Young Writers Society

Rhys opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling and focusing all of his sleep-laden energy into listening to his dads and his brother talking downstairs.

"Are you sure you and your sister will be okay while we're gone?" Pop didn't bother to keep his voice low, the word 'sister' seeming to ring out across the entire household.

"Brother," Ethan corrected automatically, eliciting a drawn-out sigh from his Pop. There was the sound of the kitchen sink running for just a moment before the tap was turned off again.

"Rhys and I will be fine," Ethan said, in the same voice he always used to convince their dads to let him go out to a party or pick up an extra shift at the diner. "You guys go have fun in New Zealand."

"It's not just fun," his Dad reminded him, and Rhys heard the unmistakable sound of Dad's work boots stepping heavily across kitchen tile. "We're actually going to be working too, you know."

"The super gay film directors," Ethan conceded. "I know."

Pop sighed. "Just make sure your sister - "

"Brother," Ethan corrected.

"Brother," Pop's wince was evident in his voice, "stays out of trouble."

Not much noise after that, until with a rush of relief Rhys heard the front door open and close. He climbed out of bed as noiselessly as he could, making his way downstairs.

"About damn time," Ethan shot him a glance as he shuffled into the kitchen, then let out a snort. "Nice PJ's."

Rhys frowned and glanced downward; he was wearing one of Ethan's old shirts and a pair of Nike sweatpants with the legs cuffed, one sock. "Yeah."

"You could have at least said goodbye to them you know," Ethan told him as Rhys got his favorite cereal down from its place on top of the fridge. Rhys moved around him, pulling a bowl down from the cabinet and pouring himself a bowl of Lucky Charms.

"They'll be back in six months anyway," he muttered in reply to his brother. "It's not like they're gonna be gone forever."

"Still."

"Maybe if they tried a little harder on pronouns, I'd actually want to be around them," Rhys said dryly, adding milk to his marshmallow concoction and carrying his bowl to the table. He sat down and put his spoon in, swirling the cereal around as he stared at it. He sighed, feeling Ethan staring at him, from the purple bags under his eyes to the green and blue bruise blooming across the back of Rhys' left hand.

"They're trying, Rhys. Nobody's going to be perfect about it right away."

"It's been a year," Rhys said, and what was supposed to come out as a snap just came out exhausted sounding instead. He dropped his spoon, letting it clatter against the edge of his bowl as he buried his face in his hands.

"Rough night?" Ethan asked, leaning with his back against the counter and nursing his glass of water in one hand. "Notice you didn't come in until late."

"What are you, a fuggin' cop?" Rhys mumbled into his hands, swiping them up to push his hair out of his face before finally taking his first bite of his breakfast.

"Just someone concerned about his little brother," Ethan corrected, watching Rhys shovel Lucky Charms into his mouth. Rhys only chewed and swallowed in reply.

"I'm just saying, Rhys, staying out at all hours of the night, on a school night - "

"I'm up in time, aren't I?" Rhys snapped. "Besides, I'm eighteen soon. It's not like I need a curfew," he stood, carrying his unfinished bowl to the garbage can and scraping the remains of his cereal into it. "Or a babysitter, for that matter."

He poured the remaining milk into the sink and set the bowl down on the counter, stomping past Ethan and upstairs to his room to get ready for school.

Roseman High was a block cube, square in perimeter and three stories tall. Normal looking high school, all things considered, but to Rhys the place was nothing more than Hell.

It had been getting more and more unbearable since he came out around Halloween of last year. Before that, he could slip through the crowd unnoticed. Now, however, he couldn't go anywhere without being shoved, called a dyke or tranny, catcalled with vulgarity or grabbed in places he really shouldn't be.

Thankfully he had managed today to get into the building and to his locker without any incident, where he stood now in front of his open locker door and tried to fight his nausea. He was wearing his usual three layers - binder, t-shirt and hoodie - and had even used a packer today, anything to alleviate his overwhelming dysphoria. Still, he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, dissociating so hard it was like his mind was eight blocks away while his prison of flesh wandered Roseman High's halls.

He began to rifle through the books in his locker, his hands shaking hard with need. If he didn't get a hit soon, withdrawals were going to start. Muttering an expletive under his breath, he zipped up his backpack and shouldered it, taking a moment to look himself over in the mirror hanging on the inside of his locker door. He looked more like shit than usual, his lightning grey eyes empty. His jet-black hair was tucked away neatly beneath a beanie, the tips of his ears still pink from the chilly October morning. He sighed, closed his locker door, and made his way to his first period classroom.