|Confessions of a Drag Queen and a Girl Named Dot
Author: Wanda Walker PM
Eddie is a small town boy looking for acceptance in a big city. Dot is a disgruntled girl in dire need of a friend. Together they weave a tale of love, loss, betrayal, acceptance, and most of all, friendship. mXm slash/hetRated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 43 - Words: 206,109 - Reviews: 275 - Favs: 81 - Follows: 22 - Updated: 07-11-09 - Published: 03-19-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2649399
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Summary: Rejected by his family, friends, and hometown, Eddie heads for the big city where he hopes to find someone who understands. Dot is frustrated with the current state of her social life, and doesn't trust easily. Despite all the obstacles and all their differences, together they weave a tale of love, loss, betrayal, acceptance, and most of all, friendship.
Slash, het, multiracial relationships, stupid people, sparkles, rainbows, and overall fluffiness. I also have plenty of artwork on my Deviantart account, which is linked on my profile page. Check it out!
1—A Boy Named Eddie—1
I was freezing my ass off.
It was an uncharacteristically cold night as I sat on the bus station bench in Franklin. My old winter coat had seen the worst of its days, and through several holes crawled white fluffy down. I'd been unable to find my gloves in my hurry, and the bitter wind leaked through the vents in my sneakers.
I looked around me. The only other person at the station was a woman with a cigarette in her mouth. She kept throwing suspicious glances at me, as if expecting me to harrass her. She had yellow teeth and the skin sagged on her face, even though she probably wasn't any older than twenty-five. I winced and turned away.
I tried to think about what I had going for me. I had a full stomach. Check. I had clothes. Check. I didn't look too terrible, considering I'd been living on the streets for two days. Check. The fuzz on my chin helped protect my face against the cold. Check.
The list ended there. All I had was a couple hundred bucks, a backpack full of clothes, and my battered iPod. The batteries were low, and it probably only had an hour left.
Suddenly the smoker lady was standing over me, her plucked eyebrows raised, her outlined lips pursed.
"Ain't you Parker's kid?"
I gulped and nodded.
"What you doing here at midnight?"
"Waiting for the bus, I hope," I told her.
She eyed me carefully. I didn't know how she knew my father, since she didn't seem like the type to attend weekly church services. It was even more astonishing that she knew me. Other than playing on the football team and attending my school's youth group, I hadn't done much in the past year to gain me much billboard time.
"What's your name?" she asked.
I gulped again. "Eddie."
"That's right. I recognized the hair."
She pointed to my blond curls spiraling out from underneath my beanie. I subconsciously raised my hand to flatten it. Dad always said I had my mom's Shirley Temple hair. He'd always laugh and then punch me on the shoulder in that you're- alright sort of way.
I clenched my eyes shut and tried not to cry. I couldn't think about Before. I had to think about Now. Now was all that mattered.
"Won't your daddy be wonderin' where you are?" she asked. She was dumb enough to smoke but not dumb enough to realize that I wasn't exactly out at ten at night trying to catch a bus on my parents' request.
"No." It was the truth.
"I hate to see you sittin' out here, freezing. A good looking boy like yourself should be home."
I turned towards the road. "Thanks for the advice, but I think I'll take the bus out of here."
The smoker eyed me, and shrugged. "You're throwing a good life away, kid."
I almost laughed. A good life? I was running away from Hell. That's what I was doing.
There was a light in the distance, then the long, moumful cry of the horn. Hoisting my bag onto my shoulder, I approached the thick yellow line.
"Take care of yourself, Eddie," the smoker advised.
"I'll do that."
She nodded and fished for another cigarette.
The Parker family was always the kind of family that parents would point out to their kids and say, 'why can't you be like them?'. My father was a well-respected and charismatic preacher. He was at every town gathering, every charity. He had a round, cheery red face that glowed when he smiled. He had that expression that made it impossible to suspect him of any crime or dismeanor.
My mother was the beautiful young diva he married. She was the typical house wife, always sweeping around the house in a checkered dress and matching pumps. She was always laughing and cooking. When I was sad, she'd make cookies. She had special recipes for when I was sick. She knew everyone in the grocery store. She hosted Christmas parties and sponsored town charities.
