Dreamer's Disease

Chapter Twelve

[Trigger Warning: Contains scene of sexual abuse which some may find disturbing or triggering]

Elliot stared blankly at the note on the table in front of him, the font messy, the note obviously having been written in a rush.

Gone away for the weekend. You know how to look after yourself.

Nothing more than that. Not, "happy 18th birthday, sorry we're not there", nor "we're in X place doing Y". The note didn't even elaborate enough to give Elliot the closure he needed on the situation; there wasn't even any "going away for the weekend is more important than your 18th birthday". How lovely of his parents to think for once about their only child. Not that he had expected any more of them than what they had decided to leave him: a note. He checked the cupboards and the refrigerator, only to see that there was barely enough food to last the evening, if even that. Nice to see they had made sure their son would be able to eat. As far as they were aware, he was going nowhere over the weekend. Had they really no care for whether or not he ate? It certainly was a good thing, he figured, that he was going to David's parents' cabin at the lake that weekend, or else he wouldn't have been able to eat until his parents returned.

Speaking of which, when were they to come back? Sunday evening? Monday morning? When? "Gone away for the weekend" wasn't a hugely informative statement in itself.

He flopped down onto the sofa in the front room after a moment, defeated, still studying the note in his hand. His parents had disappeared for the weekend, having either forgotten, or having held absolutely not regard at all for, their only child's birthday. They were very considerate, weren't they?

Well, Elliot though to himself, perhaps this was some kind of a blessing in disguise? He didn't have to tell his parents that he was away for the weekend, now; didn't have to face his father's anger when he said he was having his own life for once, wouldn't be around to do chores or put up with his bullshit; didn't have to face the fact that, if his father were to punish him again, his mother would just sit downstairs at the dinner table and listen to the entire ordeal. So yes, perhaps this was a blessing in disguise?

He sighed and rested back against the sofa. Should he have been sad that his parents had left him home alone for his 18th birthday? Because, in a way, he really wasn't. Maybe he was glad? He wasn't sure.

He also wasn't sure how long he sat on the sofa, frowning ahead of him at the TV on the other side of the room that was never on. The screen was always blank, black. He could see someone reflected in the dark glass of the screen, and frowned for a second, cocking his head to the side curiously. Who was this person? Sandy-brown hair lightly brushed down near the boy's shoulders, yellow-green eyes glaring back at him. The boy looked as confused as he did. Maybe he didn't recognise the person sitting on the sofa, just as Elliot didn't recognise the boy in the reflection of the TV screen? He'd seen this boy so many times, in so many different reflections, for so many years, and yet he still hadn't the slightest clue where he might have come from. He was him, he knew that. This boy was Elliot. But at the same time, he wasn't. He couldn't be Elliot. When Elliot looked down at himself, he expected to see a girl, expected to see everything a girl normally had. He was a girl, right? But his reflection said otherwise. Maybe he was just seeing things. Maybe he was just too tired for this. He would sleep well that night, and when he woke up and looked in the bathroom mirror the next morning, he would see the girl he expected to see, and not that ridiculous-looking boy.

He pushed up off of the sofa after a few more minutes, and sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. Glancing around the front room, he observed the mess of scattered pillows, messily-folded newspapers, and unwashed glasses and mugs all cluttered around the front room. Reluctantly, he began to tidy up, taking extra care to clean the dishes piling up at the side of the sink, and the mess of clothes and makeup his mother had left in her midst in the bathroom.