Pocrescophobia

As I lay in bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling, a strong knock on the door is heard, but I barely react.

"Come in," I mumble, only loud enough for them to hear me. It's been a few hours since my discussion with Dad, and I've just been lying here, unable to sleep or do anything else. I guess I could go get on Tumblr or something, but I don't feel like I can move at all right now. But the door opens gently and Mom walks into my room quietly, gesturing to behind her where Cheyenne's standing, looking a bit apprehensive with distress marring her usually pretty features. Once my mother solemnly exits the room, Cheyenne rushes over, not wasting a moment to nearly smother me in her abundant, lung-crushing chest. Oh god, so many other guys would kill to be in my place. Well, not completely in my place, but still.

"You poor thing, I heard what happened today. I can't believe we just left you behind for that douche to--" she starts, already getting worked up. With a brief shake of my head, I hold up my hand, motioning for her to stop.

"I'm fine, Cheyenne," I tell her, trying to convince us both. She just gives me a pointed look. "I'm fine. Really. I am. Plus, I talked my parents into letting me stay with my aunt and uncle in Alabama for a couple of months. I need some time away from here," I whisper out, looking down. When I finally look back up, I see her eyes filled with sadness yet understanding. I'm so thankful that I have a friend like her. I don't think that I could've survived without her.

With a sad smile, she stands up suddenly, causing me to protest as the movement shakes me. I protest more, however, when she leans down and pulls me up to her level easily with her iron grip. I rub my arm with a scowl on my face as she giggles.

"Okay, I'm here to cheer you up, so let's go!" she exclaims, her disposition taking a swerve into the opposite lane of the emotional spectrum. "Go where?" I ask warily. Cheyenne's gotten me into some pretty crazy situations before, so I think it's always good to ask beforehand, rather than waiting until we're being chased down the street by angry prostitutes. Yes, prostitutes. It's a long story...

"Just go," she says slyly. I give her a heavy shrug. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" I question, knowing full well that I really don't have any choice whatsoever. "You know me too well, Ardy," she grins. Oh no.

--

Twenty minutes later, we're strolling peacefully along this lake that we found a couple of years back. It's basically our hang out spot for us and a few other close friends exclusively. Ugh, that sounds so arrogant. Psh, yeah, we're totes exclusive. Only the tahhhhhhhh-tally cool kids can get in our club, lawl.

Hah. Ha ha. Hahahahahaha, no. I actually know many people who act that way, though. Thankfully, I am friends with not a single one of them. I'd rather cut off my feet and boil myself in acid than associate myself with an obnoxious, snobbish twat. Hell, I can even deal with obnoxious, some of my friends are obnoxious, but they make it work. I just can't stand twats who think that they're better than everyone else.

Anyway... the scene is calm and serene, and I can't help but treasure the tranquility of the moonlit lake. It's most likely the only place that I could ever call a happy place. Somewhere to go to when I'm feeling down or need to get away. It's not like I can get away from myself in a house where everything is so trivial, and I have nowhere else to go. Well, other than Cheyenne's house, seeing as her parents absolutely love me. But I can't impose on her every time that I just want to not be at my house.

And speaking of said girl, Cheyenne managed to sneak up behind me while I wasn't paying attention and right as I was getting deep in my thoughts, she jumped up from behind and tackled me down to the ground, causing me to land with a deep 'oof'. But the idiot lands right on top of me, of course. She just decides to use my body as a pillow, but for mere seconds until she winces and moves off of me. Am I really that horrible? I guess that she notices me hurt expression, because she grabs onto my pale arm and lies down next to me.

"Sorry, bub, can't lay on you. You're too bony," she explains, while I just snort. Bony? That's rich. She rolls her eyes slightly and start to play with my hair as we look up the stars together. "What? You are! You are literally the boniest person I've ever met." But I'm not having it. Not today. With a last pleading look, she shakes her head and turns her attention back to the sky saturated with stars, as do I. Once I place my head on her shoulder (yes, she's taller than I am, hush) and she continues the soft attack on my hair, I finally start to drift off.

"Hey, Arden?" she asks quietly. "Hmm?" I mumble, drowsy from near-sleep. "I think that I'm a transgender," she whispers, barely audible. "Hmm..." I hum, not recognising her words in my mind. And then..

"Wait, what?" I ask, shooting up to a sitting position and taking Cheyenne with me. "You heard me. Sometimes I think that I was born to the wrong gender and that I'm really a guy inside. I'm not really sure but... and like at the same time, I feel that I'm asexual. Or maybe I just haven't met the right person, I don't know." I can hear the worry in her voice, so being the idiot I am, I try to lighten up the atmosphere with a joke. "Well, I think that I'm gay." And thankfully it works, seeing as she starts laughing hysterically, obviously relieved that I didn't reject her or her thoughts. When she finally calms down, she just breathes sighs of contentment and pulls me back into her as we instinctively comfort each other. It isn't long before we both fall victim to sleep and embrace it with open arms.