A/N: Hey, everyone. I've been gone way too long. If you follow me on Twitter or Tumblr, you'd that I've been gone completely for about…well about two weeks. I've just been dealing with some issues. Personally, I'm all better now. I'm managing just fine. Um…here's what happened. This fic is just an explanation for my absence that I feel you all deserve. Everything is word for word and happened exactly the way it says. I just changed my name to Logan in it so that it'd be fanfic. Hope you guys aren't mad at me for being gone so long. At first it was because I was just lazy. But the last two weeks I've been gone from Twitter, Tumblr, FanFic, the entire fandom because of what you're about to read. I just needed time to think. I hope you'll understand.

"Bye, guys! Thanks for the ride! See you Monday!"

I walked into the apartment tired, but still happy. Carlos, Kendall, James, and I had just got back from a fair. I was volunteering when they came by and fooled around. Needless to say, we had a little too much fun.

"LOGAN! YOUR ROOM IS A GOD DAMN MESS! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND CLEAN THIS SHIT UP!"

I sighed. 'And so it begins,' I tell myself. My dad was off of work this entire week. Mom was home, too. So was Phoebe. "Alright! I'll get right on it!" I called as I walked by Phoebe, patting her on the head while she watched her cartoons.

I went straight to my room to start cleaning. It really did become a mess. Lately, school had become a little stressful. The end of first semester was near. Projects, exams, and homework just piled on and piled on. Plus gymnastics and community service work, I was getting only 2 to 4 hours of sleep every night.

I picked up the pile of clothes and placed it on my desk. Most of it wasn't dirty. But they wound up on the floor from me rushing around in the mornings trying to get to school on time in a decent outfit. I just folded most of it and threw the rest into the laundry basket in the closet.

When that was done, I moved back to my desk. Textbooks, scrap paper, printed documents, pens, pencils, eraser shavings, and empty coffee mugs littered the entire surface. I'd become used to staying up until sunrise working on essays and models.

Anyway, the mess was easily dealt with and I moved on to my bed. Bed made quickly. I was in a bit of a rush. Little Phoebe was watching TV and not joking with dad…meaning he'd been drinking. Don't get me wrong. He's a great dad. Works from noon till 2 in the morning every day to support us. He just…gets really mad when he drinks. It's disgusting.

I began scanning the room for anything I may have missed. Bed made, desk clear, floor not littered with clothing, closet-

"LOGAN!" I turned around to see my dad standing in the doorway. He wasn't drunk on his ass and stumbling all over the place, but he sure had a good grip on that doorknob. "WHY THE HELL IS IT ALWAYS SO DAMN MESSY IN HERE? I TOLD YOU TO CLEAN UP! WHY ISN'T IT CLEAN YET?"

I was kind of annoyed now. This place was pretty neat to me. I had to keep my tone even, though. Just a hint of attitude would set him off. I'd know… "Dad, I have been cleaning. I just got in here and started."

"STARTED! YOU'RE ALWAYS JUST 'STARTING' TO CLEAN OR COOK OR EVERYTHING! YOU'RE TOO DAMN OLD FOR THIS, LOGAN! GROW UP! GET YOUR SHIT STRAIGHT!"

My hands twitched at my sides. I was fighting to not close them. I once dared to clench my fists at my sides…he went berserk. "Dad! I have been cleaning, okay? I just barely got home! I've been working all day at the fair and I'm a little tired!"

"WORKING. YOU'RE ALWAYS GOD DAMN WORKING! WORKING, MY ASS! YOU THINK IT'S SO HARD? ALL YOU'VE DONE ALL DAY IS STAND IN A BOOTH AND WORK CARNIVAL GAMES!"

"Alright, dad. I'm sorry. It's clean now, though. Can we just drop it?" I really shouldn't have asked to drop it. He hated it. But I was tired and I just wanted to go to bed and so I took a risk.

