Like I said, this is very raw and unedited. It will change and be tweaked as I get further into the story, but I want to see what you all think!
I hope you enjoy it!!
He got up from his chair in his last class of the day, dreading the thought of going home. He knew it was time to have “the talk” and he had no desire to sit through such a horrendous experience with two of the worst parents on the planet. His face grew red and hot at the thought of sitting at the kitchen table listening to his parents go on and on about something they really had no business discussing with him.
“God, I don’t want to go home,” he said as his kicked the leg of the chair. “I can’t believe they think they know anything about what life is like. They’re so old and ancient and lame and pathetic…” his voice trailed off as he noticed his teacher staring at him.
“Remy, is there something I can help you with,” Mrs. Masterson asked as he straightened the chair.
“No, Mrs. M. I was just checking to make sure I didn’t leave anything under the chair,” the little white lie rolled off of Remy Belrose’s lips without hesitation. He was skilled at making those around him believe whatever he wanted as soon as he wanted them to believe it.
Remy walked to the door of the classroom and headed home to listen to words he didn’t want to hear from people he didn’t want to be around.
On his way out of school, Remy met up with three of his friends who teased him mercilessly about him having to listen to his parents give him “the talk.”
“Wow, man. Don’t you think you’re a little old to have your parents tell you about the birds and the bees?”
“Ooooh, Remy, you get to hear all about you know what from your mommy!”
“Aren’t you a little old to have to listen to that kind of stuff from your parents or are you still just a baby? Does Baby Remy still need to learn about his changing…”
“SHUT UP! Will you all just SHUT UP! It’s bad enough that I have to listen to it, but you guys don’t need to be jackwagons about it! I’m out of here,” Remy said as he stormed off in the direction of his house.
Once he left his friends, Remy’s normally quick footsteps dragged as he walked the last of the four blocks from his middle school to his house. Remy’s fists clenched and unclenched the closer he got to his house. “This is so stupid,” he said as he picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could against the tree outside his house.
His stone was almost ready to strike its target when he saw a squirrel sitting on the tree where the rock was ready to hit. Remy wanted to watch the squirrel fall to the ground but something inside of him willed the rock to move and it missed the squirrel or the squirrel was much quicker than the rock.
Remy felt so conflicted as he stepped into the house. He wanted to watch the squirrel die by his own hand, but at the same time he was relieved it got away without a scratch. His mind was replaying the scene in the front yard when he heard the voice. His mother’s voice sounded like Styrofoam grating together as he remembered what was about to happen.
“Remus Belrose, GET IN HERE NOW,” he heard his mother’s disembodied voice carry through the halls of their large, cold, impersonal house. He hated the sound of his name on his mother’s lips. He told all the kids and teachers at to call him Remy. Only his parents called him Remus. He couldn’t stand the name.
Remy walked through the dark hallway full of ornate statues, priceless art, lush Persian rugs and a vast collection of antique weapons. Remy hated his house. It was full of dark shadows and eerie noises. It was not a place of comfort and warmth. He felt a sick kind of lonely whenever he was in his house. He loved going to his friends’ houses where there was light and warmth and laughter. He lived for the days he was invited over to someone else’s house and he dreaded the days his friends wanted to come over to his house.
Boris and Isolde Belrose waited for their only son at their massive kitchen table with the overly shiny surface and the gleaming copper pots hanging above. He could feel his face getting hot with anger again as he sat down at the table. He didn’t want to have this “talk” much less be sitting at the same kitchen table with his mother while they had this talk. The thought of his mother telling him about his changing body made his blood boil with rage.
There was no greeting. No “how was your day?” No hugs or kisses. Just a cold room filled with what felt like anger to Remy. Feeling their anger emanating through the air took away some of Remy’s own. He knew he was outnumbered and over-powered. It was time to accept his fate and listen to “the talk.”
He thought he knew what was coming, but what his parents began to tell him was unbelievable, beyond anything he could have ever imagined and not at all what he expected.