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Something smelled burnt, something tickled his bare legs. He felt groggy, as if he had taken dozens of sleeping pills. He blinked a few times, unable to see anything. Smoke filled the space. As his hands moved slowly around him, he realized he was in his car. Smoke? In his car? He tried to roll the window down but as he moved he felt pain shoot through his body. He coughed as he inhaled the smoke deeply. Forget the window, for christ’s sake, get out! His mind screamed at him as it faded into the distance. He couldn’t think clearly as he pushed the door open. His pathetic effort was well-rewarded as he tumbled out of his car, landing heavily on his arm. The open door let out billowing black smoke. His eyes went wide as he saw the flames licking out from under the hood. What on earth... his mind couldn’t reach around the burning car and find the source. So, he did the only thing he knew he could. He got to his feet and limped away from the car, falling several times as searing pain shot through his back. He wondered when his car would explode, Hollywood style. He didn’t know for sure, but he didn’t like the thought. It was his car, he paid for it. He loved it as much as a car could be loved. And now it was on fire.
A familiar tone went off in his pocket. He lifted the cellphone and looked at it. Jude, his father. Finally, relief. He answered it, choking out, “Dad?”
“Vincent! Where the hell are you? It’s three in the morning!” Jude growled, worry evident behind his anger.
“Dad, I don’t know. I... I need-” he was cut off as his car quite literally exploded. Vincent ducked down, as if that would save him from flying chunks of metal if it came down to it.
Jude’s voice on the other end of the line sounded frantic, panicky even. “Vincent? What was that? Are you okay?”
“Dad... my car just blew up.”


Three hours later, the hospital didn’t seem such a bad place to be. Vincent had undergone several tests and had been deemed healthy, even after inhaling smoke for who knew how long in his car. It was only on the way home that his parents addressed the problem. Kassandra was the first to speak, her placid face looking in a different direction.
“What happened? Your car didn’t just blow up. Where did you go, Vincent?”
He winced as he shifted position in the back of the Ford Explorer. “I delivered the pizza, that’s the last thing I remember,” he answered, keeping his eyes focused on the ashtray in front of him. His hand absently traveled to his stomach, over his belly button where a cigarette burn stuck out, sore and red. It would no doubt scar.
“Vincent, we’re trying to help. Please,” Jude begged, his eyes giving him that pleading, negotiating look they were so good at.
Go ahead, tell me you’ll leave, you’ll just come back again, holding your scarred heart in hand...
The radio played the song and Vincent felt his heart miss a few beats in anxiety. This man, Jonathan, he would find him and he would kill him, he could feel it. His mouth felt dry as he leaned his head against the window, letting it bounce along with the truck. He didn’t want to say anything.
“Vincent, please.” Kassandra’s voice sounded pathetically worried. What was she so worried about?
“I have to tell you guys something... I mean, I can tell you everything, right?” Vincent asked, his green eyes dripping tears down his face.
“We’re your parents, Vince, you can tell us everything,” Jude said. He genuinely meant it. He didn’t know Vincent wasn’t his. What would the first clue have been? Maybe the fact that Vincent’s hair was a startling blonde and Jude’s was black as night? Vincent’s eyes were a clear green while Jude’s were the lightest, ice blue he had ever seen. Jude was so desperate to have a child, he would believe anything. And it was that desperation that lead Vincent to believe his most terrible secret would be safe in his hands.
“I’m not sure how to say this, I mean, first I want to say it’s not your fault, guys. I... I think I’m... gay.” He didn’t think, he knew. And he knew by the utter silence in the cab he had said the wrong thing.

The door slammed behind him as Jude walked into the livingroom and found a seat in the old recliner he loved so very much. Kassandra stood on the stairs, her wild red hair frayed and out of place. She looked so angry, so whoreish... Vincent found himself loathing his mother. And it was no wonder.
“That’s the devil’s work, Vincent!” she shouted, pointing a thin finger at his chest. “What is wrong with you? You’re going to Hell, Vincent Norton! Hell! And you can not repent! You will be damned to that place! Men are supposed to be with women, Vincent! Women!”
“Mom! It’s not like that! For god’s sake, I’m not worshiping Lucifer!” he snapped back.
“Don’t use His name in vain!” Kassandra commanded, her face shocked. “You’re traveling down the wrong path, Vincent!”
“Wrong path? Oh, so now we’re talking about wrong paths? What about you, mom?” Vincent was angry and when he was angry, he was spiteful. This was no acception. He didn’t realize what he had said until it spewed from his mouth. “You’ve been lying to Jude all these years! You’ve been sleeping around for money! Yeah, Jude did you hear that? She’s a ******** whore!”
The dead silence was broken by a crash in the livingroom. Vincent immediately regretted what he had said. Jude was the most important person in his life, the only bit of fatherly attention he had ever received in his life, the only bit of parenting he had ever received. That was gone now, as he stared down his mother. Her knuckles were white as her hands grasped the bannister.
“You’re not normal, Vincent. I cant help you. From now on, you’re dead to me. You’re dead to Jude. You can stay here until you find a place. Find one soon.” Kassandra’s lower lip quivered as she turned and walked up the stairs.
He stared at her back, his eyes welling up with tears. Disowned by his own parents, the woman who pushed him out of her womb nineteen years ago and loved him for all those long, tedious, time-consuming years. So he didn’t like her, he didn’t like her profession. She was supposed to love him. What the hell? No one in this world could possibly hope to love him if his own mother didn’t. He lashed out furiously, kicking the banister and sending the brittle peg flying across the room. His scream of rage filled the house as he lodged a fist in the wall and he still wasn't acknowledged.
She really was serious.
He screamed up the stairs, nothing in particular, just screamed. He would never tell anyone again. Never. Not if this was where it got him.
His shoulders quivered, he couldn’t feel his legs and he still ached everywhere. His phone vibrated in his pocket. With a bit of difficulty, he took the phone from his pocket and looked at the message.
Kara.
His friends hadn’t forgotten him.
A wave of relief crashed over him as he slumped to the floor of the entryway, a silent tear sliding down his face.