The first thing Dave sensed was the smell of hospital. His heart sank. Oh, God, who found me? His eyes fluttered open with a tiny groan.
No one was holding his hand.
His mother stood a few feet from his bed, as if she was backing away from a toxic spill. His father was nowhere in sight. His older brother sat sullenly in a chair, staring daggers at him.
"You found the note."
"Honey…"
"What, mom? What? Are you going to tell me that I'm a sinner? That God hates me? Pump me with all that bullshit the people at church say about me?"
"You can change, honey. I-I've found some camps that-"
"I don't want to hear it."
It was silent for a moment; then he spoke.
"Got something to say, Chase?"
His brother's eyes narrowed, disgusted.
"Just say it. I've heard it from everyone else at school."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Fag."
The word hit him like a whip- he could almost feel a welt rising on his face, like the others had. But this was worse. Aside from the fact that this was his brother- his own brother- insulting him, he'd found someone courageous enough to say it to his face. The others would have whispered behind his back, but they wouldn't have confronted him.
"Chase!"
That was his mom.
"Let him say it. I know he's thinking it. Just let him say it."
It was quiet for a long time. Tense, too. Finally, Dave couldn't take it any more.
"Just… leave."
Chase stood swiftly and stalked out of the room. His mother looked at him- a long, concerned look that disgusted him to the core. Before she left, she placed some brochures on his nightstand.
"Think about it. Please."
He stared at the brochures. They seemed to whisper to him.
"You're a fag. You're dirty. Unworthy. God hates you. Everyone hates you. You'll never be able to get married, or have children. Because you're a freak."
Wrapping his hand in his blanket, as if they could burn his skin, he slid the pamphlets off the nightstand into a scattered heap on the floor.
Just let me die.
