IMPORTANTE NOTE: Oh yeah, I take prompts now… Extra deets (a.k.a. details) are in my profile. Anyways….

…

This is written fors a friend as a request fors a prompt. (whispers/giggles like an idiot)
You know who you are .

I'm tryin out new things, expanding mah writing zone, y'know Getting better with every story… hopefully.

Please no hate in teh reviews, it'd be just rude/offensive mang. But I know you guys are coolio, so no worries.

Enjoys mah peeps. :D

My palms sweat as the elevator dings the floors. Every mark of higher elevation makes me want to crawl in a hole. Dad looks down and offers me a smile, patting my back. Still, his face flashes something. Uncertainty? I don't know, but it doesn't help me feel any better.

"Marcy," He starts, then corrects himself immediately."Marshall…" It doesn't stop my mouth from going dry. I.. I know he's trying, so I can't get too frustrated with him. The whole thing is better than I'd hoped. But it still hurts. He pauses to look unsure of what to say next. I can't blame him; he's never been in this situation. I still can't believe I am either.

"It's fine dad" I mumble, faking a reassuring smile. It's so convincing he smiles wider and looks back up. My stomach curves inwards, eating myself from inside out. I hate this feeling. I-I hate it. But it's the only way I can feel right. My thoughts jumble up again as the numbers rise.

DING! The pointed arrow stops at the number 13, freezing all movement. My heart skips a beat, then another and another, as if it's going up a set of stairs by two. All is silent before the door slides gleefully open, to a thin hallway. We begin the trek in that same tense silence. Dad shifts his suitcase from hand to hand, a clear sign that he's nervous.

I stop myself from thinking, 'What does he have to be nervous about? I'm the one having to deal with this.' He still has to deal with his co-workers; I can' be that in considerate. But still, I have to carry the heavy load. As the foyer gets shorter and shorter, my hands get shakier and shakier. To calm my frantic nerves, I run a hand through my hair and when that doesn't help, shove them in my pockets.

He gives me a look, hand on the handle. We both nod at the same time, a consensus, and he pulls it open to the busy workroom. Multiple cubicles litter the front area, leading into full fledged offices in the back couple halls, where dad works. All we have to do is make it to his office. That's it.

My feet hurriedly carry me in front of him. Dad jogs a couple steps before setting a hand on my shoulder to slow down. I exhale deeply and do a little. Frankly I probably do look like a deranged animal, walking all jerky like that. He gets my attention, and from the corner of his eye, he motions by lifting his head a little higher.

I swallow down the lump riding up in my throat and do the same, forcing my gaze up from the floor. I.. Need to be proud of this. Right? –Yes! Right. Pride. I.. need have pride. We pass by the first few cubicles, but most just offer a greeting, barely looking up from their work. I don't know whether to be happy they don't see me head on.

Other than that, the worse is when Ms. Jenny stands to give dad a hug, and some paperwork. When she goes to wave at me, her eyes do that thing I've noticed far too much lately; they glance over, then freeze and look over again as if they saw something different, wrong from before, and then cloud with uncertainty or surprise. She stares at me a half-beat longer than usual, confusion flashing over her features, but then gives a smile to cover up the look. But I saw it. Sometimes I wish I didn't.

"Oh- Marcy. It's… nice to see you today!" She dances around the fact of the day and I wave to relive the added tension. I wish to glob something, anything would just come up and swallow me whole. I motion that I'm leaving and continue on to his office. But for some horrible reason, my ears still hear the conversation I just leave behind.

"Mr. Abadeer, I left the other files on your desk. Most of the other boys are in the media room, and a good portion of the design departments are in a meeting. You'll be needed. Everyone should be coming back together at the end for a little picnic Mr. Walter's arranged, just like last year for the girls."

Dad asks, "What about…" He lingers on my name, internally deciding on how to say it or if he should even say it at all. The thought of the latter hurts more than it should. But.. I guess I get it.

I guess.

I can feel her shrugging nonchalantly behind my back. "Oh. She can go talk to them in there too, since you're office block will be closed. But it's her choice." It replays in my thoughts, each pronoun making me wince.

'Oh. She can go talk to them in there too, since you're office block will be closed. But it's her choice.'

I hurry faster to keep from hearing much more. I dunno if she got it or if she's just purposefully saying how she doesn't agree with it. Verbalizing her disapproval. I'd be lying to say I haven't come across people who are like that.

Heck, when I came out to Wendy, Georgy and Booboo it kinda went like that. Booboo gave the best reaction; by saying a simple, "ok" and just nodding, it was the best I'd ever hoped. Georgy was similar, but gave me a weird look first. I could've gone without that, but nevertheless, it was good too.

Wendy, on the other hand, just put her hands on my shoulders and said, "I love you Marce, don't forget that, and love you through your choices no matter what. Just like when you told us you liked girls a couple years back."

