Disorder

Disorder, part 5 – The Game

The gates of the Lakeview Estates opened and let our cars through. We passed several large mansions with immaculately manicured lawns and flowerbeds. Even the large spaces in between the lots were trimmed to perfection. The entire community was Edenic. And it was my prison.

Our home wasn't the largest in the community, nor was it in a very prominent location, but my mother ran it like it was the most important place on the planet. I don't mean that in a sentimental `our home is the most important place to us' sort of way. No, she treated it like it was the center of the universe and held the entire community together, like everyone within a thousand miles would be lost if she wasn't there.

I'd never minded the money and influence before. In fact, I'd rather enjoyed the perks. Now, however, it was going to be my jailer. The money, the power, the influence – none of it was mine. Those were the tools of the enemy. If I was going to beat her, I would have to be creative and find new tools.

We pulled into the driveway and the driver opened the door for my mother and I. As we stepped out, the front door was opening for us. There was no one there, but my mother had a remote to open the front door and make it look like we could afford a butler, too. She strutted through the door, and I followed. It was time to play the game.

I knew, once we were inside, that running to my room would hurt my cause. Any childish or overemotional behavior would give her more ammunition to use against me. She needed me to be a child, in need of her protection. To counter that, I had to be as mature and self-sufficient as possible. Those were the only weapons I had at the moment.

"I'm going to lie down for a while," I told her. "Also, my school books and homework are still in the hospital room. I will need those if I'm to keep up with my classes. There's also a bag of comic books that a friend brought me still in the room. Those would be nice to have as well, if that's allowed."

My mother bristled at those last few words. By requesting permission for simple luxuries, I had just told her I knew I was her captive. She gave me a deceptively warm smile. "Why ever would I not let you read some comic books," she improvised. "You're free to do everything a normal fourteen-year-old boy would do.

Inside I growled at the word `normal.' It was a good move on her part, though. She could monitor and decide what was normal, and could police anything she didn't like. That gave her a lot of control, and took a lot away from me.

"Does that mean I can have friends over?" I asked.

"Not Shawn," she said quickly. Did she really think I was so bad at this game that I'd start with the deal-breaker?

I wanted to be sarcastic, to point out that I wasn't stupid, but that would be rude, and rude would get me sent to my room with no progress having been made. Instead, I merely ignored her statement and went on with my original plan. Moving forward without acknowledging a comment was the same thing as calling it stupid, but without actually saying it, so the sentiment could be denied. "I was thinking Todd, for one. He's a senior, and varsity quarterback. He promised to bring me my homework, but it might help me pass the time if I had a friend over."

My mother's face showed that she knew there was a catch, but everything I'd said about Todd was what she wanted me to be. "If he's not a part of that filthy lifestyle, he should be welcome to visit."

I wanted to sigh at her. Once again, she wasn't giving me enough credit. I knew what was off limits in this negotiation. Who did she think she was dealing with? I buried the sigh and answered her normally. "Yes, he's straight, with a girlfriend," I told her. Just to avoid hearing her say that to me every time, I decided to give her some free information. "I only know of three gay people personally: Shawn, Rhys, and myself."

"You're not gay," she interjected. Time for another verbal ignore.

"And, since you don't want me associating with my own kind, I'll only be suggesting straight people." I knew she'd caught it that time, and I could see her getting angry, but she refused to shout. Open anger weakened a person's position in the game, unless it was part of the gambit. In fact, part of the game was to try and make your opponent lose their cool. I was getting the upper hand. It was now time to press the less appealing options to her, since she was getting off-balance. "There's Mark, too. He's also a senior. He and Todd are fighting over the same girl. Oh yes, and Kyle, too: Shawn's straight friend. You met him in the hospital."

"I don't know about that last one," she said. "He seemed like a nice enough boy, but the other one might be able to influence you through him." Now she was calling Shawn `the other one.' Subtle, mother.

"Alright, I won't press that option, but I might ask again if I get really bored or lonely." If you allow the other person small victories, it makes them more likely to grant some in return. "Oh, and of course Magdalena."

"Of course."

"She'll want to bring her boyfriend as well, but I doubt that will be a problem for you. They are, after all, a normal heterosexual couple." I didn't think I left her any wiggle room with Cornelius.

"Probably not the best idea for a while," my mother said. "You still have this notion that you're gay, and you already admitted to being attracted to Magdalena's boyfriend. I think it would be for the best, only until we can get those thoughts out of your head, to keep that sort of temptation away."

I felt my face get hot. She thought she was going to `cure' me of being gay? "You can't cure gay," I told her with venom. "And I don't know any boys my age I'm not attracted to. I haven't been in this school long enough to really make friends, other than the guys who came to visit me in the hospital, and all of them are hot!" My mouth had just run away with my anger. I knew I was screwed as soon as I finished yelling.

My mother smiled slowly. "We should probably limit your visitors to females for the time being, then. You'll thank me when we get your problem fixed for you. You'll be normal and healthy again in no time. She patted me on the head and walked away. It was a humiliating defeat, a crippling loss, and it brought me one step closer to death. The worst part of it was the head patting.