"CLEAN? YOU CALL THIS SHIT CLEAN? LOOK AT YOUR DESK! THERE'S DUST ALL OVER YOUR FUCKING MONITOR! AND BEHIND YOUR PRINTER! HAVE YOU EVEN LOOKED BACK THERE? YOUR WINDOWS NEED TO BE FUCKING WIPED AND YOUR FUCKING LAUNDRY BASKET IS FULL!" I groaned inwardly. He was always looking at the little things.

"GOD! YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING FAILURE, LOGAN!" That hurt. "Dad! Please just calm down! I've been working all day. I'm tired. I'll get it done."

"YOU'RE TIRED! YOU'RE ALWAYS TIRED! YOU KNOW WHAT? QUIT THAT COMMUNITY SERVICE CLUB SHIT! I DON'T WANT YOU WORKING ANY MORE! YOU DON'T NEED COMMUNITY SERVICE HOURS!"

I was getting emotional way too fast. "Dad! I'm not going to quit it! I need that club! It's first semester and I've already gotten over 200 hours! Colleges look at this! And if I want to run for Club President, I need to be at all of the events!"

"YOU DON'T FUCKING NEED THAT SHIT! QUIT!" He never understood how much Key Club meant to me. That's where I made most of my friends in high school…well, other than Kendall, Carlos, and James. And colleges really do look at extracurriculars. Key Club is freakin' international. And it's just amazing. He didn't understand that. He didn't understand that staying up late, coming home late, waking up early to finish homework, and working on a tight schedule was how my life worked. I mean, he'd be asleep when I woke up and left to school. I'd barely be asleep when he got home. We never saw each other except Sundays.

Suddenly he's home for a week, sees my lifestyle, and thinks it's a "new" thing that he needs to fix. Anyway, I was getting really, really emotional. My eyes began to water and all I could think was, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Just hurry up, finish yelling, and leave! I don't need to be crying in front of you!' I hated crying in front of anyone. Especially, my dad. He just made it worse. He never looked deeper or tried to figure out if something else is going on. He could only see the surface of my problems.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CRYING?" He began to lower his voice. He may hate me crying, but it still calmed him down a little bit. Tears tend to have that effect on people. "Stop crying. You're a guy. Girls cry. Not you!"

There they were. The trigger words that always kill me. I broke right then. Something just snapped. I had a breakdown. Tears poured down my face. My voice would hitch in my throat as I tried to speak, "I'M JUST UNDER A LOT OF STRESS, OKAY? I HAVE A LOT OF SCHOOL WORK, TESTS EVERYDAY IN EVERY CLASS, AND A LOT OF VOLUNTEER WORK! AND YOU STAY HOME FOR A FEW DAYS AND DO NOTHING, BUT YELL AT ME FOR SOMETHING AS STUPID AS A DIRTY ROOM? I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR CLEANING! I'M BUSY TRYING TO MAINTAIN MY GRADES, DO EXTRA CREDIT, BECOME PRESIDENT OF MY CLUB, AND POLISH MY SCHOOL RECORD! IT'S WHAT YOU WANT! NONE OF MY TEACHERS, SUPERVISORS, OR EVEN COACHES YELL AT ME! THEY ALL TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG AND WHAT I NEED TO FIX! IT WORKS! BUT ALL YOU DO IS YELL! ALL THE FUCKING TIME! I'M FINE WITH THE WORK LOAD FROM SCHOOL! I COME HOM EVERY DAY, HAPPY! BUT THEN YOU COME ALONG AND WITH JUST A FEW WORDS YOU MANAGE TO BREAK ME DOWN TO TEARS! I CAN'T TAKE IT! I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT! I CAN'T TAKE DISAPPOINTING YOU AND MOM!"

I was breathing heavily when I finished. Tears continued to cascade down my face. My fists were now completely clenched and the knuckles were white. That last part that I said actually surprised me. I couldn't believe I let that slip out. It wasn't my big secret. But it was part of it.

That's the thing with us gay kids. Or…at least that's the deal with me, a guy that happens to be gay. Maybe not all gays are like me. I just can't take disappointment. I've broken down so many times in the past. Report cards with A-'s and B's…my dad…he'd just say things like, "Oh, what's with this grade? Why is it not an A+?" or "Stop that. It's gay." I just nod, walk to my room, and bury my face in a pillow and yell at the top of my lungs.

