Things to be Scared Of
by carcrash.

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Jamison was afraid of a lot of things:

Loud vehicles during a silent night, corners on his homework that could cause paper cuts, his mother’s favorite set of china that he was sure he would break if he ever touched the fragile porcelain, the color purple, choker necklaces he knew would kill him if he tried one on—he didn’t understand how girls could wear them, and he was also afraid of choking on cherry stems and thus he had never tried tying one into a knot in his mouth.

He was afraid of peanut butter getting suck to the roof of his mouth, he was afraid of his neighbor’s Great Dane (although he heard it was the sweetest thing ever), he didn’t like the scent of Sharpies and always thought that they’d get him high. He was afraid of homeless bums asking him for change that he didn’t have, walking over manholes always made him nervous, and don’t get me started on the fear of escalators.

Jamison never kept posters on his walls because he didn’t like eyes “watching” him while he slept, he always wore green on Saint Patrick’s Day for fear of being pinched or slapped, he also had a fear of taking medication and a lot of the time his mother would have to force feed him. He didn’t like dentist’s offices, squeaky leather seats, or garbage bags. He didn’t enjoy running his fingernails over cardboard, and he knew he didn’t like sprinklers.

3D movies gave him nightmares, airbags in cars didn’t make his mind more at ease when in the front seat of a car, girls who wore too much makeup made him cringe, staring at the sky too long was never good, and he didn’t like the spritzer girls in Macy’s, the spin cycle at Jenny’s Laundromat, and the sound of trains made him curl up and cry.

Pencils with smilies on them made him freak out, the warnings about the Wii controllers always made him freak out that he’d murder someone with the blunt object, gossip magazines freaked him out, unnatural colors for pants like hot pink and lime green scared the shit out of him, music always reminded him of things he didn’t want to think about, and he hated stuffed animals.

Tofu, Crayola crayons, flat-brimmed hats, energy drinks, uneven surfaces, misspelled words, and Jenny Craig models also weren’t his favorite things. Neither were bottles of sand, torn-out newspaper articles, porn sites, sparkly dresses and tiaras, report cards (even if they showed he was doing well), and paintball guns.

Transformer toys, clothes with animal patterns on them, things that won’t zip up correctly, dead batteries, telemarketers, ID cards, people speaking high pitched with helium in their lungs, the way cigarettes burn, fake smiles, mosh pits, and prostitutes.

Nascar, Chester the Cheetah, meadows, the foam waves leave on the beach, hospitals, pale yellow walls, birthday cards (after all, who needs to know that they’re going to turn older and older every year—that’s fucking scary!), astronauts, pink lemonade, plastic bottles, leather pants, anything citrusy, paintings hanging uneven on a wall.

But the list isn’t even done yet: Duct tape, clumsy kisses, volcanoes erupting, shards of glass, girls wearing summer dresses in winter, cliché “scene” kids, wrinkly faces (as well as horribly botoxed ones), sex, and puppets that resembled real life people.

And there was something that freaked him out more than all of these combined: Romance.

The feeling of butterflies in his stomach, sweaty palms, and the way that people lick their lips to prepare for the kiss, the nervous smiles, the awkward touching, the promise of forever love.

Jamison didn’t think he deserved any of that. No, apparently what he felt for the same gender was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He was afraid that his parents would push him, shove him, rip him to shreds, tear out his hair, burn his skin inch by inch, make him swallow bleach and other deadly chemicals, would crucify him and pray that God would save him.

He was afraid that his boyfriend would be kidnapped by his parents, tied up in a corner, and he’d be forced to watch as Jamison’s body and soul would slowly be torn to pieces. He was afraid that his boyfriend would then be subdued to harsh pain and punishment for simply loving their son.

“Shane, what’s wrong?” the teen asked nervously as he noticed his boyfriend was shaking on Jamison’s bed.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

Yes, Jamie was afraid of a lot of things, but he couldn’t let anyone or anything ruin the most special thing he had.

Jamison pulled him into his arms tightly. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” he whispered. "I'm here, I'm here."

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Author's Note: It was going good at the beginning but I wasn't sure how it really turned out. I guess since I had more creative juices yesterday the start is better than the end?