I sighed in relief then, but prematurely, since she continued. "-But I'm not going to change your pronouns and I'm not going to call you by a new name. You're a girl who likes girls, not a boy who likes girls. This is just a fact. You should really rethink this phase your going through before you go telling everyone." I stood there dumbfounded as she then turned back to eating her lunch, like nothing happened. Booboo and Georgy gave me an apologetic look and tried to say something but I was already walking to the door, feeling like my chest was on fire, and like my eyes were sore.

The memory leaves a sour taste in my mouth as I collapse in his office chair, door safely closed off, and blinds drawn. I sneak as much of his secret candy stash, a compilation of chocolate and candy overall that mom won't let him have at home due to a new healthy outlook, before he comes in. He frowns and points at a chocolate smear on my cheek with a raised brow. I quickly smudge it off with my thumb in defeat; he gives me a quick laugh.

"Try being more secretive next time." His suitcase clicks open on the desk, and he digs through files, picking out the right ones absently. "Now I'm going to a meeting on the new revenue coming in." He glances up for a second. "You could either go in the media room with the rest or stay in here. It's your decision and I'm not going to judge you for it."

My stomach does the whole self-cannibal eating thingy again and I feel like curling into a ball. Crap I hate anxiety so much. Hate feeling like this. But I have to endure it. I drum my fingers in thought as he finishes gathering his things.

Dad gives me a brisk nod at my apparent decision to stay, turning to leave when I choke out, "Wait." He looks at me from the door. "I'm, I'm going. I can't hide in your office. Just gotta get it out in the open."

A sudden look of pride flashes over his face and he pulls me in a tight hug when I make it over. I swallow against his chest as he says, "Aww that's my Marshy! Taking problems head on." He kisses my forehead and I flush, looking away. "I'm so proud of you."

"Auhh whatever" I mumble, hands shoved deep in my front pockets. "Where's the darn media room anyway?" He stares at me for an extra moment, looking like one of those anime cutesy faces, complete with huge eyes, wide closed smile, and flush, before returning to normal. 'Gosh... I need to stop watching anime so much.'

"Down the hall, to the right. Near the bathrooms." We leave the office and he locks it; I stare at the action like it's a death sentence. This is it. Not take-backs. "You already know where conference room 3 is. I'll be in there, near the door if you need me. Don't worry everything'll be fine."

I manage a nod and he turns a corner, out of sight. I take a deep breath before following said path, every step feeling like lead is clinging to my legs, dread rising up in my throat. When I'm finally in front, it takes a hella lot of will-power to push it open. My hands still shake anyways.

Inside is a wide room, one part containing a long table and leather wheelie chairs, a mini fridge in the corner, another with a flat screen and gaming console. The rest is composed of couches and boxes filled with other things. A stray door to the side catches my eye, but I figure it's probably just another set of bathrooms.

I take a step in, and the door slams shut behind me, unlike every other door in the place that closes softly automatically. I glance at the hinges and see they're old fashioned. Ahh fuck. All heads turn to look in my direction. I clench and unclench my fist repeatedly, not knowing where to sit or if to even say hi. I mean, there's like about thirty guys in here!

I offer a meager wave and one bright redheaded guy steps up, coming from his spot from the gamming console. Most of the guys seem crowded around there anyways. "Who're you?" He asks, crossing his arms. "My dad said everyone was supposed to be here by 10 anyways."

"Who's your dad."

"Mr. Walters. Everyone else's boss." He smirks and I already decide I hate him. "So, like I said, who are you?"

"Who're you?"

His eye twitches. "Ricky. Now who the fuck are you?" His voice raises, and I realize I better stop dodging the question.

"Marshall Lee."

"Which parent of yours works here?"

"My dad." He frowns at my vague answers. I plead with my eyes for him not to press further, yet at the same time, my whole posture seems to say, 'fuck it I don't care.' He probably goes off of my posture to do exactly that; press further.

"Who's your dad?" He finally asks.

I swallow. 'Just… say it. Say it!' "Hunson Abadeer."

He squints at me and I know my luck's ran out. FUCK. "No, he only has a daughter."

I shake my head. "Nope." Maybe denial will work. He pokes me in the chest, once, twice.

"No, he does. Gilroy, Finn, LSP; doesn't he have a daughter?" He calls over his shoulder, eyes still trained on me. FUCK FUCK.

Those said guys murmur, none of them seeming comfortable with the situation. Well, the ones that are paying attention. One of them just seems to inspect his nails. Another blonde one looks like he's ready to hit the kid. Ouch. So much for so-called friends.

Anyways, he seems smug. "Hell, I've met her once. She's smoking hot and even flirted with me. So I know he does. So, who the fuck, are you?"

My palms start to sweat so I clasp my hands open and closed. 'What the hell did I get myself in to. W-what do I say?' my mind races. Just as on cue, my heart begins to thump like the baseline of a song and my head screams coming here was wrong. Oh so wrong.

Checks out my profile and vote on the poll if you want, yeah? Got some more one-shots comming along and you're input would be super cool.
Part Dos/Part Two commin' in a few days!
(My apologies peeps, my friends are teaching me random words in spanish & its showing) (facepalm)