Ghost Boyfriend

paranoia

Life is a pain when petty things such as paranoia take hold of your parents.

And you'd be left wondering if the next lie you're gonna tell might kill them.

Technically, I'm religious. I avoid occasions of sin at all cost and hey, I'm also part of the church choir and I stand by the truth at all times. Well, everything changed last year when I got dumped by my flat-ass boyfriend and he mysteriously turns up dead in Southwest Manhattan.

Suddenly, the press were all over me, gushing to know what happened. Every deets about our relationship exposed to the world. Unfortunately, my parents had vouched zero approval for Mark and I and when they found out I'd lied to them about putting him out in the dumps, I knew I was in trouble. They tried as much as they could to help me out, by whisking me off home at Hampshire with them, keeping me away from the hum, clicking of cameras and 'Hey, Mr Peter. So sad to hear about your boyfriend, could you tell us what might have killed him?' Like I was his keeper.

But that came at an expense, my parents never believed a word I say till this day and sometimes I find myself going an extra mile to get what I want, like when I asked for a bunch of tickets to the new Subway station which seemed to be the banging new stuff in town, they refused. Too bad I stole them. And also convincing them that I'm actually taking reading classes at my best friend's place; Kelly and I promise to head home after that.

It's high-key annoying. I mean, what gives? I'm not some three-year-old they could bend as much as they please.

"I swear I'm not spending above my budget," I say to Mom when she demands to see the receipts of all shops I've been to last month while scrolling through my phone, keeping her eyes glued for any debit messages.

She takes a deep, fat breath. "Your electricity bill was left unpaid last month? Was there a power outage?" she's hyperventilating. "Did you hurt yourself in the dark? Break a bone? Kiss the floor?"

I try to stop her assumptions. "Come on Mom, nothing happened. I just used the money meant for the bill to get a new coat."

"Peter! You could have twisted your ankle or ended up with a broken leg. You could've hit your head somewhere and died!" her brow is creased in anxiety. "This is why I suggested we never let you out of sight. You barely care about your safety anymore. Goodness knows I could have been childless by now," whenever she gets like this, She makes it seem we're nearing the apocalypse or the end of the world of some sort. The rapture where all the good souls are taken up with wings and I'm the only one left in the world with no one and she has to let go of me.

Times like this, I wish I could yell out loud 'Hey! Why am I a twenty-year-old something when my parents can dote and boss me over all their lives, worrying if I'll ever make it past the door in one piece without close supervision!'

It's suffocating!

So, to calm her worries I take my phone away from her clutches and say as sweetly as I can. "Relax Mom, I'm totally fine. There's no way I'll break a bone." like that's even possible, I might as well add. "I promise to be extra careful from now on."

She looks dubious. "You do?"

I nod. "With all my heart. Now, what was it you called me for?"

Looking a little better, she says softly. "It's Uncle Jin's birthday anniversary today and he's throwing a party."

Ugh bugger, I've never been a huge fan of my uncles since they proved to be big, puffed-out egocentric asses with billowy wives and big-toed children. Since Dad is the youngest and most handsome in a more accurate type of way, they treated him like he was a piece of s**t and act cross anytime he reaches out to them through constant calls, great attempts at healthy conversations but they don't even try to pay attention to what he says. Sometimes I think it's because they're jealous.

Jealous because Dad was Grandma's favourite and had left her biggest plot of land at Idaho to him which in turn will be passed down to me eventually. There would be a huge amount if that land was sold and though I've checked and estimated it sums to a billion quid, it still seems like it worths more.

Another reason is that their wives are nothing close to being pretty along with horrible cooking skills and messed up languages. My Mom and I are better looking than any of them would ever be and I sometimes pride myself for being a beauty with my gelled hair, big doe brown eyes, round-shaped head with a smile that gleams.

Cutie much?

Shoulders hunched, I gape at Mom. "We'd be attending? I thought we talked about this! Dad's brothers are never happy to see us and we didn't get an invite did we? This is not the time to be forward."

"Your Dad received the invitations." I pale at her words. "We just want you to come along so you'd meet your Uncle George. You know him right? He's a musician, your father's immediate elder brother."

I pale even more at this. I'd never kept track of all Dad's brothers because they were so many.

"What would I have to do with him?"

She tugs at her scarf, draping it around her neck. I think she's forgetting she's putting on a suit and a scarf with it doesn't match but it'll be the death of me if I tell her that. She'll probably get paranoid and rip the scarf up to pieces, then spend half the day weeping in her room on how bad her dress was.

"Well, we figured he'd introduce you to the field, show you a few things here and there. But mostly, we want him to tutor you. Global domination is very much possible these days and youths are making their mark worldwide. Take Ashnikko for example, she started recently and has got a million followers who fawn over her music. You haven't even considered a solo! How will you progress?"

Perhaps telling my parents about my career choice is bound to be my worst decision yet because it's gotten them worried about how I would blend college life while still being a celebrity. They kicked against it. And now what's this I'm hearing about tutoring and performing a solo?

"Mom! I gave up, I don't want to be a celebrity."

It's her turn to look crestfallen. "Why darling?"

"I want to be a doctor and have my establishment. Never did I even mention being a celebrity. Seriously, did you and Dad even listened to me when I talked about it?"

Guilt swamps across her features. "Um...sure darling, you must have mentioned it somewhere."

