What had Alba said to me? Do you feel safe, at the prospect of going home tonight?

A few hours ago, I had. Safe as the Swedes during the Second World War.

The back of my head was throbbing as Aaron pulled up alongside my house and killed the engine. The house looked tranquil, sitting pretty in my quiet suburban street. Reece's truck, the same one I'd almost crashed on the highway that morning, was waiting outside. Caleb's car was nowhere to be seen; whatever he'd come here to do, he'd done it, and god knew where he was headed next.

"I'm going in with you," Aaron said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"No," I replied flatly. I was lucky that my resting state was stubborn. Whatever happened inside, I did not want Aaron there to witness it, even if the thought of backup was comforting. I especially didn't want him putting himself in the line of fire, something Aaron did often and without thinking.

He looked like he was about to protest, but I was already climbing out of the passenger side door, knowing he wouldn't follow if I gave him a direct request. He respected me too much for that.

"Just keep the engine running, will you?" I tried to sound light, but the joke fell flat. I closed the door on Aaron's look of concern, gathered myself, and began the slow walk to my house. I let myself in through the now latched gate, my eyes catching on a black glint lying on top of the mailbox. Caleb's mobile phone, its screen cracked but still working, had a sticky note on it from Mrs. Dodie. It read SCREEN WAS CRACKED PRIOR TO DISCOVERY. And she'd jotted down her number and a smiley face.

Curiosity had me peeling off the note so I could see the screen probably, but before I was tempted to further invade Caleb's privacy, I was interrupted by the clatter of the flyscreen door. I slipped the phone into my pocket before I looked up, finding Reece standing on the porch. He was dressed the same as he had been that morning, though noticeably more dishevelled, juggling a carton of cigarettes in his right hand. His expression was grave like he'd just received life-changing news. The taunt set of his mouth and the deadness of his eyes sent my stomach roiling. My hand found the gate latch behind me, resting there. Just in case. Aaron was right around the corner; if I left now, I would never have to look Reece in the eye again.

Then I noticed he was holding something else in his left hand. I'd been so distracted but the cigarettes that it took me a moment to register, though he was making no effort to hide it. Blonde hair spilling out from his fist, long and familiar, and probably knotted something terrible from the way he was handling it. The air thumped out of my lungs, and my stomach took an instant plunge. All the catastrophising in the world, every worst-case scenario I had gone over in my head hadn't prepared me for the reality of seeing Sephora's hair in Reece's grasp. Every follicle in my scalp tingled just looking at it. As if he was holding a human's scalp.

Before I could stop myself, I was racing up the path, school backpack dropping from my shoulders as I clambered up the porch steps and flew through the front door. Reece didn't try to stop me, didn't even utter a word as I passed him. I bolted straight up the steps inside, taking two at a time, and tripped on the last one, nearly falling on my face at the top. I threw out my hands and felt my palm fill with splinters, my wrist scream in protest. I pushed myself up on my skinned hands, too far gone to feel more than a vague throbbing, and staggered around the corner until I reached my bedroom door. It was hanging open, gaping, and vulnerable.

I told myself not to go in there. That I didn't want to see what was inside, even though part of me knew. That it was bad enough in the abstract, and I didn't need to see what he'd done. Something pushed me forward anyway, sending me lurching into the centre of my room.

My closet doors were open as wide as they could go, and my everyday street clothes had been swept to each side. Sneakers and school shoes once lined up neatly, had been pulled out and thrown into a corner. The back of my closet had been removed and set against the adjacent wall, leaving when lay beyond exposed.

Reece had found Narnia. I felt myself check out emotionally, my brain's last resort for keeping me together. My eyes swept the room methodically, taking in everything with cold practically so I didn't have to think about how horrific it all was.

A dissection – which felt more like mutilation – had taken place. Sephora had been yanked piece by piece out of the back room and laid out like evidence on my bed, the floor, the desk. There were piles of dresses, torn off their hangers and crumpled into balls of sequins and sheer fabric. High heels in teetering piles. Wigs lumped into a giant blonde tumbleweed on the end of my bed. Makeup, hundreds of dollars worth, trailing from the mouth of my closet all the way to my desk, palettes lying face down and open and spilling powder out onto the floor. I stepped on a lipstick that had lost its cap and it rolled, sending me falling on my ass in the middle of all this destruction with a cry, leaving a smear of red across the floorboards like an open wound.

