Pussyboy

Gare de Lyon

The apartment was humble, well to say the least -est. it was quaint and somewhat old -fashioned with some curling table stands and floral cushions on the royal couch. I'd say the designs that should have been outside on the wallpaper were sucked right in here.

The living room was brownish-maroon. I was thinking of those Mr. Bean-types of wallpaper when i saw them. With lillies and diamonds patterned onto the wallpaper, the golden coloring was oddly pleasing in this place.

When I entered, he offered me to sit on the couch and the first thought came to the interior design. I mean, he is definitely gay or the stereotypical fashion-designer-slash-queen-mother kind of gay so I was thinking he could have bedazzled the whole place. Instead, it looked like my aunt died and let the cats design this shithole. How bigoted of me.

The next thing was why he made me sit and wait for him. I mean, if you're looking for sex - you'd have jumped my ass by now and was now trying to fuck me.

This was awkward. Sitting here and waiting. Fucking waitin'. As I sat there and basically shitted his place, cups were being heard across the apartment and I think water being poured so I presumed this was a housewarming something. It was nice and boring.

When he came back, I have been sitting here for 25 minutes. It was futile. He may have just wanted to talk to someone. It was sad and at the same time, pissing me off.

"You might wondering why you're here."

"You can think that."

"I'm Louis Tom-"

"Louis Tomlinson, yeah. We talked on the internet."

He sighed.

"Look, I just wanted to talk to you personally."

"Why?"

"Because the - uhm -"

"What?"

"You see, it's about your mother."

"She's dead."

"Yes, well, she left you something big."

Now I was curious. Something big? A house? A lawnmower? A dairy cow?

"She left this for you."

Then, from his right pocket he pulled a folded piece of paper. It was yellowish like parchment. And a little crispy too. It was old.

I was nervous, anxious, excited and a bit frustrated on why I'm feeling this. I looked at him and he gave me a creased smile. No teeth and just plain I-dont-know-what-to-do assurance, so I unfolded it carefully.

It wasn't entirely formal. Though the credits go to the typewriter she used to write this down.

I read it. Skimmed it. Scrolled down on it. It was utter nonsense. Why would she do this?

Why?

"Why?"

He looked me in the eye and said, "your mother wanted a bigger future for you and she conjured up this agreement."

"I can live on my own! I don't need your money and I don't need what comes with it!"

"First of all, this is your mother's money. Second, the agreement stipulates this when same-sex marriages are legalized and recognized in every state in the Union and as of now, you are bound by this agreement. Lastly, he is a nice man, you know."

Fuck this! Fuck this! Fuck this!

I was regressing to teenage tantrums and angst. This isn't fair! This isn't fair! How could she control my life over this. Wait, arranged marriages are prohibited. Loophole!

"Arranged marriages are illegal in the United States so this," pointing at the letter, "is worthless."

He smiled at me kindly jut at first, I thought it was a menacing smile at me. He went to his bedroom, I think and I just stared at the letter over and over again. When he came back, he handed me another shit of paper.

I read it with detail. She was diabolic in this. She knew the loopholes. She was a fucking asshole even when she's dead.

I let go of the document and pressed my fingers on my eyes and covered my face with my palms.

I have two choices in this. I can either run away with my son and move to Canada or Iceland. The other one would be follow through and get to keep my son.

Either way, I was gonna lose him someday and one option would make that event sooner rather than later.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Fuck!

"Fine but I will decide who I marry as no one specific is arranged to marry me."

He smiled at me. And he nodded at me. After a while, he stood up.

"I'll show you out."