Maybe that's just the thing with us gay kids. We can't take disappointment. We worry that our parents won't love us because of who we are, and so we try so hard to be better. If we can't change our orientation, we could at least do everything else to make them proud…proud enough to just continue to love us when we come out. To not think about us as different, or sick, or gay…but as the same kid they raised, loved, and the same kid that worked so hard to make them happy. And so, we can't take disappointment. At least…I can't take disappointment. Who knows? Maybe other gay kids don't have this problem.

And when he yells. That's when I completely fall apart. Hasn't happened lately, but damn…when it does. I just can't take disappointment.

He was shocked by my outburst. I've never raised my voice at him. Ever. But that shock didn't change much. He just said, "I cannot believe you right now, Logan. What is wrong with you? All I want is to help you! You're putting too much pressure on yourself! I'm your dad! I yell! Jesus, stop acting like a damn girl!" There it was again… "I'm going to leave this room and give you some time to think. Obviously, you are overreacting about nothing. Stop your crying and finish cleaning. I mean it, Logan."

The door closed while my eyes were still shut. I let out the biggest breath I'd ever held in my life. I sat down on the bed. Grabbed the pillow. Yelled as loud as I could into it. Then I just sat there. With the pillow, holding it closely. I began thinking about how stupid I was for getting so emotional so quickly. But the pain from disappointing him again kept making itself known.

I don't know why. Maybe it was all the YouTube videos about people successfully coming out I'd been watching lately that made me think this was my opportunity. 'It's simple. Just explain to him. Things will be easier. He'd understand.' I told myself.

As I opened the door to my room and walked down the hallway, I felt like everything was going in slow motion. I wasn't thinking. I was acting irrationally. I wasn't me. I stood in the doorway to the living room.

"Dad…I need to talk to you."

I left without waiting for a reply. He followed me to my room silently. The door was closed.

"Logan…look, you need to-"

"Dad, please. Just listen." I had stopped crying, but my eyes were still watery and red. I had my hand running through my hair over and over again. I was scared like hell.

"The reason…the reason why I…I can't take disappointing you and mom…is because…because…the reason why I can't take disappoint you and mom is…is…is because…I don't know if you and mom already…already know this, but…"

"Logan…"

"I'm gay, Dad!" I said it clearly, and hushed.

He just stood there. I saw something flash across his face, but I couldn't tell what. He just stared at me. I looked away. Down at the floor. I couldn't take it anymore. The staring.

"I just can't take it w-when I make you mad…because I'm scared…scared that if anything doesn't g right…you won't…you won't…that you won't love me when I…tell you this…I just-"

Arms wrapped themselves around me and a hand ran up and down my back. I rested my chin on his shoulder and continued to cry. All I heard was, "Oh my god…oh my god….oh my god, Logan…Logan! Oh my god."

I had no idea what to think. Was he saying that out of relief? Or disappointment? Devastation? Maybe he was relieved because he already knew and thought I was talking about something serious. Or what if he was saying that because he was mad or scared or just disappointed again?

He pulled us apart and held me by the sides of my arms. He looked me in the eyes. "Logan, your mom….your mom and I…we…we have to know these things…of course we've thought about it…"

I let out a breath through my nose in relief. But that relief was short lived.

"Logan," he told me, "you have to be strong, son. You are not 'this way'. Do you understand? You have a bright future! Don't let this get in the way and ruin that! Fight it! Do what you have to and fight it! You're not thinking clearly! Clear your mind, son. Clear your mind! You will NOT be like this. You AREN'T! Just fight it! You will have a wife and kids. Maybe you just see other people like this…just…just FIGHT it. Okay, Logan? Promise me. Promise me, that you will do your best to fight it! Do what you need to stop it! You need to be strong. Okay, Logan?"