Seeing Sephora strewn across my room like this, tossed about like each part of her – her clothes, her shoes, her hair, her face – was nothing but cheap trash, snapped me out of my head. But while it might have been reasonable to rock back on my bruised tailbone, curl into a ball and weep, I was quickly swallowed by a preferred sensation. Rage. White and hot and in desperate need of somewhere to go.

Scrambling to my feet, I forced myself to turn my back on the scene of the crime and stormed out. The churning inside me ceased as my body tightened, strangling fear and grief until there was only room for boiling rage. My body was so tightly packed with fury that a single spark would set it off, and I was sure I would explode.

The glowing tip of Reece's cigarette certainly did the trick. He hadn't moved from the porch, hadn't let go of the wig, didn't look over his shoulder as I came barrelling down the hall. I thought my resolve would weaken as I approached, but seeing him so calm after he had gutted the only place I had ever felt truly safe only added to my ferocity.

I shoved through the flyscreen so hard it slammed into the wall with a bang that reverberated through the whole neighbourhood. Reece did turn at that, and for a second, I thought he was going to tell me off for damaging the house. Then his eyes glazed over again, as he remembered that there were far more important conflicts to be had.

"Nothing to say, huh?" I managed through gritted teeth after the deliberate silence had gone on way too long. Reece took a long drag on the cigarette and I felt as if my head would explode. How could he be so relaxed? Was he building up to swing at me? Was he in shock?

"I'm giving you the chance to explain yourself," he said within a cloud of smoke. "Before I start making assumptions."

Explain yourself. As if who I was required an excuse. As if I'd committed a crime, and he was determining whether I'd had a valid reason or if he should call the cops. "I think we're past that. You've clearly made up your mind."

He held up the wig like it were a damning piece of evidence. Exhibit A in the trial that would determine the rest of my life. "What's this?"

I refused to avert my eyes regardless of the blush I felt building up my face. It would look as if I was ashamed, and I should. Not have been the embarrassed one in this situation. "A mid-length vanilla blonde synthetic lace front."

Reece's frown tightened, nostrils flaring. "I'm not in the mood, Miles."

"Oh, forgive me," I spat. "I didn't consider your feelings in all this..."

"Miles!" he boomed, and I backed up so quickly I nearly fell. My body loosed up just enough to allow a hint of fear the re-emerge, as I remembered that Reece had thirty years and six inches on me. If he wanted me to stop talking, it wouldn't take much for him to make me. But as I pressed myself into the wood of the front door, he just raised a hand to rub his temple. "Christ. What a fucking nightmare."

"Nightmare?" I echoed, clenching my fist to hide the shaking of my hands. "Yes. I guess this would be your worst-case scenario."

He flicked his burnt-out cigarette over the railing. "All that. Upstairs, that yours?"

Although my first instinct was to avoid answering directly, making some kind of joke that would make him feel stupid for asking such a superfluous question, I could only nod. Reece's expression shifted; his eyes lowering to the floor, his mouth opening and twisting in confusion. His breathing was uneven, coming out in what sounded almost like aborted laughs. "I don't understand. This, you... I don't get it."

I wasn't really in the mood for educating him. "Luckily for me, I don't exist to fit into what you understand."

"You want to be a girl?"

I let out a harsh singular laugh, right in his face. "Sometimes. Not always."

"But you aren't... y'know, are you?" He couldn't even get the word out. An unspoken question lingered at the end. As if everything would be so much simpler if it wasn't true.

"Gay?" I asked emphatically, and he looked away. It was surprisingly easy to elaborate. "Yes, I am. Does that make things easier for you?"

All the air in Reece's lungs came out in a huff like I'd punched him. He shook his head and slapped on hand on the back of his neck, eyes squeezing shut. When they opened, he seemed to look straight through me.

