NEW ROUTES
(Two years ago)
Emerson's POV
I groaned deep against Brad's lips, one hand around his back as the other deepened in his soft hair. The lights were dim in the room, my sheets tossed carelessly around us. Brad and I had been up all night, and I really didn’t think we’d be sleeping anytime soon. My parents left for the weekend to go to a business conference so I, of course, had to make use of this time well. And what better use of my freedom than with my band's lead guitarist?
The kiss deepened, and his grunts grew louder as I pulled on his hard length. Fuck, that was hot. I reached to take the lube from the bedside table when my door creaked open. I barely heard the sound as Brad did something with his tongue that had me arching into him.
"Emerson, guess wh—"
Was that my mother?
I quickly pushed Brad under me, relieved that at least I was in my briefs, even if there was a six-inch issue flapping in her face at the moment. "Mum,” I panted, staring at her shocked face. “It's not what you think, I—"
She quickly yanked the door closed behind her. "Fuck!"
I rushed to pick up the clothes that had tumbled onto the floor, my heart racing as I pursued her.
---
"What are you suggesting here, Emerson?"
My mouth was so dry, my tongue could probably cut glass. I clasped my clammy hands together as I stared at my feet. I had expected my old man to explode, if he found out. But I hadn’t expected he would find out so unexpectedly, so suddenly. "I'm sorry, Dad, I should have listened to you. I didn't mean for him to sleep over—"
My dad's eyes turned dark with a nauseating ferocity. "Him?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing before slapping his hand down on the table.
I was also afraid of this, I wasn't sure my dad would take news of my sexuality calmly and now I had my answer. "Yes, Dad. Him. I'm. . . I’m gay.”
He sprang up, the chair scraping against the marble floor, a sound that grated on my already shot nerves. "You better be shitting me, Emerson. You better be fucking shitting me."
Panic and fear flashed through me, but also a kind of relief. It was out now. No longer a secret. I got up from the chair a little shaky but I faced his glare. "I'm not. I like guys, Dad."
There it was again, that glint in his eyes. "Don't call me that!" he bellowed. "Don't you fucking call me that. I'm no father to a gay piece of shit!"
I felt it, my bones crumbling under the weight of his words. My father was naturally an aggressive man, one who required strict obedience. One step out of line and he was a ticking bomb, promised to explode. But not this. He couldn’t be serious, he was just mad. “It’s just a slight difference from the usual, Dad. I’m not hurting anyb—”
“Shut up!” His voice echoed through the dining room, the glass table seeming to shake with the impact. My mother wept in her hands, her whole body trembling. "You're totally closed off to this family. Unless you say you're going through some stupid phase."
What? I stood there, paralyzed. What would that mean for me? I could never be with Brad or any guy again? Would I be forced to date, maybe even marry a woman? Hide that part of me like a disgusting secret? Forever?
"Say it," he went on, his voice a low snarl of barely contained fury. "Say that this is just some fucked-up error, a stupid one time thing, and we'll just pretend it never happened."
A future where I would be forced against my very nature flashed before my eyes. I swallowed. "I can't do that."
His nostrils flared, and I could almost hear my time here tick away. "Why the fuck not?
"Because it's the truth."
His lips twisted in disgust. At me, his child. His next words hit like a punch to the gut, taking my breath away. "Then get out of my house."
"Please, Dad—"
"I told you to get out!"
A door slammed closed behind us, and I turned to find my little sister, Ivy, standing behind us, her school bag slipping off her shoulder. She looked between me and my dad, of course sensing the tense atmosphere. Her gaze fell on my sobbing mother, then on me—standing there, clinging for dear life. Her face contorted in puzzlement. “What happened?”
My dad spun, directing some of that fury on her. "You! How long did you know?"
Ivy took a step back, still confused. "Know what?"
My dad seethed, trying to control himself enough to speak. She glanced at me again, at my trembling body. Then realization hit her eyes. There was only one thing that could make him react this way. "Oh."
She squared her shoulders, and moved closer, trying to pacify him. "Don't worry, Dad. It's not such a big deal. I promise you that."
A sharp crack echoed through the room as his palm connected with her cheek.
Ivy stumbled back, her hand flying to her face in shock. I gasped, and make a move to go closer to her. My dad rounded on me, seeming to get even angrier even though i didn’t think it was possible, “Don’t you dare, boy.”
I stepped back, not wanting to make things worse.
“You do not get to decide what’s a big deal in this family, Ivy,” he snarled. “None of you do!”
She looked at me, her eyes mirroring his fury, full of unshed tears. “Dad, stop this,” she said, voice shaking. “You’re being unreasonable!”
"Want to go with him?" he spat. "Say another word and you're out as well."
I stood there watching it all unfold, like a bad scene from a movie. It had to be, this couldn’t actually be my life. Ivy's hands were balled into fists and she shook with rage. "You can't kick him out like trash! He's your son!"
"Not anymore."
"Ivy," I implored, trying to make my voice level. "It's ok."
She turned, her features distorted by the blend of anger and pain on her face. "No, it isn't!
I smiled weakly at her. He'd made up his mind and there was nothing she could do. I didn’t want her to get hurt even more or provoke him to send her with me to prove a point "It is. Just… drop it, okay?"
Her eyes, heavy with tears, latched onto me. "Em," she said, her voice cracking.
“Pack your things, Emerson," my father spoke with icy rigidity, already turning away. "You're no son of mine."
The finality of his voice constricted the heart in my chest, but there was nothing else I could do. He had given me options, and I had picked. I would go through with my choice and i would be damned if I let him see me break. Since I was no son of his then he was no fucking father of mine.
I walked upstairs and stuffed whatever would fit into my duffel bag. I was halfway down the stairs when a sight caught my attention—my friend's suitcase, my guitar case and all it came with, already packed outside the house.
Ivy stood stiff by the door, her cheek red from the slap. Our mother rocked on the floor, back and forth, praying into the air. I looked away from her. She hadn’t said a word. Why? Her son was being driven out of his home and she hadn’t even said a word.
I went out into the cold night air, the wind cutting into my skin. I hoped I packed a warm enough jacket, because I didn’t do well with cold.
My father stood by the door, the look of utter disgust painted on his face. "You go out that door, and you don't come back."
I swallowed the bile in my throat. Was i really doing this? Walking out to fend for myself? I looked up at him again and my heart hardened. I hadn’t done anything wrong here, he was the one who was throwing me out. I refused to live under his roof if it meant denying parts of myself. I would survive. "I didn't plan to.”
I willed myself to turn around, to pick up my bag, take the first steps and head for the door. "Don't you ever come back here, you hear me," roared my father behind me. "You are no longer a Beckett."
I began walking. It became easier as I put one foot in front of the other, until I'd walked out of the house. I didn't glance back.
The rain only continued to get heavier as I trailed the empty streets. My t-shirt soaked, sticking uncomfortably to my skin. Thank God, Brad managed to sneak out the window. I don't know what my Dad would have done if they caught him.
The weight of everything suddenly hit me, and the rain carried my soundless tears away. I was homeless. I was well and truly without a home and from now on that would be my reality.