I went upstairs to my room. The guard stayed at the foot of the stairs, and I was sure there would be another one at the second staircase, along with someone watching my window, just to make sure no one went in or out that way.

It didn't matter much. I had no plans. All I was after now was a hot shower, clean clothes, and a good dinner. These, I knew I could look forward to. My mother needed to look like a model parent, so I knew I would be treated well, aside from the oppression. I cleaned up and got dressed, trying to think of how I could pull all of this out of the garbage.

I wondered if my mother could possibly be right. Could I change what I was? Could I flip this disease to the straight version? The thought made me sick to my stomach. Being gay was a part of who I was, and I liked me. Other people were liking me now, too. Back in middle school, I'd always been with Magda, since she knew about me and was safe.

Then I went to high school. Since my parents now had to pay for college tuition for Noah, I had to go to public school. My mother had ranted and raved about it. Hell, we were on the same team for that one. I didn't want to go to a different school than Magda. In the end, though, the numbers won out. Either I had to go to a public school, or Noah would have to quit college. According to the financial aid people, our family was too well off to get help, so we had to hope for a wrestling scholarship for Noah. When that had fallen through, our family had to cover the difference without backup. Noah was the only family I could stand; I wanted him to do well in life.

I sighed. I was getting nowhere and was thinking in circles. I tried to watch TV for a while, but there was nothing interesting on. I ended up playing on my X-box for a while, mindlessly killing time before dinner. My mother, father, and I were all silent through the meal. Afterward, I just went back to my room. I tried checking my email, but there was no internet connection. My phone was probably still at the hospital with the rest of my things, though I doubted that that particular item would find its way home anytime soon. I was alone, cut off, and bored.

I spent two days in that state. Monday and Tuesday crept by. I knew my days were limited, but I couldn't think of any way to get help. My only visitors on those days were my mother's hired professionals. Despite her horrible bigotry, she was making a true effort to get me cured. The doctors did blood work and ran tests on me. The psychiatrists tried to turn me. I listened to them, God help me – I was that desperate to live. The problem was, I didn't have it in me to change my nature. I did their mental exercises, but afterward I still wanted guys. Even if a conversion were possible, I didn't think a week would be enough time to get reprogrammed. The therapist on Monday agreed with me and promised to bring it up with my mother. He was replaced the next day with someone more complain to my mother's wishes.

I'd also heard guests come for me and get turned away by security. They even got to Magdalena when she and Cornelius came over. When they told her Cornelius wasn't welcome, she stormed off. I understood her anger, but it still made me sad. I really needed a friend to talk to.

It wasn't until Wednesday that I got my wish. A girl was allowed to come up and see me. She knocked on my door and it swung open on its own. It hadn't been latched. She was very pretty in a sexy librarian sort of way. Her hair was pulled up into a stylish up-do, and she was wearing a very nice women's suit, yet she looked like she was still in high school. She had my book-bag in her hand. "Come on in."

She strode into my room and set my bag on my bed. "I left the bag of comics downstairs. The whole lot was getting heavy." He voice was much more developed and mature than I had thought it would be.

"Thanks for bringing my stuff. I'm Rich."

She looked around my room, taking it all in. "You sure are," she said. "For someone with so much stuff, you sure do mope a lot." The girl only just met me and she was already judging me.

"They're just things. They don't mean much when I'll be dead in a few days," I said. I couldn't bring myself to muster any enthusiasm. "I didn't catch your name. Did my mother call you over?"

She stepped over to me. I still hadn't gotten out of my chair, but she reached out her hand to me. "Bernadette St. James, at your service, and no, your mother didn't send me. I sent myself." I looked at her and blinked in response, waiting for her reason for coming to me. She wasn't forthcoming with information, like she just wanted me to start talking to her.

"Do you go to my school?" I asked.

She rifled through her purse for a moment and pulled out her student ID. "Yes, I'm a senior there," she said.

"And you're here because...?"

She looked at me with a slightly confused expression, then her face changed as if she caught on to something. "Of course you wouldn't know who I am yet, since you haven't been in school long enough. I'm the voice of the school, and the star reporter. I'm here for an interview." I sat there speechless. I literally had no reaction for that little bombshell. Bernadette looked at me, obviously waiting for me to respond. "OK then. Deer in headlights. Do you want a moment to let it sink in, or should I leave?"

I shook my head quickly to clear the cobwebs. "Can I have a second or two to decide if a story will help me out?"

"You sure can," she said with a perky smile, placing her hand on my leg for a quick pat. Then she stood up and closed the door to my room. Choosing a seat near me, she reached into her purse and pulled out a phone to record us.

"You're confident," I said.

"You're desperate," she replied.

"You're correct. I'm in. I'll be dead in a few days, so it's time for a Hail-Mary. What do you want to know first?"

"Are you actually gay?" she asked.

"Yes, I am gay." I was surprised at how easy it was becoming to say it.

