I do what she did.

I run.