Switching Teams (BoyxBoy) (Completed)

Fifteen minutes

My head feels like I got hit with a baseball bat. My mouth tastes like what I imagine sandpaper would taste like. No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to get any saliva to moisten this Sahara Desert I currently call a tongue.

I've been told that hangovers feel like death, but I disagree with that wholeheartedly. This hangover feels like life in all it's miserable and painful glory.

Death from this would be a mercy.

I roll over slowly, not really sure if I am remembering bits and pieces of last night or if it's a nightmare I had.

"Ugh," even in my hungover state, I know that those are too vivid to be dreams. Everything about it screams harsh reality.

"I hope you are in serious pain, Mister," my mom's voice is like nails on a chalkboard meeting with a jackhammer as she stands somewhere in my room. I haven't opened my eyes yet, but I can tell by her tone, that she is beyond pissed.

Yay.

"You have exactly fifteen minutes to get your ass downstairs to the living room or so help me, Brandon. I-" she lets out a noise of frustration and anger before her footsteps move, "Fifteen minutes, Brandon!"

I wince when the door slams, but whether it's from the sound or the action that she is that pissed she would actually slam the door, I don't know.

What I do know is that fifteen minutes might not be nearly long enough to even find the strength to get out of bed. I literally don't think I could feel any worse. Everything hurts, even things I didn't even know could hurt, like my eyelids.

Why does it hurt to blink?

Somehow I manage the strength to stand and shuffle out of the room and towards the bathroom. A salty taste begins to fill my mouth and I break out into a run and barely make it to the toilet to empty whatever is in my stomach.

I lied before when I said I couldn't feel worse.

With my knees on the cold tile of the bathroom and my head in the toilet... this is why they tell you not to tempt worse.

I flush the toilet and pull myself up. I turn the cold water on, splashing it on my face, but it does very little to help. I look every bit the definition of shit.

My eyes are red and bloodshot with dark circles underneath them. My skin is paler than normal and my hair... I don't even know what to call it. On top of that, I feel gross. Like there is layer upon layer of sweat and grime clinging to my skin.

If I didn't know that my mom was serious about her fifteen minutes, I would climb into the shower and sit on the floor while the hot water beat down on me.

But that will have to wait because I can feel the minutes ticking away and the firing squad doesn't wait.

I pad barefooted into the living room after narrowly avoiding the death trap we call stairs. Seriously, why do people drink if this is how they feel the next day?

I avoid looking at my parents as I sit slowly onto the sofa. my dad sits across from me in his chair and my mom is pacing. She's upset, she always paces when she is upset at something.

"Where's Max?" my voice is hoarse and unrecognizable even to my own ears. My mom lets out another frustrated sigh before leaving the room.

"He's a birthday party for a girl in his class," I can hear the anger simmering under my dad's calm demeanor and I know it's only a matter of time before I get the angry shouting lecture.

It's inevitable. I came home drunk, how I'm still not quite sure as it's a blur.

My mom walks back in and thrusts a bottle of water at me. She doesn't say anything as I take it with a small thanks. She turns and moves to sit on the arm of dad's chair, both watching in silence as I take a long drink of the water.

"look, I-" I don't know what I was going to say, but my dad interrupted me.

"What were you thinking, Brandon?!" he stands from his chair and I open my mouth to respond but he keeps going, "I don't think we have ever been this disappointed in you. Drinking?! You are smarter than that!"

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. What was I even supposed to say anyway? That I was sorry? That it was a one-time thing and won't happen again? That is such a teenager cliched line that I can't even bring myself to voice it.

It was true though, that it wouldn't happen again. I don't even remember why I decided to drink anyway when normally I just designate.

Levi's eyes flash in my mind, clearer than anything I have ever seen with my eyes.

The pain etched in those hazel eyes, the unshed tears flooding around them like a nightmare haunting me. The sob from his throat louder than the pounding in my head ringing in my ears.

"I was tired of feeling like I was living a double life," Levi's words echo in my head and I look at my parents.

The two people in this world who would argue that they know me better than anyone in this world. And for the most part, that's true.

They know my favorite foods and that I hate Jello with a passion. They know I was scared of the dark until I was eight years old and that I use to pretend I was famous and sign random things like I was giving autographs.

Every embarrassing thing from my childhood they know, but I can't say that they know me better than anyone. Because Levi knows something that I've never shared with anyone else.

"That's it? You have nothing to say?" my mom stands suddenly, moving to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips.

That's it then? Levi's voice is so clear, he may as well be in the room with us. I lick my bottom lip, before tugging it between my teeth and biting down just to distract myself from thoughts of him.

"We've taught you better than this. You should be ashamed of yourself." my mom crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at me.

I'm not ashamed of who I am or who I love.

I can feel the emotion forming a knot in my throat. I force myself to bite harder on my lower lip just to stop it from trembling but I don't think it's working. My insides feel like their on fire and I fight to push the tears back from my eyes.

I need to get away from my parents. I can't let them see my heartache because then they will want an explanation. I can't tell them that Levi came out of the closet because he wasn't ashamed of who he is but maybe I am.

Maybe I am terrified of who I am because I'm scared of what it will mean. I'm scared of what others will think and say. That because of my fear, I lost the one person that I love more than anything.

"I'm sorry," my words come out more watery and emotional than I intend and for a moment, even I question what exactly I'm apologizing for.

For drinking so much even though I'm underage or for being a disappointment in more ways than one?

Tears flood my eyes and I can't stop them from rolling down my cheeks. The knot in my throat thickens and it feels like I can't breathe. Like all the oxygen is gone and I will never be able to breathe again.

<3 <3 <3 <3