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3. Wrath
Drew stares at her, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. She is oblivious to the extreme of his growing ire, of the impatience that settles in his usually-docile chest.
“It’s unnatural, Andrew, truly. I hope you come to your senses soon and settle down with the right woman–and not one of those men pretending to be women, either, that is just an abomination of God’s creatures–and have the beautiful children you were always meant to–”
“Mum!” He says sharply, the word bursting from his throat without his permission. Maria falls silent, raising one perfect blonde eyebrow at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Stop it. You can’t fix it, you can’t tell me how to live my life, and you most certainly cannot call an entire ten percent of the human population ‘unnatural,’” he snaps, anger vibrating through him like a sickness as he towers over his mother. “I’m not fucking broken, mum. I’m gay, and you tried to stomp it out of me when I was seventeen, and it didn’t work, so leave me alone.”
He doesn’t quite realize he’s shouting until he closes his mouth.
Maria stares at him, shocked into submission, before sighing and murmuring a prayer as she touches her palms together. Drew sees red, and his fists carve delicate half-moons into the meat of his palms while he takes deep breaths and tries not to throw something.
“I expect you to never use that language under my roof again, Andrew. Either sit down at the table with your nephews or help your brother set the table.”
It’s more effort than he would have liked to keep from punching the wall.
