Chapter 12 Demi
Demi
About A Year Ago…
“What is it Demi?” Mom asks from the couch, her voice shaky and uncertain. “You’re scaring me.”
My ass is planted firmly in the old wingback chair across from her and my father.
My ankles are crossed, like the lady I was raised to be, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
I’ve placed them palm down on my thighs but if they shake anymore, it’ll be obvious how nervous I am, and if my mother notices, I’m done for.
“Nancy,” my father responds coolly. She’s the one that’s always overreacting and he’s always reigning her back in. “Let’s not freak out just yet. Let her say what she came here to say.”
Here’s the thing. I’ve been trying to tell my parents the biggest news of my life… for years. The problem is… everything in this house–and neighborhood–revolves around religion and the church. I’m pretty sure I already know what they’ll say when I tell them.
‘God doesn’t approve.’
I’m just so fucking tired of living a lie… consequences be damned. Maybe, I’m about to be damned, but with the way I feel inside, I figure I’ll be damned either way.
Here goes nothing.
“Mom… Dad… I’m gay.” Suddenly, a weight feels lifted. Okay. That wasn’t so bad.
I look to my mother and catch her slow blinking, mouth gaped. “What do you mean?” she asks.
What the hell? I know for a fact she knows what ‘gay’ means. She’s spent more than one holiday trying to pray the gay away every time she finds out someone–whether she knows them, or not–is attracted to the same sex.
“What do I mean?” I parrot. “I’m a lesbian. I’m attracted to women, Mom… not men.”
“Are you sure?” she asks and I can’t help but turn to my father, hoping for a little assistance. When our eyes meet, he immediately looks away and my heart cracks at the blatant rejection. “How do you actually know? You’ve never brought a boy home.”
She’s right. I’ve never brought a boy home.
I actually thought there was something wrong with me until Suzie Taylor, the most popular girl in school, kissed me behind the bleachers senior year.
The amount of moisture that pooled between my thighs as her tongue danced with mine, had to be a world record or something.
I should probably leave that part out of this particular conversation, though.
Something tells me they won’t appreciate it as much as I did.
It was both the best and loneliest moment of my life.
Realizing I was gay was like finding the missing piece of my life puzzle. It was also the moment I knew I had to start hiding myself from the world. This town… my family… you don’t get to be gay within either.
It even took me a solid six months to tell CeCe. Until now, she’s the only other person that’s known my secret.
The looks on my parents' faces make me wish I’d kept it to myself a little longer.
“Demi.” Mom states matter-of-factly. “You know God doesn’t approve of homosexuality.”
Called it.
“Respectfully, I don’t give a fuck what God or anyone else thinks.
” I’ve never raised my voice to my parents, but I can’t stop myself.
The pressure in my chest deflates a little and it’s like I can finally breathe again.
It’s been so long. My tone softens a little as I continue. “I’m tired of living a lie.”
“Honey… you’re just confused. It happens to a lot of young girls and boys.”
“Mother, stop.” I shout, releasing another bit of weight that’s been holding me down for far too long. “I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown woman.”
“Elijah, will you please talk some sense into your daughter?”
My father regards me for a brief moment and I could swear I see a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. But just like every other argument I’ve had with my parents, he always takes her side. He can’t even be a man and stand up to his own goddamn wife.
“Demi,” my father pleads. “Please, let’s just talk about this like adults.”
I can’t fucking believe this.
“You know what, Dad? I expected this from her.” I point accusingly at my mother and she jumps back like I’m going to hit her.
I wish I was so brave. “Of all people, I figured you would be the one to accept me as I am, despite what this fucked up cult of a neighborhood, the church or mom had to say about it.”
“Don’t blame your father, dear.” Mom stands and walks toward me, her heels clacking against the wood flooring, sharper with every step.
Her arms cross delicately over her chest as she leers down at me.
“He may not say it like I do, but I can assure you he agrees with me. If you insist on choosing this for yourself, then you can do it alone. There’s no room for you here. ”
My bravery begins to wane as what she’s saying sinks in. My blood pressure picks up the pace. She’s waiting for me to respond, but all I want to do is get some fresh air. I can’t breathe in this stuffy ass house.