I did my best to appear unaffected. But I was spiralling, holding myself together by sheer force of will. I would not break down. Not with Reece looking at me like I was a stranger. I wouldn't embarrass myself like that. If he thought I was a new person for what he had learned, I'd give him a new person. A brave, cold, give-no-fucks Miles who hadn't believe that Reece had changed for a second and would never, never be disappointed at the prospect of disownment. After all, you couldn't be rejected by someone you didn't care about.

I was really getting the hang of lying to myself.

"You know, the guy I hit, at work?" he started, and his voice was reflective, lost in the memory. "He called you a fairy, right to my face. That's why I went for him. I never even... considered..."

"That he might have been right?" I finished for him. My throat was tight with the effort of keeping my voice even. "If only you'd known."

He shook his head. "No, that isn't..."

"What? You want me to thank you?" I raised my voice. Let the quaint neighbourhood hear. I'd give them their daily dose of gossip. "For defending me? Get real. You were defending yourself. Couldn't have anyone in the garage thinking your kid liked boys. Imagine the shit you'd get down the pub."

"Let's take this inside," Reece urged. There was no room for debate, but I immediately moved as far from the door as I could.

"Why? So you can 'straighten me out' at your own discretion?" I called, hoping everyone to the end of the block was hearing me. He went to grab my arm, but I jerked away from his grasping hand. "Don't you fucking touch me."

His eyes widened in horror. "What, you think I'm going to hit you?"

"You hit your mate. And that was just for implying it," I countered. "He could have said anything else about me and you would have laughed it off. Weird? Sure. Posh? Yeah, fair. Dumb? Watch it. But gay? Down he goes. And I bet no one felt sorry for him, because hey, that's crossing a line. I bet that's why you didn't get fired. Boss thought you had reasonable cause to get violent. You wouldn't have hit him if the idea of having a gay kid didn't make you angry. Forgive me if I, said gay kid, am fine right where I am."

Reece didn't speak. His eyes were fixed off to the side of me, lost in thought. It seemed he hadn't heard a word of what I'd said. I didn't know why I was wasting my breath.

"You should have told me," he said finally. "We could have gotten you help..."

"Help?" I practically shrieked. "What century do you live in?"

"Not about... that, I don't care..." he couldn't bring himself to finish the lie and groaned, shaking the wig at me vehemently. "This. This, this Norman Bates shit with your mum's clothes. It's isn't normal..."

I felt bile rising in my throat. When Reece managed to look me in the eye for more than two seconds, he trailed off. Hot anger radiating off me as I stalked closer to him, punctuating each step with a statement.

"I hate you," I told him, with all the sincerity I could muster. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me. For the record, they aren't mum's clothes. They're mine. They're my clothes. My makeup. My shoes. And this," I snatched the wig from his hand when I was close enough, leaving a clump of it behind in his fist, "... this is mine as well."

He raised both hands and tried to look unassuming. "Alright. Look, the gay thing, I don't mind."

"You don't mind, do you? You'll allow it?"

"But the... this," he shook out his palm, letting the remaining blonde hair drift down to his feet. "Miles, you can't... you can't blame me for having some... concerns." He seemed to recognised that every second he chose to keep speaking was pushing me further away, but that didn't stop him from blathering on. "Just... why? Why do you... I don't get it, do you want to be a girl or not? Are you gay or transexual or... whatever the word. What are you?"

What are you?

It was dehumanising. It was enraging. The last thing it made me what to do was package myself up in a box for him to understand.

"I'm me," I snapped. "I'm whatever the fuck I want to be on any given day, and the last person I'd waste my time explaining that to is you. Take your questions, and concerns, and go fuck yourself with them."

With that, I turned on my heel and stalked off the porch. I didn't even stop to pick up my bag; blowing through the gate with only a blonde wig clenching in my hands. Reece called my name once, half-heartedly, and I responded without looking back.

"Do me a favour and keep smoking, asshole. It always should have been you that died."

That last dig clearly killed any impulse he had to follow me. I speed walked all the way to the end of my block, only realising once I'd got there that I had walked in the opposite direction to where Aaron was parked. But maybe it wasn't completely unconscious. I didn't want to see Aaron, because he'd have questions when I got back to the car. I really didn't feel like reliving the last few minutes of poison.

