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Prompt #572 - First Line

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And here's the Alex K's addition.  Warning contains swearing.  Using spoiler tags because it is just over 1K words.  1284 words to be exact.




“What do you mean you are leaving now?” I said to James, my boyfriend of five years. We had gotten together our sophomore year of high school, and were now in college together in our third year. He has the prettiest blue eyes, and the silkiest blond hair, even if before he came to live with my family it tended to always be greasy. I later learned that he didn't wash it often because he was strictly rationed on shampoo. I mean it isn't like his family was poor, but his home life (if you could call it that) was terrible. I can't remember how many times he came to my parent's house crying because of some crap that his step-father was putting him through. I'll never forget the day he called me to pick him up and take him to my house either—he was a bloody mess.

“I said what I meant. Did you think I was joking?” he said back to me as he threw cloths into a duffle bag. “I'm tired of all your bullshit. And most importantly I'm tired of you not telling your folks the truth about us.”

That stung, I couldn't tell them, they wouldn't understand, they would disown me, worse than that I'd lose my collage and living expenses funding from them. “I can't, you know that.” I said.

“What you going to try the same old excuses? They won't get it. They'll cut me off. Is their money more important to you than me?” he said. He was furious. “And then you, you of all people, end up sleeping with that prick Liam McCalister. Never mind the hell he put you through back home.”

“Jimmy,” I pleaded, “that was high school and it isn't like I was cheating. I passed out at that frat party, he just put me into his bed—we didn't have sex, and shit he's straight anyway. I know cause I asked.”


Jimmy looked at me, like he was inspecting me to see if he could tell I was lying. He always could tell if I tried lying to him, he knew me so well. “Look, if you can forget all the hell he put you through, then you obviously never considered the hell he put me through. But perhaps it was to be expected from Mr. Gets-Everything-Handed-To-Him-So-Long-As-He-Pretends-To-Be-Straight-To-His-Folks. What about all the crap he did to me, from mocking my ratty cloths and shoes to the open bullying? Maybe you can forget that, but I can't! I can't forget the day that I came home after having my head stuffed into a locker room toilet only to have the shit kicked out of me by that alcoholic bastard who calls himself my step-father. I always got it worse than you did because I didn't have a high powered lawyer father,” he said. He stopped, and a tear fell from his eye. Thinking about the hell he grew up in.

 “Are you jealous of McCalister? Do you know what he told me this morning?” I asked him.

“No I'm not jealous of him, I hate him, it's completely different,” he said coldly.

“He told me after I sobered up that he wanted to apologize to you for all the rotten shit he did to both of us. His little brother coming out changed him, I think. And baby if you want me to I'll call my father right now and tell him about us. It will mean that money will be tight but my grandmother set up a trust fund and I can draw from that. It isn't money, I was scared I couldn't make you comfortable. Baby I love you, you deserve nice things and a nice play to stay, we can't afford that and collage, working part time at the restaurant.” I said.


He stopped packing. “You mean it?” he said.

“Of course I do. I've always loved you, I just didn't want us living in some ratty flea bag motel. You deserve so much more,” I said.

“Jacob, I'd live in a card board box if I could be with you. I've always said you didn't give your folks the credit they deserved. I remember the day Monica told me I could stay over permanently: the day that my step-father had beaten me to a bloody pulp so badly I had to go to the hospital.” he said.

I remembered that day too. Mom had given his bastard step-father a piece of her mind, and my father had helped him get emancipated, since he was already working and over sixteen. “You mean that? Do you really?” I asked.

“Of course, I just can't stand you trying to hide what we have, who we are from them. Monica and Jake have always been super to me, to both of us,” he said.

I was at a loss for words. “If I call my father will you stay and will you at least consider accepting McCalister's appology?”

“I'll stay. I love you so much but it hurts me not being honest to the other two people that mean the world to me too. Jake and Monica are the parents I wished I had.” Jimmy said.

“And about Liam?” I pressed.

“No promises, I hate him remember,” he said. I nodded and grabbed my iPhone. Jimmy was still angry, but at least he wasn't furious now.

My father's secretary answered on the first ring as I called his office. “Jacob Mastersen's office, this is Jeanette, how may I help you?” she said.
“Jeanette, this is Jacob Mastersen, Jr. Is my father in? I need to speak with him.” I said clearly.
“Hi, Jacob, yes Jake is in. I'll put you right through.” she said. I always liked Jeanette, she had been my father's secretary since I was a little boy. I have the same given name as my father, but I've always gone by Jacob while he prefers Jake.

“Jacob Mastersen, St. Charles Parish Prosecutor.” my father said after picking up the phone on the second ring.
“Hi, dad,” I said as cheerfully as possible, “is this a bad time?”
“No son, I was about to go to lunch though. Larry's has a special on shrimp po-boys. Is everything alright?” he said.
“Yes, well no, well dad--” I was choking up. Jimmy gave me a look that said I had better spit it out. “Dad, I'm gay. I'm gay and Jimmy is my lover and has been for years.” I finally managed to get out.
“Well, that isn't what I would have chosen for you, but Jimmy is a fine young man and I'm glad you felt you could be honest with me. You're my son, and I love you. Never forget that. I just want to know why you didn't tell me sooner.” Dad said.
“I, well, I thought you'd hate me, that you'd hate Jimmy, that you'd cut off our funds,” I confessed.
“Son, I'd never hate you. Not even if you confessed to being a serial killer. Jimmy is a fine boy. Treat him right and I'll see you on Thanksgiving.” dad said before he hung up.

“Well?” Jimmy asked.
“He told me that he loved me and you were a fine boy,” I said. I looked at Jimmy. “Baby, I'm so sorry I put you through all that mess about my folks, I was so so scared over nothing.” I said. Jimmy came and stood in front of me and then kissed me, a hot passionate kiss. The kind of kiss one never forgets.






Edited by AK79
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