I wanted to call it a thriller/horror but also with some romance. Couldn't find that category so other will have to do. I have high hopes for this story but please read and include as much critism as your heart desires. I promise not to be upset by it as long as you promise to be fair. I do not want any homophobic comments, if you don't like the subjects mentioned here, then don't read.


4. Different

I stood by the gate, where I always stood, waiting for Bobby to come out of the primary school across the road. The mothers stood in a group a distance away from me, chatting happily about everything under the sun. I usually liked to listen to these conversations but today I was watching the school playground as the other children left, looking for any sign of Wednesday. I had said goodbye to Rebecca who was always picked up by her Mother. Then I had walked across the road, looking both ways and standing in my usual spot, where I always stood, waiting patiently for Bobby. Except today I didn't feel patient, I felt bad. The memory of all those boys swanning around her, the other girls probably keeping away as they weren't sure how to make friends with her, were probably feeling as helpless as I was. And for some reason, I kept replaying the moment she had smirked at me, sharing that moment of humour with me. I also kept thinking about how she had walked away, how her bottom had looked in her shorts and how she must had known I was watching her walk. My mind fogged over. I knew this was wrong. I knew this was a bad thing to think about but I couldn't help it. I had never felt like this over a boy before. There had to be something different about me, something wrong with me.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed Wednesday appear at the gates. The boys were still there but I tried not to look at them. The girls were there too and I couldn't help but envy them. They stood so close to her, close enough to touch her skin, to stroke her beautiful hair, to feel her breath ...

"Isabella?" The voice startled me, nearly making me fall over backwards. I turned to see Bobby stood next to me, frowning at me. I frowned back, stared at him furiously.

"Why did you scare me?!" I snapped at him. He smoothed out his forehead, looking up at me worriedly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered sadly, looking at his shoes. Guilt hit me once again, I looked back at him. It had always been me and him against the world, against the others. I had never shouted at him before. My arms surrounded him, enclosing him into a hug.

"No, I'm sorry, Bobby," I sighed into his curls, "I've just had a rotten day." He hugged me back before gently pushing me off. He held onto my hand walking forwards, squeezing my fingers to pull me along. I followed him slowly, at the last minute remembering Wednesday and looking back to the gate, a sudden pain in my stomach when I saw she was gone. I tried to concentrate on Bobby as he talked about his day but I couldn't switch my brain off of her.

We reached our street and walked up to our front door, a boring grey colour, the same grey as every door on our road in the same red brick house as every house on our road. 'Why had I never noticed how plain it looked before?' I had only a second to question myself before Bobby opened our door and ran inside. I followed him, dragging my feet and shut the door behind us.

"Mummy, we're home," Bobby called out. He ran into the kitchen where the smell of baking filled the air. I immediately followed him, keeping a close distance between us. Mother had never hurt Bobby and I doubted that she ever would but that didn't stop me from worrying that one day she might. That one day, she might turn on him, the way she had always done to me. She stood in the kitchen, oven gloves on and a smile on her face. The way it always was with Bobby.

"How are you, sweetheart?" The voice was always the same, the sugar coated tone never changing when he was near.

"Okay, Mummy," he answered, distracted by what was in the oven.

"Mind out the way, saucepot. Mummy's trying to cook." She turned to me and said briskly, "Take him upstairs to finish his homework." I nodded, smiling at her, a fake smile, but a smile nonetheless. Her eyes lit up when she turned back to Bobby, shooing him playfully out the kitchen. I followed Bobby upstairs and sat him down to work on his desk, telling him to come find me if he needed help. I then walked across the landing to my room. The walls were cream with a four poster bed in the middle of the room, a chest of drawers and wardrobe to one side. Bobby's room was the same as was Mother's, the toys neatly packed away in my brother's room and the clothes packed away in mine and Mother's rooms. I had a few books which I had received on birthdays from Mother, a selection of Christian tales for children, but other than that my room was spotless. 'Why was it now that I was noticing the dullness in my life?' I knew why, of course I knew why. I started off trying to do my homework but in the end gave up, ignoring the worry which automatically flooded my chest at the thought of not completing my homework. I lay on my bed with my shoes still on, a practise which was forbidden but which I did anyway, my heart thumping slightly louder at the thought of Mother cluelessly working on dinner downstairs while I laid up here, not doing my work, shoes on and thinking about ... Her. I suddenly sat bolt upright, taking off my shoes and getting up to line them by the window in their usual place. I retrieved my homework from my school bag and laid it out on my desk. I visited Bobby's room to check he was still working before returning to the plainness of my room to complete my work. I threw myself into my work, finishing quickly but moving straight onto revision. What I am thinking of is wrong, the idea of it is wrong and the feelings inside me are wrong. My face threatened to crumple as I imagined what Mother could do to me for the disgusting thoughts in my head, what she would do to me. But I breathed in and out sharply and stared at my textbook, even when the words began to blur.

"Bobby, Isabella, tea is ready," came the usual call. I stood up and walked out of the room leaving any horrible thoughts shut in that room as I followed my little brother down the stairs.

Author's Note: Though stories with notes like this generally frustrate me and distract me from the story, I feel it is important to note here that I myself am struggling with my sexuality and any conflicting words such as "disgusting" are words used for this piece only and in no way are relating to my personal opinions on the subject of homosexuality. I hope to write more soon and thank you for the positive responses this has gotten so far.

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