I also felt like walking was the only thing keeping me from breaking down. So, I kept walking, all the way to the bus station one suburb over. I got a few odd looks from people understandably concerned about the boy staggering down the middle of the path like a zombie, a hunk of blonde hair hugged to his chest. I must have looked like Patient Zero for something. But I made it there without being stopped, so I couldn't have looked half as ruined as I felt.

What was the other thing Alba had said? People surprise you.

Reece hadn't.

I collapsed onto a bench at the deserted bus station, legs straight out in front of me, shoulders slouched, eyes downcast. I thought I might cry, but evidently, I was still too angry to do so. My hands, clenching and unclenching in the soft silk of Sephora's hair, were shaking and wouldn't stop.

The bus pulled up a few minutes later, and I automatically went to get on before remembering my phone and bus pass were in my backpack, left behind in my hurry to get out of Reece's sight. I gave the driver an apologetic look, before remembering Caleb's phone. With quivering hands, I pulled it out and turned it over, finding a few dollars tucked away in the case.

I bought a ticket and sat up the back, hoping my sullen demeanour would dissuade anyone from sitting near me. I spun Caleb's phone in my hand, trying to ignore the temptation to unlock it. I made it two stops before I decided any part of me that had valued Caleb's privacy had dissolved over the last hour. Though I was doubting that Caleb had anything to do with Reece finding out in the first place. He hadn't known about my closet. That was my secret alone. What he'd been doing outside my house had been anyone's guess. Maybe he'd lost his nerve.

But the phone didn't require a passcode, which I thought was just asking for trouble. I swiped up greedily.

Seeing myself on his home screen was like a shock back to life. It was a screenshot from my Instagram; my rarely updated Instagram, miles.stew, not mormon.vixen. Not Sephora Utah, something I could have excused as a cover for when he had been 'dating' Steph... me. Miles, plain, awkward, extremely unphotogenic. I recognised it as a photo taken last year, on a rare trip to the beach Max had dragged me out on. My hair was whipped back off my face by the wind, sunglasses shielding my eyes and mouth stretched into a wide toothy grin. My nose was already cherry red from a memorable sunburn that had not faded into a tan as Max had promised, but I supposed without the context of the later peeling, I looked like I was having the time of my life.

I couldn't decipher it. It reminded me of my own screenshotting of Caleb's Instagram, hoarding photos of him for no other reason than being able to look at them. But that had been a symptom of my pathetic crush on him, something he had established yesterday hadn't stood a chance of being reciprocated.

Caleb 'you're-not-my-type' Proust had me on his lock screen, on an unlocked phone no less. It was the kind of thing whipped boyfriends did with their girlfriends in middle school as a way to remind themselves what was theirs every time they turned on their phones, so that photo was the first thing they saw in the morning and the last thing they saw at night.

I felt myself teetering dangerously on the edge of swooning. It took every sensible instinct I had to bring me back to reality. A photo meant nothing; maybe it reflected how he'd felt before Aidan had spoken to him. It wasn't like someone who was on a mission of revenge took the time to change their phone background.

It just didn't fit into the picture of Caleb I'd built for myself since our fight; totally disinterested in me as I was, only turning his head when Sephora walked into a room. Or when he was too drunk to tell the difference.

I did my best to tune out the butterflies and opened his messages. Jake's was the most recent; but before that, he'd received a text from Aidan, and sent several to... me. Listed in his contacts as Miles; I was surprised not to be reduced to initials like I'd done for him when first trading numbers.

More than several. He'd been messaging me pretty consistently from about one am last night, with only a few hours respite from when he must have slept after coming out to his family. Which I had not received, because fuck me, I had blocked him and deleted his number. I'd done it to prevent any temptation I would have to contact him, never thinking that it might hinder him from contacting me because I'd never considered that he would want to after what he'd said on Monday.

The first one was; Hey, I know you're definitely asleep right now but please call me when you get this.

Then; I know I don't deserve it.

Basically, I'm a fucking idiot and I think you need to hear that from me the most.

And I need to apologise.

Because I'm an idiot.

Please call.

Sorry, I know you're asleep.

I'll leave my phone on.

Call whenever. I'll pick up.

The next morning, or rather, four hours later, he'd texted; I had the fucking weirdest night.

