Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon.

Ready, Set, Stop

By the pause before my father's response, I can tell he's most likely eyeing Shelby up and down with that classic judging face he's learned to perfect. Although Shelby is practically James' antithesis (James had a tendency to dye his hair a different color every few weeks, and although he showered every day, it was often questionable whether he just crawled out of a dumpster or not), Shelby still doesn't live up to the Stefan Owens Dress Code. Basically meaning, don't dress like a fag.

"Yes. He's upstairs. Are you his friend?"

                        "Yeah, and he's not gay, Dad." I step out of the hallway and over to the doorway to grab Shelby's wrist. "You don't have to worry about us screwing upstairs or anything." Shelby's face is surprised and his lips in a little 'o' shape before he lets himself be practically hauled to my room. I still catch him glancing around to take the house in.

                        "Uh, alright." It's the only thing he says before setting his bag on the table next to my bed. "So, that was some display downstairs."

                        "Well. I just had to make sure my father was alright with me and some male friends over." I still haven't calmed down enough to have a proper conversation.

                        "This is a really nice house, by the way. Really nice."

                        "Thanks. We're filthy freaking rich," I say narcissistically with an unfortunate sniff afterward.

                        Shelby doesn't buy my sarcasm for a single second. "What's going on?"

                        "I don't want to talk about it."

                        Shelby sits by me on the bed. "That does us both no good, since you invited me over for the purpose of talking about 'it'." Shelby cocks his head to the side, stormy-grey eyes somewhat worried, somewhat understanding. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that my little crack at my dad has something to do with the current problem.

                        I say nothing, choosing alternatively to lay down on the bed facedown. "Can I at least take a guess?" I mumble some kind of 'mhmm' as affirmation. "Uh... you told your Dad about your sexuality? He wasn't very understanding?"

                        "Nope."

                        "Well, that was all I had."

                        I take a deep breath. "Apparently, he's known about it for a long time and secretly hated me for it without telling me. Now he's all 'golly gosh Brandon I'm so sorry sonny-boy for being so mean to ya lets go make up for lost time 'nd throw the old baseball around hmm?'" Shelby holds back a small chuckle at my sarcasm.

It's all bullshit. Here I was thinking that we just didn't get along because of something I did, but it was him all along. And what if he was wrong? What if I didn't like other guys? Five years of the cold shoulder would've been for nothing. The worst part is, he had to get drunk to tell me what the hell was wrong with our relationship. He couldn't even clarify it to me in his right mind.

                        "He apologized?" Shelby asks softly. Ha, I don't even know what that 'sorry' meant to him. It means nothing to me.

                        "Yeah, I guess. I don't know what he really apologized f-for," I reply, my voice getting shaky again. "I told him I h-hated him, though."