Sometimes, I think about my family and can't help feeling ashamed. Everyone had a selfish motive. Some personal gain they searched for in every circumstance. Try all I could and considering how much they pretended to care about me, you think they'd pay heed to every word I say but the real deal is that they always want things to be done their way. I've constantly recited about being a doctor or some famous fashion blogger who does YouTube videos and pretty much have it big(though my parents consider the latter no job at all) every single damn time but all I ever manage to get across is how respectful the public would view them if I become full-blown famous, scheppling across cities while screaming my lungs out as a great singing personality. Of course, the credit goes to them at gatherings, 'That's our boy, Peter looking all fab! We've done a good job in training him to be this great.' but what about me? No one ever cares about my feelings at all.

"Look darling I'm sorry. I was so caught up with the moment that... I'm so ridiculous. Here now, we'll say nothing about this till your father comes. I'm sure a few of your aunts are well groomed in the medical field. We'd look around and find one you could look up to," she adds with a smile. One that cuts my insides. In her head, she's thinking 'Wow, Peter a doctor? At least I wouldn't have to pay hospital bills or stand in a queue anytime I need to see the doctor when older and have to battle with arthritis or leg cramps. What a kind soul he must be for placing our interests in his career.'

Dad comes in, looking like a wilting seaweed in combat shorts. Those are so out of vogue these days and if only I wasn't so busy (oh darlings, you have no idea) I'd be kind enough to restock his closet but favours like that end with a thank you and no tip of appreciation. No one's adding money to my account these days! I get nothing at the end of the month from both parents and still Mom stares at my budget, a palm reverentially placed on her bosom, comforting herself in case she sees something outrageous.

Dad has always been a handsome man but with the emotional stress his brothers plunge him into(those jerkfaces!) He looks more like a tired potato, begging to be fried and stuffed down one's throat. Age crawled upon him like a thief and he's got permanent dark bags beneath his eyes. My parents were so sixth century so my suggestion over a makeover would obviously be kicked against.

They always think that they're the best and whatever they say matters since they've gone through that experience. The experience always hovers around the air when they discuss my well-being which of course I get to say nothing! Such discussions normally end with 'Peter, we know the world's changing and things are not the way they used to be. What we've decided is the best for you and believe us, someday you'll thank us for it.'

They said that when Mark left after on the day I introduced him to them, thought him to be a bit on the downside and strongly showed off their dislike each time he visited. These were things that caused us to break up and not because of 'Teenage phase of losing interest' as they assume. I'm not a teenager anymore, I'm a full-blown mature young man.

With his own f*****g life where nothing ever worked out.

"Fab Dad, you look posh!" I paste a smile and get up to let him have the seat. As you guessed right that's a lie; he looks like Ariana Grande on baggy pants and he's got a tiny waist where the belt never stays on.

Where did I fall from, the sky? Mars? I'm so different.

"Who's ready to go?" he adds after a pause, adjusting his tie and stuffing his feet into comfortable shoes. Mom tugs at her scarf once more and I can't help feeling I'm part of a family jazzed up by a hasty whirlwind and now we're directionless - that's putting things delicately. "Peter, you're not dressed yet."

"I'm not going,"

"Peter!" Mom scolds. "He's your Uncle. Even if you don't want to be a musician at least come say hi,"

"Oh come on, what if I get sabotaged by the press or asked uncomfortable questions about my sexuality?"

"That's not gonna be a problem, you're who you want to be."

"Try telling Aunt Priscilla that,"

Honestly, I don't know why I care so much about what that woman says or thinks because she's the most homophobic b***h anyone has ever come across. I heard her narrate how she's given loads of people the sack at her office (she's a manager of some marketing establishment) once they hinted at their abnormal s****l orientation. She freaked out the day she was told that I was gay in a casual conversation and now she's labelled me among the rest who'd burn in hell for eternity.

We'd never gotten along after that as I try to avoid occasions where we'd have to talk to each other.

Until today.

"They are still learning you I'm sure they'll come around if they find you trying, and that includes socializing and spending lots of time with your cousins."

"Dad," I say crossly this time. "I'm gay, they believe I'm a bad influence and that their 'precious children' would catch the homosexual virus if I come near them. It happened at Zoe's party last year."

Ugh, now they're staring at me like I've lost a few nuts off my brain.

"What?" my voice goes shrill.

"Honey who's Zoe? You've never spoken of her before. Does this mean..." Mom's eyes are gleaming and I can see the hideous thought coming together on her oversized bun.

Oh shoot, they think I'm hetero!

"No, no, no she's not my girlfriend. I think she's Uncle George's daughter. Zolly or Zoe, either of the two."

"It's Yvonne,"

Deflated, I'm jabbering with nerves.

"See? You don't keep up with the names of your cousins any longer. This is no more trivial as you make it seem, son, it's serious. You have to put a lot of effort into family time so you'd get the acceptance you want. To this effect, you're tagging along."

I hunch my shoulders in disappointment, wishing a teleportation experiment had gone wrong and I'm the first victim of the fiasco, suddenly finding myself in Asia or whipped-up Antarctica.

"Fine! One hour." I smile at my parents whereas in my mind I'm cooking up a hasty scheme to cut through and maybe go hang out with Trudy and Maggie at Downside Dojo. They won't know I'm gone unless someone tells them, which won't happen cause they'll believe I'm socializing somewhere.

"Aw darling, you don't know how happy that makes me," Mom bends a little to peck my forehead. A feeling like morbium or a chill is spreading and it's not good. "Go find some clothes now, preferably a suit not a crop top!" Mom says chidingly, a reference to a time once when I thought wearing crop tops as part of the fashion trend.

I stocked and restocked my wardrobe with fanciful wears all the time, which is kinda crazy cause I never did wear them eventually.

Here's a tip; impulse buying.

I nod in dissent, trudging back into my room, trying to get my mind around why I had to end my day like this, each minute worse than the last. Now I had to face a party filled with homophobic relations and probably come home sweating with rage from all their whispering.

I hate my life.