Are you getting these?

My thumb kept moving even though my brain told me to stop reading. That this was too personal, too private. Too invasive on my part. But my eyes were glued to the screen, and my thumb swiped up robotically. After all, these had been meant for me.

Miles.

Miles.

Stewart.

Miles Stewart.

I don't know your middle name.

Milo.

Sweetness.

Sorry worth a shot.

I get it if you're ignoring me, just send me a thumbs up or something if you are.

I'm sorry for the spam.

Just really need to talk to you.

I know I have no right to expect you to call but just let me know if you want me to stop.

I can't until you do that.

If there's a chance in hell you still feel anything for me.

I really don't want to do this over text.

I'd prefer to grovel in person.

If you never want to speak to me again just tell me.

Otherwise, I'm going to ambush you before school and probably do something really embarrassing.

Okay never mind running late.

Will ambush you at lunch.

Have you ever seen 10 Things I Hate About You? Or Scream 2?

Get ready, basically.

Are you getting these?

Okay I'm going to try calling you.

If you send me to voicemail, I'm going to assume you don't want to talk.

I was crying. I had realised I was crying until I reached the end when he'd clearly tried my phone and been sent straight to my voicemail; that was if my number worked at all, with his blocked on my end. His dejection in the cafeteria took on a whole new meaning. His whole being stinging with rejection, a feeling I remembered bitterly from just the day before.

I kept swiping even after there was nothing else to read. Wishing there was more. Something like; Aidan spoke to me. I couldn't care less if the whole team knows.

There was nothing of the sort. Just a text from Aidan sent around the time I'd been talking to Jake, around the time Caleb must have taken off to take care of important business.

I just want back on the team. Don't make me do this, man.

I buried my face in the crook of my elbow to muffle a sob. I was lucky the bus was practically empty. Fate was a cruel vindictive bitch, dangling this right in front of me before snatching it away. Maybe I was projecting onto fate a little because it was my fault that his biggest secret had ended up in Aidan's hands and ruined any second chance that Caleb's messages had inferred.

I had no idea where he was or what he was thinking. Somehow that was worse than believing he was on the warpath. At least then I'd be clear on how he felt about me, not stuck in this limbo of did he didn't he tell Reece, did he didn't he know Aidan was my fault, did he didn't he like me all along.

a/n: it's a two chapter kind of week. let me know what you're thinking, because i don't know how i feel myself.

happy pride month to my american readers; 🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍🌈 the australians among us (including me) will have to wait out until october but we are cheering you from afar! 

in celebration, i've compiled a list of wattpad stories i've either read or have been recommended; all by lgbtqia+ authors from across the platform. i hope you take the time to go support their work. 

Static Crush by kataraqui: Sci-Fi, androids, fugitives, slow burn romance, and amazing art to accompany the story. 2019 Wattys Winner.

When Angels Fall by frostybwitch: Fallen angels, demons, urban fantasy. 

Being Butch Green by Hollie_Wilson: Crime, hilarious and Australian... enough said.

Quit Bugging Me by sandydragon1: Fantasy, coming of age, disability and poc rep with such a unique concept.

Hell Hath No Fury by nicwritesbooks: Action, fish out of water, and a badass all female pirate crew sailing the high seas and taking no shit.

Undergrounder by JE-Glass: Paranormal romance, monsters, unravelling mystery. 

Beautiful People by ccstarfield: Hollywood, fashion, self-love with plus-size and poc rep. 

Dreamcatcher by SmokeandOranges: Magical realism, steampunk, adventure. You'll be hooked in first by the incredible cover art.

All Things Considered by -hayle-: High school, enemies to lovers, fake dating, with native american rep. 

Missed By A Mile by apocalyptysm : Recommendation from seasonalsunshine! 'Imani was just suppose to make sure that the lost dog got home safely, come home, and pretend like the mere thought of the owner with doe eyes and an armful of tattoos didn't make her question her entire belief system. Sounds simple enough... right? It isn't.

i'll probably do one of these at the end of every chapter this month, so if you have any more recommendations or you're a lgbtqia+ author yourself, please comment here!

have a fierce time this month, and remember to tip your drag queens! ~