Page 1 of A Coffee Away

Chapter 1: Is It Destiny?

Robbie

My existence had no meaning. A never-ending loop. A prison unto itself. A mirror of what my parents expected me to be. But never me.

The world spun, but I stood still.

From the outside, my life seemed perfect, but ever since I could remember, I’d been living a lie.

Claws dug into my skin and never let go. Lies enveloped me, killing me slowly. Deliberately.

My courage faltered as I searched the horizon for anyone, anything, to set me free.

This was my safe space. My corner of the world.

The wind ruffled my long, sandy-blond hair, and I fixed my transition glasses as the soft palette of dusk drifted over the ocean in delicate strokes. A warm orange hue brushed with the faintest pink painted the clouds as the sun sauntered toward the horizon. The sea breeze, salty and clean, filled my soul, at least the part that still hoped for a chance at life.

I turned to my canvas. A self-portrait covered in reds and blacks. Slash after slash of frustration and pain. Each stroke a part of me. The only truth in my fucked-up reality.

I closed my eyes and cursed my cowardice. The fucking urge to please everyone held me back. Unwilling to make others suffer. Ready to deny myself for the world to be happy.

What a fucking joke!

Another red slash. A rip across my face. What meaning could life have?

A grunt caught my attention. Another shirtless runner. His body glistened as he moved across the sandy shore. Sweat beads rolled down his abdomen. A black dragon tattoo marked the skin beneath his right ear. Its sleek form extended down his muscular arm.

I couldn’t stop gawking.

His eyes met mine.

Electricity raced down my spine and into my crotch as his gaze roamed over my body.

The sunset faded behind him. Two sexy dimples formed as he smiled and continued down the beach.

I frowned and returned to my canvas. Another slash, and my eyes were no more.

Why couldn’t I be what they wanted? Why couldn’t I be like the rest?

It would certainly make my life much easier.

But I couldn’t even though I tried. I dated girls, even slept with a couple. But it wasn’t me. And I was done with it.

I had to break free from the paradigms my parents taught me. The lies fed to me by their faith. The ones that trapped me, making me hate myself for who I was. But in letting my truth out, I could lose everything I held dear.

A lone tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away. What other choice did I have?

Something inside called to me. A desperate voice that hinted something transcendent would happen once I came out. That I might lose my last chance if I didn’t take that leap.

I gripped my canvas to contain the rippling tremors that swept through me at the thought of telling my parents. Of leaving them for good to make my own life. Throwing myself into the unknown. Tasting the freedom I never had.

It would take all my courage to step into the life I was born to live. To break down the walls imposed upon me. To understand my thoughts and desires were not a sin. That my feelings wouldn’t cost me heaven or send me straight to hell.

I battled daily with these thoughts and the self-deprecation my own mind threw at me. All those long days at that Catholic school. Those Sunday-morning homilies worked in my mind endlessly. Those embarrassing confessions as I detailed the times I touched myself while thinking about men. The self-hate that convinced me I was a monster, that something had to be wrong with me.

But I was a good person. I loved. I respected. I did no harm to others.

Why do they hate me so much?