Climbing Stairs In Combat Boots

I slowly, carefully climbed the stairs up to my parents’ appartment, trying not to trip over the long laces of my black combat boots. I could hear babies crying, people yelling, dogs barking, the usual melody of disfunction that greeted me each time I walked through the cracked glass doors of this god-awful place.

A knot began to form in my stomach as each step brought me closer to my parents’ front door. I could just imagine the look on their faces when the saw me, the thought danced through my mind, taunting me and causing the knot in my stomach to grow larger.

How I was going to explain this to them, I didn’t know. The goth clothing alone was enough to make my mother go on ranting for hours. But this, I mind as well have shot myself in the head and saved them the trouble.

The door came closer and closer, more intimidating with every second. I cringed and my hands began to shake. I knew what I had to say, something I had never had enough courage to say to them before.

Mom, Dad, I’m bi .

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