Page 28 of Watched

I force a laugh and sip my tea, trying to drown the unease, because I don’t doubt that Rain may just appear. “No,” I answer.

Mum’s hand slides over mine. “You will meet a great girl one day.”

I pull my hand away and wrap it around my cup to join the other. The day I told my parents I was gay when I was thirteen was the day disappointed disgust became permanently etched in their gazes.

“M-Mum,” I stutter, my heart pounding as I rub my thumbs against the underside of my fingers.

Recognising my nerves, she places her magazine on the coffee table. “What’s wrong, Rome?”

“C-can I talk to you?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” She pats the cushion beside her.

It sinks beneath me, and nerves crawl higher up my throat when my father steps in to takes a seat on the adjacent chair, still in his navy suit.

“I, um…” I try to force out the words as quickly as possible. “I’m gay.”

My father’s face turns to utter shock…before he laughs. “No, you’re not.”

I’d worked up so much courage to tell them this, and I thought they’d understand, but…

“Sweetheart,” my mother croons, running her finger through my hair. The movement only adds to how cold I now feel and the sudden tears I just want to let go.

“It’s these people. They’re trying to convince you it’s possible, Rome.” Dad stares at me. “It’s not. You can’t be gay. Men belong with women, that’s it.”

My chin trembles, and I shake my head. “I like boys, Mum.”

“No, you don’t,” my father laughs. Tears wobble in my burning eyes. “It’s a phase, Rome. You’ll get over it. Now, go get dressed for training.”

It feels like ice is cracking inside me as I push up to stand. My throat burns as I try to walk down the hall as quietly as possible so the twins don’t hear me. Pulling down my sleeve, I rip it across my wet eyes, wiping away the tears, because men don’t cry.

Maybe they’re right.

Maybe it’s just a phase.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

My outstretched key freezes mid-air as I stare at the new stainless-steel handle with a pad attached above it.

No. This prick did not install new security.

I rip my phone from my coat pocket and call the last number he texted with.

“Hey, baby,” he greets excitedly.

“What did you do to my doors?”

“I told you I’d get you new ones,” he says nonchalantly. “The operation manual is on your kitchen counter and so is the one for your new cameras, so you can download the app. They have thermal detection too. If you tap the handle screen, it brings up a keypad. The pin is 0927.”

“You set a fucking pin?” I shout, throwing my arm up like he can see me. My face pulls taut, and I spin on my feet, surveying the corners of the garage for cameras.

“It’s the day we met. Well, the day I first saw you,” he clarifies. “Best day of my fucking life. Fate, baby, that’s what this is.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.

“Rome, you know what that does to me.”

“Go jerk off to your painting, you prick. And the correct sequence would be 2709.” I pull the phone away to hang up.