365 Days.

The night was spent blissfully,
and wonderfully,
and I enjoyed everything.

M was easy to talk to,
he understood everything,
and unlike Chase,
demanded nothing in return for his care.

Chase was wrong,
and still is.
M has made it clear he wants nothing but my friendship.
He doesn’t want the sex,
or the kisses and touching.
Just friendship.

Or so he makes it seem like.
You can never know,
if they’re just playing with you,
and that’s what I’m always worried about…

I return home at about one in the morning.
Guess who is waiting just behind the door?
Father.

Again,
he lectures me.

“Do you have any idea,
as to what you are doing?”
he yells,
looking furious.

I avert my gaze,
feeling guilty for a moment,
but then I frown and reply.
“Taking a walk with a friend at night,
because I’m not allowed to do so at day.
You confine me to my room to what?
So I can rot away there?
Get thin and bony and sick?
Is that what you want?”

I never talk back to my father,
until now.
What is this?
When have I become like this?
Was it true,
that the stricter the parents,
the more rebel the kid?

“How dare you accuse me of your well-being?”
He roars.
“I care for you more than ever!”

“Oh yeah,
Cause locking me up is true fatherly love!”
I feel tears come to my eyes.

“What would you rather let me do?
Allow you to run around and ruin your life,
with pathetic drugs and cigarettes?”
He snaps,
slamming the paper in his hands down onto the table.

I look at him in disbelief,
“You think of me so low?
Wonderful!
I always knew you loved me heaps!”
With that I turn and walk out,
letting the tears come to my eyes.
I hear him call my name and I hate it.
Evie, Evie, such a girl’s name.

He never wanted a boy.
He made that clear on my tenth birthday,
when he bought me a diary so I could ‘write my thoughts down’.
Not to mention it was pink,
and frilly,
with a lock on it in the shape of some heart.

I still have this diary, shoved into the deepest ends of my closet.
I don’t know why I never threw it out.

On the way to my room,
I pick Ghostie up,
not wanting the kitten to be hurt by Father or something while he rages.

I enter my room and close the door behind me,
shutting off the calls of my girly name.

I walk past a mirror and pause in front of it,
look at my features.
Big round eyes,
puffy soft lips,
little nose,
round and soft outline of the jaw…

I’m nowhere near to looking like a normal guy.
I look like a five year old boy who grew up.
Who remained to look like a girl.

A girl!

“Girl!
Girl!
Girl!”
I shout, grab a small statue by my hand and peg it at the mirror,
then burst out crying,
throwing myself onto my bed.

Crying!
Girls cry!
Guys don’t!
Maybe they do,
but not over such small pathetic things!
I’m a girl,
inside out.
And I hate it!

I’m a big joke to them all.
Evie,
the boy who looks like
a girl with a flat chest and no hips,

Son of the mayor.
Ha!