My head was spinning. I was so angry, then so scared, and then so relieved…only to be like this…confused again…and then…I was numb. I couldn't feel anything at the moment. My dad just told me to 'fight' it. After years of fighting with myself and finally coming to terms with my sexuality for a few short months…he wants me to fight it again. I didn't know what to feel. I nodded.

"Okay…" He embraced me in a hug again, but I just felt cold. I ignored the tears falling on my shoulder…

HE was crying? It just added to the cold I felt inside. I began to replay what had just happened. We were fighting. Over something as stupid as my messy room. And now, suddenly, I've spilled my deepest, darkest secret. To my fucking DAD of all people.

And he asked me to fight it. Fight who I was. Again.

He finally let go of me. I still hadn't said a word since he asked me to make that promise. I knew I wouldn't follow through, though. I'd been through too many sleepless nights wishing that I was not this way. But I didn't think I could take anymore of the self-loathing. I wouldn't fight. Not anymore. I'd just…go back to hiding in the closet. Dad thought it was a phase anyway. We'd just never speak of it…ever again.

"Listen, just…clear your mind. Leave your room the way it is. Clean up steadily when you can. Just focus on what I told you, alright? Clean a little. Relax. Get some sleep and clear you mind, okay?"

I nodded again. I couldn't say anything. He left the room after that. I sat back down. Hugged a pillow. I tried to cry. It felt like the thing to do. I mean, my dad just rejected me after coming out. And then he asked me to fight it. He wouldn't even acknowledge it. Just referred to me being gay as "it" and "this way". I couldn't cry, though. I was just cold and numb. I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't cry. I wasn't angry. I wasn't really sad. Just numb.

At this point, I really did consider suicide. It's funny. After the whole Trevor Project and "It Gets Better" Movement, I thought I'd never even consider it. I'd even made plenty of friends online that were fully supportive of me. I met other people like me. Both online and in the real world. I was friends with many people that would support me. The online ones made me feel normal and the ones outside of the internet were just examples of how happy I could be. Suicide was stupid to me. But now I really considered it. I thought about how I could just make all of this go away. I didn't want to be in a world where my own parents would reject me. I couldn't be open. I had thought about coming out publically for a few months. Then it became waiting for the right moment. And now, I just wanted to die….die as a "straight". I didn't want to have to deal with all of this anymore. With the fighting. The awkwardness. The depression. The hiding. It'd be easier to end it all.

I began thinking about how to kill myself. Overdosing on some sleeping pills? Blow dryer in the tub? Hanging? Slitting? Jumping off of the roof? Shooting myself. Stabbing myself.

But…I didn't want to die. I still don't. And just like that, killing myself was expelled from my mind. I almost hit myself for even going that far.

Maybe I could run away. Go to a friend's house. But what would I tell them? I ran away because my dad told me to stop being gay? No way. That'd require explanations and worst of all…coming out.

I couldn't believe it. I'd gone through months of debating with myself over coming out to my friends. And now, after being rejected by my own dad, someone who was supposed to love and accept me, I was scared again.

My thoughts were interrupted by my bedroom door opening. I was filled with a little hope when I looked up and saw my dad. The numbness went away a little bit, as I wished with everything I and left that my dad was reconsidering. That he was going to tell me that he was wrong. That he wasn't thinking straight because he was drunk.

"Logan…do any of your friends know? Does anyone know about…this?"

My heart just shattered…again. I was back to being numb. I just shook my head. "Okay…good. Just…keep this to yourself."

I nodded and he left.

I sat there…numb.

A/N: By the way…I'm definitely not going to kill myself. I'm also feeling a lot better and I'm not just saying that. I've decided…FUCK my dad. FUCK anyone who's gonna reject me. I'm happy with who I am. I'm ashamed that it took me two god damn weeks for me to realize that I'm happy with who I am. But I'm glad I didn't keep my father's promise. I might have subconsciously tried to "rid myself of gayness" by going AWOL for two weeks, but I'm glad to say that I'm back. I'm gay. I'm proud of it. And just because I'm feeling so….I don't even know what I'm feeling, but it's a good feeling…I'll just leave you with this: "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK." :)