AN- Yes, I started ANOTHER story. I can't help it. I can't write about the other ones right now because I'm just not feeling it. Sorry. Anyways this one should be updated in two or three days if not tomorrow. I've already started working the next chapter so I hope you like it. It doesn't have as much supernatural elements as my last story but it does have a twist in it. Hope you like it! Pleze R&R!

Oh yeah, one last thing. This is a slash story! If you have a problem with that, don't read. Thank you!

Chapter One

I always had an idea that I was strange. It had something to do with falling in love when I was five years old, or the fact that I fell in love at five years old with a boy. Of course my mother thought it was funny. I discovered when I came out of the closet that she was secretly wishing I was gay because she heard gay boys are more likely to stay around their mothers.

Needless to say, my mother is a freak.

My father on the other hand is a stereotypical rich father. He flirts with young girls on one hand, but what’s not stereotypical of him is that he never cheats on my mother. He’s all talk and no action, and I blame him on my flirtatious tendencies. When I came out of the closet, he told me he was ‘disappointed’ and that he had hoped that I had ‘better sense then that’. Seriously it was like I had been caught getting a speeding ticket. I thought I would be grounded or something but Dad just told me that if I get a serious partner, I had better not cheat on him because then he would ‘lose all respect for me’.

My father is a different variety of freak that I shall never understand.

What really made me strange what who I fell in love with. The last name Lewis was one I had been familiar with even at the age of five. My mother thought the feminist ramblings of a one Fiona Lewis were revolutionary, especially after her two o’clock Manhattan. I had no idea that Fiona had a son named Adrian, or that I was going to preschool with him.

Adrian at the age of four rivaled me in the position of weirdo. I first saw him sitting in a sandbox pouring sand over his head. Just constant sand pouring. Then I saw him shake the dust from his dark dirty blonde hair and glare at the sand. I was in love with him at first sight, and I was five so the thought of a preemptive strike was beyond me.

“Why are you pouring sand on your head?” I asked because I was five and he fascinated me.

“I want to get sick, and sandboxes are germ infested cesspools,” Adrian said. The last part went over my head, as I’m sure it went over his so I focused on the first part of his sentence.

“Why do you want to get sick?” Adrian looks at me for the first time and frowns at me. At that age I thought his eyes were golden.

“Because I hardly ever get sick and so I don’t have any antsi-bodies and it’s the flu season,” Adrian said like that was a complete thought. I just stared at him for a minute, fascinated with him. He glared at me.

“What?”

“You’re cute and I like you.” I watched as Adrian’s nose wrinkled and he pursed his lips.

“You only like me because I’m cute,” Adrian accuses. I blink and then shrug.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Adrian glares. “You’re a chavenist pig.”

I really didn’t think of it at the time but that conversation was my undoing. Like I said before, Adrian’s mother is a feminist and if there is one thing Adrian dislikes, its sexist attitudes.

Therefore I blame my parents, because my mom is a stay at home mother who orders the maids around and my father hits on any pretty thing that walks by.

I tried to convince Adrian to stay at home and cook dinner after we got married and he just glared at me. One time he asked me why he had to cook dinner and I told him because he was going to be the girl. He yelled at me for nearly fifteen minutes telling me I was a ‘chavenist’ and that I’m a ‘masulate jerk’. Basically my tactics for wooing Adrian were failing.

We got older and the need to show Adrian I was boss was pertinent. I had to make him cry and shove his face in dirt. Of course, this made things worse. While he only knew how to regurgitate everything his mother had taught him, her words had driven a thought process into Adrian. He might’ve not know exactly what he was saying but he knew what he was trying to say while I… well I was an asshole.

After years of bullying, I realized it wasn’t going to work. I was still well aware that I liked Adrian. I liked him even more when he got old enough to tell me I was full of shit and understand what it meant. So along with puberty came a new tactic, the ’I’m going to make Adrian jealous’ tactic. Basically I ignored him.