"Good. That was the hardest and most personal question. How tell me the rest." She was an immensely good listener, only interrupting to have me clarify a statement, or to expand on something she was curious about. All in all, she made it very easy to talk to her.

"So how do you know you can tell if someone is slightly attracted to you? Has someone surprised you with that?"

I gave her a look and held up my hand, asking her visually not to dig into that one more than what I was about to say. "Just a nurse at the hospital." I shook my head to show her that it wasn't the truth, but since it was what I said on the recording, that's what I was willing to go with. She nodded in understanding. It wasn't my secret to tell. There was no need to drag Kyle into this.

"Do you think your mother is trying to kill you?"

"I think that she is placing her reputation above my well-being, and that is going to get me killed in the end. But no, I don't think she actually wants me to die."

"So it's a big game of politics, and you're the pawn?"

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head. "I don't really like that analogy," I told her. "It implies that I'm not making any moves of my own. I'm the rival player right now, but the stakes are my life. If she wins, I die, but she's too stubborn to admit it."

"Well said, Rich. I might use that one verbatim in my story. You're sure you don't mind me outing you, do you?"

"No," I stated. I was done being in the closet. "At this point, coming out may be my only salvation."

"Perfect. This story might just save your life, and get me into the college of my choice. I think I may have everything I need." She pulled the SIM card out of her phone and tucked it into her sock, the put the phone into her purse. She already knew her phone was going to have an `accident.'

"If I live though this, I'll buy you a new phone," I told her.

She smiled at me, and it was genuine. "You really are sweet," she said. "When the doctor told me your story, I didn't believe him at first. I'm glad I took a chance on the tip." Lassiter! The man was really coming through for me.

"I'm glad as well. Even if he's been forced off of the case, he's still looking out for me."

Bernadette shook my hand and we said our goodbyes. She left purposefully and headed down the stairs. If there was going to be an altercation over the phone, it didn't look like it was going to happen in the house. I heard her exit without issue.

And suddenly I was alone again.

At least I had something meaningful to do now. It was probably a good sign I wanted to keep up with my schoolwork. I took out a book at random and started reading. I realized right away that it wasn't working for me. I had no direction and no idea what I was supposed to be learning from the history book before me. Well, history, obviously, but what would the teacher think was the most important information? I needed a tutor, or at least some really good notes.

I got up and left my room, going down the stairs. One of the guards moved to stop me and I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not allowed to use the entire house?"

The guard looked sheepish. "Only following orders, sir."

I sighed. "This isn't going to work. Keep the exits covered, and one of you can even tag along with me while I'm downstairs, but you really don't need to confine me to the second floor."

"You sound like Mrs. Talbaine," the guard said with a chuckle.

"So I've been told," I said. "Is she around? I need to talk to her. That's why I came down here in the first place.

He motioned for me to follow him and we walked to my mother's study. He knocked softly and my mother's voice admitted him from the other side. "Rich is here to see you."

"He's supposed to stay upstairs," she said.

"Really?" I asked walking into the room and standing directly in front of her desk. "I can't even come downstairs in my own home? You're taking this prisoner thing a little far, aren't you?"

"Nonsense, dear. You're sick and you need your rest. I don't want you getting yourself tired out on the stairs." She must have had that response prepared already.

"Convenient," I said. "I'll be fine until the energy drain kicks in again, and that's still a few days off. Anyway, that's not why I'm here. I need a tutor; someone who knows what's going on in my classes and what my teachers expect from me. You can choose who, just so long as they can do the job correctly."

Her mouth twitched into a smile. Did I just make her proud of me? I sighed inwardly. Not only had I just made a perfectly reasonable and desirable request, I had done it the same way she would have done it: direct and to the point. "Done," she said. But she couldn't let it drop with that. "I'm glad you're coming around to the fact that you're going to have to make plans for the future, because you're going to live."

The smile I put on my face in response was vicious on purpose. "Yes, mother, I do intend to live, despite your efforts to kill me." I turned and walked out, back up toward my room. I wasn't giving her the option of a rebuttal. The guard stopped following me once I started up the stairs.

"You're so much alike," he said, "and you both scare the shit out of me."

"Thank you," I said, before realizing I'd just taken that as a compliment. I shook my head and returned to my room.

The next chapter might take longer unless I have a breakthrough. I know what's going to happen overall, and a lot of the interesting detours along the journey, but I'm not sure how I want to approach the upcoming showdown. If Bernadette's article goes out on Thursday, and the disease kicks back in on Sunday, I need to figure out what I want to have happen in between, or the story will come to a very abrupt end. Here's the issue: if it's a win for Rich, then I lose the villain and a lot of upcoming plans with her. If it's a win for his mother, Rich dies – the end. I need a middle solution that's just not coming to me. Any ideas?

As always, contact me at academygm@hotmail.com . Without a counter that tracks page views, email contact is the only way nifty writers know anyone is paying attention. It's also like crack to us, so, you know, hook a brother up, yo.

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