And then there was me. Edward Thomas Parker. The very image of an all American boy. Six-foot and still growing. Strong jaw, even tan, shiny blonde hair. I was an agressive football player, yet always polite enough to charm any grandmother. When I talked, everyone shut up. I had enough friends to keep me busy any day of the week, even in such a small town. I was the kid every boy and girl knew. I drove a nice car, wore nice clothes, got excellent grades in school. I attended church and helped with the school plays.
But I'd always harbored a secret. A secret I promised never, ever to let get out. Until now, that is.
2—A Girl Named Dot—2
I'd been seriously considering that there was something wrong with me.
Two days ago I had a fight with my best and last friend. Not a little spat either. A big, life-altering fight. She was getting into drugs and being an idiot, and I scolded her for it. She was getting on my nerves lately, hanging out with her jack ass boyfriend and acting like she was all cool because she was moronic enough to do crack. I bitched her out for it, she defended herself, and we parted ways.
I thought maybe it was because I didn't get along with women, but that wasn't true. I have no faith in men either. Last night Oliver knocked on my door. He was drunk out of his mind and probably jacked up on some other illegal substance as well. He was blubbering on about some party he went to, and the chicks he hit on. I let him in, only because I was afraid he might hurt himself. My dad saw him and only shook his head. Apparently my dad didn't put much faith in men either.
When I woke up that morning, Oliver was in the bathroom, digging through our medicine cabinet. His rugged good looks were dulled by the bags under his eyes and the bright red blood vessels around his irises.
"Hung over?" I asked, smirking.
"Fuck off," he snapped, fumbling with a box of Excedrin.
"I sure hope you didn't impregnate anyone last night."
His dark eyes slid over to me. "Don't start."
"You know what amazes me? A male's capability to get it up when he's wasted. I mean, doesn't it sort of adhere coordination—?"
"Fuck off, Dot," Oliver growled, dry swallowing the pills. "I don't need your shit this early in the morning."
"It's eleven in the morning, dipwad."
I have absolutely no clue to why I was friends with Oliver. He was such a druggie player. He was usually drunk, high, or poor when he stumbled onto my doorstep. Our conversations consisted of the insults he'd throw at me when he was hung over the next morning.
Maybe it was because he was the hottest thing to ever step foot in L.A. Let me tell you, L.A. has a lot of good looking bachelors out there, but Oliver topped them all. Half the time he didn't even try.
The problem with Oliver was that he knew he was good-looking. He knew it better than anyone else. Which was why he was so goddamn conceited. He thought the world revolved around him, and that the masses better forsee and worship his coming.
Oliver was always so pissed at me because I treated him like he wasn't a god. I treated him like I did anyone else I'd meet on the street.
"Griffin will be wondering where you are."
"Yeah, in between his study breaks," Oliver snorted.
My father came up behind me and looked into the bathroom. "Are you alright, Oliver?"
"I'll be fine, Mr. Walker."
My dad looked skeptical, but continued on his way. He was used to Oliver's little dramas. By now he'd given up the idea that Oliver and I harbored a secret affair. Oliver was just too gorgeous and I was just too smart.
I left to call Griffin. He picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Griffin, this is Dot."
"Hey." His voice was warm and friendly, yet strangely distant. I was always friends with Oliver, but Griffin and I had never really clicked. I wasn't sure why, since Griffin was smart, like me. He didn't waste his life partying and banging potheads. However, he was just as aware of his good looks as Oliver, and I think he didn't deem someone like myself worthy.
"Oliver's here, if you were wondering."
"I wasn't really wondering, but it's nice to know. Is he OD'ing on Excedrin?"
I looked over at Oliver, who was bowed over the sink. "Yeah."
"Tell me about it."
"Dot," Oliver grumbled. "Stop chumming it up with my stupid brother."
"Tell him that I may be stupid, but at least I'm better looking," Griffin joked.
Oliver and Griffin often exchanged the "better looking" joke, even though they both looked exactly the same.
"Maybe you should talk to him."
"Talk to a hung over Oliver? Dot, I'm not that brave."
"Fine." I hung up and went back to Oliver.
"I'm glad that Griffin's my mother and keeps tabs on me," Oliver snarled. "Someone has to be your mother."
Oliver shoved the box into the cabinet and slammed the door shut. "Hey, thanks for the bed. And Excedrin. Where would I be without you?"
"Waking up in the gutter. Remember that next time you take advantage of my hospitality."
He waved to me on his way down the stairs. He soon vanished out the door and onto the street.
Jack ass. That's what he was. A gorgeous jack ass.