Shut up. I know exactly how stupid I was when I was a kid. My mother drank screaming orgasms for crying out loud and I’m pretty sure she was drinking when she was pregnant with me.

So I didn’t stick with that plan for long because I like Adrian and ignoring him sucks. When we reached high school, I took on this roll as an insufferable flirt. I flirted a lot with Adrian in particular and he would roll his eyes. We did become better friends in that era though because by sophomore year it was known that I was bisexual (mother had a few too many cocktails). Adrian’s upbringing refused to allow him to ignore the assholes who dropped disgusting comments at me every so often.

Despite how much I wanted it to happen, nothing between us ever did. I tried not to be so pathetic by dating others but it never stuck. I like Adrian and no longer just because he is ‘cute’. He’s determined, spirited, feisty. He forces me in line when I say something stupid and he’s sarcastic as hell. Nothing ever happened in high school between me and him, but by junior year, I had given up. I doubted that Adrian was gay anyway and I was old enough now to know that I couldn’t actually have anything I wanted.

I mean, my father offered to buy whoever it was I was ‘moping’ over but really… I like Adrian. And he would kill me if my father propositioned him.

When I graduated I didn’t see Adrian. I felt pathetic and stupid for liking Adrian for so long and not getting over it. I figured if I ever wanted to move on in my life I would have to not talk to him again. Dad, at my request, sent me to a college in Prague where I stayed for two years. I was going to stay for the entire four years but Dad saw a homoerotic program on BBC so I had to come home.

We decided on a local school because I refuse to go to Harvard. My parents insisted on coming with me to unload my stuff because they missed me my first year doing this. That is why I, a twenty year old man, am standing outside my dorm hall with my mother holding down a Roy Rogers, which really isn’t a Roy Rogers because I’m pretty sure its 90 percent vodka or something.

“Mom, you’re not allowed to drink in public,” I sigh, exasperated. She doesn’t glance at me because my mother doesn’t glance. She stands there in her three inch stilettos, sipping on her drink from a cocktail glass with her oversized sunglasses on. She looks ridiculous.

“I’m not drinking Michael, I’m sipping and this is a Roy Rogers,” my mother corrects. I roll my eyes and glance around, looking for my father. He ran off when he heard the word “Greek week” and I’m pretty sure he’s schmoozing a local frat house.

I blame inbreeding.

“Mom, where’s dad?” I ask, simply because if I don’t she’ll freak out. If she doesn’t notice that he’s gone now, later I’ll be paying for it when the Roy kicks in.

“I don’t know. There are young girls around here Michael, think hard.” My mom doesn’t even pretend now that I’m old enough. The thing about my mother is that she has never insulted my intelligence like that.

I sigh and turn around to my car. It’s a volvo because that was the cheapest car my father would allow me to get. I pop the trunk and pull out a bag of clothes and a book bag. I have a few other boxes and throw a look in the direction of my mother who is waving at a group of freshman boys.

… Yes, mom is no better then dad.

“Mom, do you want to stay here by the car?” I ask. She smiles and waves before acknowledging me.

“I’m sorry sweety, what?”

“Car. Do you. Want to. Stay. By. The. Car?”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous sweety. I brought a disposable camera and everything to take a picture.”

“You know this isn’t the first time I’ve done this right? I’ve gone to college Mom… in Prague. I don’t think that this is going to be much scarier then that.”

My Mom throws me a look, one that tells me to shut up. “Don’t remind me Michael. This is the happiest day of my life…. Well my second happiest… or my third… whatever. Its happy today so don’t ruin that.” Mom downs the rest of her drink and sighs like it’s a breath of fresh air. I roll my eyes and close the trunk.

My dorm hall is called the Randolph hall, according to the big black letters above the entrance. I walk through and see a small elevator next to the stairs. I sigh when I realize that taking the stairs with my mother here is out of the question. I could let her take the elevator while I took the stairs but she’d give me hell for it because if she ended up taking a picture, I wouldn’t be there for it. I push the button for the elevator, something my mother deems worthy of a picture.