Tears well up behind my eyelids and I do my best to choke it back. I can’t let her see me cry. “Dad?” I whisper, pleading with him to see reason since my mother clearly doesn’t. “Are you going to let her do this?”
“I’m sorry, Demi,” he finally responds. His words almost sound sincere.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“And when I say you do it alone, that also means no inheritance, no trust fund… nothing. You defy me in this and you’re cut off.” Her voice is calm but stern, leaving nothing up for interpretation.
Now, my father won’t even look at me.
“I guess that’s it then,” I answer, not so confidently, but knowing they’ve left me no choice.
“But you should know. Being gay doesn’t make me less than you.
It doesn’t make me evil. At the end of the day, whether you claim me or not, I’m still your daughter.
I don’t know when, but one day, you’ll regret choosing religion and God over your own fucking daughter.
I don’t need your money. I don’t need anything from either of you. It’s time I chose me for a change.”
About Six Months Later…
“Wanna tell me what’s got you so upset today, Demetria?” Dr. Adler asks for the third time.
I know what she’s doing.
She wants me to give my emotions a seat at the table, so they can have their moment and then go on their merry way.
Blah, blah, blah. Insert eyeroll here. It just doesn’t feel quite as simple as she makes it out to be.
I get that emotions are complex, but when you add family trauma and religious bullshit to the equation, things tend to get a little more complicated.
“No, I really don’t,” I push back. Not like it’ll matter. She’s fucking relentless.
She uncrosses her legs just to cross them the other way and I swear I see the tiniest hint of white underwear on the quick pass between switching legs.
Fuck me, why did I have to pick the hottest therapist in Kansas City.
Dr. Adler is a literal smokeshow, with her auburn hair tied into a tight bun in the back, leaving only a few tendrils to hang down on each side.
Her emerald eyes flash bright, despite having to do so through those glasses.
But it’s those fucking pencil skirts that get me every single time.
In my fantasies, she wears them just for me.
“Demetria.” She repeats my name again and my heart skips a beat at the way she says it.
I hate my full name. I always have and I don’t let anyone use it.
Well… except for CeCe when she’s being a fucking brat.
But the way Dr. Adler says it… it’s like she’s making love to each letter as it passes over her tongue and my vagina is happy to allow her each and every one.
Fuck, I need to get laid.
It’s been way too long and now I’m lusting over my therapist. I’m the shittiest of humans.
I came here for her help, so I could truly get past the shit my parents put me through and now look at me.
I’m a drooling mess and perpetually wet every time I sit on this couch across from her in that damn chair.
“Yes, Dr Adler,” I reply, my tone full of sarcasm.
She cocks her brow in response and I’m suddenly aware of all my parts.
“Demetria, we’ve discussed this. If you want to move past your trauma, you need to start by acknowledging your feelings. Let them have a seat at the table.”
Called that one. She loves to talk about feelings. I get that I’m the one that came to her for help, but it’s harder than I thought it would be and for some reason, I’m feeling uncooperative today.
“What if I don’t want to give them a seat? What if I’d prefer to stuff them as far down into my soul as I can and forget they ever existed?”
She leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee and cradling her chin with her fingers. “I don’t think that’s what you really want, Demetria.”
“You’re right,” I admit, reluctantly. “I do want to get past this. And I know you’re about to tell me how far I’ve come, but it hurts.
My parents disowned me because I’m gay. I thought I was fine with it, but I was wrong.
My own fucking parents. How am I supposed to get the rest of the way without it hurting so fucking much?
Maybe, I’m just supposed to live with this. ”
The tears sting the backs of my eyelids, threatening to break through, but I swallow the accompanying lump that’s formed in my throat and will them to go the fuck away. Crying for my parents feels like I’m letting them win.
“There are a lot of ways to release this last bit of sadness and resentment you’re holding onto that don’t involve speaking the words. Maybe another way would be better suited to your needs.”
“Like what?”
“Well… you could try acupuncture, meditation, martial arts.” She lists them off quickly, then pauses for a moment too long before finishing her thought. “A lot of people also find rather significant emotional release through engaging in BDSM-related activities.”
She says the last part cautiously, like she’s not sure she should be suggesting it, but it’s clear by the slight flush in her cheeks that this is her favorite of the options she’s presented.
Now, I’m curious.