Chapter Three
Ash
That shit happened two weeks ago, because after I refused to go back for a week, I then got myself suspended almost immediately for ‘lewd behaviour’, aka a simple hand gesture aimed at a teacher, and now it was Sunday night, and I was due back in the morning.
Dad Gray felt this was the perfect time to try and talk some sense into me, even though I’d asked him three times to leave me alone, each time getting a little more pissed when he ignored me.
“Ash, I get it, school’s shit, and you’d rather be doing something else, but if you don’t keep up with your schoolwork, you’ll fail your exams next year, and then you’ll be struggling to get a job, because of some stupid fucking grades on a stupid piece of paper.”
Wow, thanks for pointing out the utter bullshit of the entire situation, while simultaneously trying to sell me on it. I smirked at him.
“Do you see where you went wrong there, dad?”
He rolled his eyes, shoving his blonde hair back.
I was the only one of his kids with dark hair and dark eyes, but it didn’t make me feel like he wasn’t my dad.
I mean, mum’s blonde and blue eyed too, so what…
she wasn’t my mum either? See? I don’t need school.
I understand plenty. Genetics are just weird.
“Yeah, I agree with you on some stuff, kiddo, but the fact is, this stupid country expects certain qualifications to deem you worthy of jobs that probably a monkey could do, and that’s why you have to go. Any questions?”
“Yeah, like a fuckload of them.”
He laughed, sitting back against the wall on my bed. He didn’t seem to be in any kind of a hurry to leave.
“Dad, I’m not smart like Blaze, or even Em, and listening to a bunch of pompous assholes drivelling on about shit I don’t care about isn’t going to make me more intelligent.”
The fact that he’d laughed at my description gave me a fleeting moment of hope that he’d agree with me, and let me leave, but he sobered suddenly.
“Look, while I agree with you on too much of this shit, I don’t really understand why you’re fighting this so much. It’s less than a year and then you’re free. Do you realise we, as your parents, could be prosecuted if you don’t go to school?” Jesus.
“Seriously?”
“Apparently, according to your mum and dad, but you were there with them at that meeting, so you know more than me. In fact, that’s probably true of all you kids.
You’re all smarter than you realise. I know you don’t need this, but can you do it for us?
Can you just sit in classes and mock the teachers quietly like everyone else? ”
“What about homeschooling though?”
Dad laughed. “Seriously? You want that unhinged fucker teaching you too? You saw how that went for Em, and while I don’t think he has eyes for anyone else, you don’t want that. Him, I mean.”
My heart started thudding in my chest as I forced the next words out.
“Maybe not him, but there is a guy I want.”
Dad blinked, hesitating for a moment before tilting his head curiously.
“To teach you?”
I shook my head, watching him so closely, I could see every tic and blink. To be fair, he caught on pretty quick.
“Oh, you mean you’re not into girls? Dude, me either, except your mum. She got me hard, but most women really weren’t my… wait, why aren’t you going ‘ewwww stop talking’ like your siblings do?”
I shrugged. “I don’t care if you guys talk about that shit. More importantly though, you don’t care I’m gay?”
Dad grinned at me. “Son, I don’t mind what you’re into, as long as you’re happy. Is there a boy at school you like? Is that the reason for all the acting out?”
I bristled at his words, but wasn’t this the conversation I’d been yearning for?
Finally telling at least one of my parents that I wasn’t going to be giving them grandkids one day.
On behalf of the entire world, I know that’s a good thing too.
There were some serious defects in us as people, and I knew others could see it.
We were happy though, so like dad said, who cares?
“Yeah, there’s someone I like, but he’s firmly pretending he’s straight. And I’m not acting out. I’m putting my focus on what’s important. Love.”
Dad snorted. “Yeah, that and trying to get your dick up him. Okay, why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and I’ll see if I can help.”
Callum
I finished my chores and headed up to bed, grumbling under my breath at my parents insisting that I pray before bed, and that I waste the entire fucking weekend at church.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith, but did faith have to extend to spending so much of my precious life in a stale room, with a bunch of boring fuckers who talk about the fucking bible all day?
“God, give me strength to cope with this bullshit,” I muttered, as I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.
“Give me the fucking patience to handle this lunatic family of mine,” I practically begged as I closed my bedroom door, and glared at the spartan room.
I couldn’t have posters up, because that would encourage ungodly behaviour.
I could have books, but only ones they’d ‘vetted’ for harmful content.
There was so much fucking parental control on my devices, that I couldn’t even look up anything beyond the church website, and social media, but they had access to my accounts.
I had no freedom, and I hated it. Was this really the best there was out there?
As I climbed into bed and flicked off the light, I thought about the one person I knew who had zero parental control, and while I think he probably should have it, I envied him. How could one person have so much freedom, and space to express himself, and I was living in a virtual cell?
When we first met, and he declared how lax his parents were about his activities, I wanted to punch him.
I wanted to grab him by the throat and yell at him, for bragging about something I was so desperate for.
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and used my thumbprint to access it, wincing at the brightness of the screen in my dark room.
How I wished I could freely search for anything on the web, or just chat with people without knowing my parents would check it out.
The one time I’d deleted messages in a group chat with friends, they’d quizzed me for two hours, before making me pray for forgiveness for being a bad seed.
Ironically that chat had been about Ash Cross.
A few of our mutual friends had been trying to encourage me to speak to him, because they thought he was ‘pretty cool’, but since he’d kicked off and been suspended, I knew any mention of him would have my parents grounding me, so I couldn’t accidentally hang out anywhere near him.
I flicked back through our messages. I’d had to call him ‘Lee’ on my phone, because I kinda thought Ash must be short for Ashley, and so it still sounded a little like his name to me.
His messages would sound predatory to an outsider, I mean, they sounded a little that way to me, and I didn’t think that was his intention. He just really wanted to be friends, and it made sense since we all hung out together.
For some strange reason, I wanted to message him, but I knew it’d only encourage him.
If he thought I wanted to talk to him, he’d be right back in my face again tomorrow at school.
I knew it was going to be his first day back, because our mutual friends were so excited he was returning.
He seemed to be their hero for acting like an ass, and mouthing off at the teachers like he shouldn’t be showing them the appropriate respect.
It didn’t make him a hero. Not at all. I wasn’t impressed by it, and as I swiped through our brief message trail again, while telling myself not to be impressed, I accidentally hovered too long over a message, and it added a ‘thumbs up’ to his last message. Fuck!
It took mere seconds for a new message to pop up from him.
Lee: I see you were thinking about me right as I was thinking about you. Why won’t you just give in and admit you like me?
Shit! I wasn’t sure what to say in response, but a second message popped up before I could even consider a sensible answer. Something that’d make him keep his distance tomorrow.
Lee: Do you have your dick in your hand right now too? We could jerk off together.
What the hell? That was wildly inappropriate of him!
I closed the chat and tossed my phone aside, clenching my fists as I fought unwanted arousal in response to his words.
It’s not him. It’s not because of him. It’s just his words.
I’m a teenage boy, so of course that made me horny, but not because it came from him.
He’s a boy. I can’t like a boy. My god, our church would crucify me. My parents would crucify me.
The phone buzzed again, and despite myself, I grabbed it and swiped the screen, accessing the message. A picture downloaded. Of his hand gripping his cock. FUCK.