“Mom! Jesus Christ, you’re making me look like freshman,” I hiss. Mom glances at the paper camera, trying to figure out how to make it take another picture.

“I really should have hired someone to do this,” She says, completely ignoring me. The elevator door opens and we enter. Mom stands next to the buttons so I would think she would have enough sense to know she should push a button. She just stands there with her camera, pushing the flash button over and over again. I sigh and press the number three.

The elevator turns out to be incredibly slow which is honestly, a cherry on top of my day. Mom stands there, about ready to rip the paper off the camera. I’m thinking we’re going to die and rot in the elevator when it finally opens. “C’mon mother.”

“Michael why do people use these things these days? This is the most horrible piece of technology I’ve ever dealt with,” Mom hisses. She follows me through the hallway and into my room. I stop and drop my stuff. God… I am going to kill my dad.

“Mom! What the hell is this?” I shout. Mom doesn’t try looking up at me from the camera.

“What are you talking about Michael?” I glare at her. I know that even if she would look up, she wouldn’t see anything wrong with my dorm. There really isn’t a problem with the dorm, other then its ridiculously huge. I have a living room, a kitchen and two bedrooms. This is honestly more of a nice apartment then it is a dorm room.

“Mom, why am I living in the Buckingham palace of dorm rooms?” I say and examine the kitchen. I have new stainless steel kitchen appliances and repainted wood cabinet finishings. That is definitely the work of my father.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about sweety, I would go mad in such a small place.” Mom looks around, her nose slightly wrinkling in disgust. I roll my eyes because mother needs several rooms for her lifestyle. She needs her yoga room, her cocktail room, her ’me’ room, her bar room, her booze room… I live in a mansion and I don’t even have my own personal bathroom. Its not something I’m terribly broken up about but seriously… people who are poorer then me have their own bathroom.

I could live in a bathroom.

“Oh Michael don’t they have anything bigger?” Mother says once she’s finally done a once over. I… yes, I roll my eyes again. “This is so… distasteful. Where are the drapes? And they had better be clean.”

“Mom, I don’t think I have drapes. I think they only give us blinds,” I answer and check out the two rooms. They look identical in size so I choose the closest one to the kitchen.

“What?! How atrocious! How can anyone live without drapes!”

At this rate my eyes are going to roll out of my head.

“Mom, you are not allowed to drink for at least twenty-four hours before leaving the house,” I yell. She starts going on about something, probably that the cabinets in the kitchen aren’t oak or something. I wouldn’t know because I’m doing this technique I developed when I was a teenager. Its called ‘pretending my mother is a character from peanuts’. Its easier to understand her when I replace her voice with a really bad trombone player.

I’m really beginning to worry about my father. Really I shouldn’t, because he’s built like you wouldn’t believe it. West point and all that, which is why I thought he would be more upset when I told him I liked boys just as much, if not more then I liked girls.

“Mom, can you call Dad for me?” I call out while setting things up in my room. I hadn’t realized the endless chatter ended quite a while ago. She doesn’t answer however and I can feel my sanity slowly drip out of my ear.

“Mom?” There is no response. A vodka bottle must’ve walked by. Shit.

“Mom!” I stand up and leave the room. I round the corner not expecting anyone there, because my mother can disappear like a Jedi. I nearly run into someone though who is definitely not my mother. My mind goes momentarily blank because I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating here. There’s no way in hell my luck is this bad… or good. Whatever. I’m gaping like a fish on dry land because I’m sure I’m not breathing.

“You have to be fucking kidding me!” Adrian Lewis is in front of me and, he’s frowning at me with his pretty amber eyes, and his soft lips are pursed together and… and… this is so not fucking funny. Sooooo. Not. Funny.