Evan stared out of his bedroom window, his light brown eyes reflecting the twinkling lights of New York City. The bustling streets below were alive with activity, but he felt a world apart from it all. His life had always been a series of contradictions, a struggle between who he was and who the world expected him to be.
"It's strange," he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "how people can see the same thing so differently. To some, my androgynous beauty is a curse, a source of shame. To others, it's a gift, something to be admired. But to me... it's just me."
Evan remembered the looks he received at school, the whispers and snickers that followed him down the hallways. "There goes the pretty boy," they would say, their voices dripping with sarcasm. He recalled the time a group of boys cornered him after class, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and malice. "Hey, Evan," one of them had sneered, "you ever thought about being a model? You'd make a great girl." The laughter that followed was cruel, and Evan had felt his cheeks burn with humiliation.
At home, things weren't much better. His father, Richard, a stern businessman with traditional views, never missed an opportunity to express his disappointment. "A man should be strong, Evan," he would say, his voice cold and unforgiving. "You need to toughen up. This... this softness of yours, it won't get you anywhere." Richard had forced Evan into boxing classes at Empire Boxing Gym, a place where the smell of sweat and leather filled the air. Evan hated it. The other boys were rough, and the physical contact often made him uncomfortable. There was one time, during a sparring match, when a boy's hand had lingered too long on his waist. The smirk on his opponent's face had made Evan's skin crawl.
His mother, Patricia, was no different. "Men don't cry, Evan," she would chide whenever she saw him upset. "You need to be strong, responsible." Patricia's stern words echoed in his mind, reinforcing the feeling that he would never be enough for them.
Evan's older sister, Clara, wasn't much of a comfort either. Jealous of his beauty, she often mistreated him. "Why do people always say you're prettier than me?" she would snap, her eyes flashing with resentment. "It's not fair." Clara's words cut deep, adding to the isolation Evan felt within his own family.
His younger brother, James, tall and muscular like their father, shared the same disdain for Evan's perceived weaknesses. "You should be more like me, Evan," James would say, his tone laced with scorn. "Stop being so... delicate."
The only places Evan found solace were away from his family. The New York Public Library was his sanctuary, a place where he could lose himself in books and forget the harsh realities of his life. He would spend hours there, reading about far-off lands and magical worlds, wishing he could escape into one of them. Central Park was another refuge. He loved watching people with their pets, imagining what it would be like to have a loyal companion of his own. And then there was The Cozy Nook, an old-fashioned café where he could enjoy a quiet cup of tea and a rare moment of peace.
"Evan," he whispered to himself, "you're stronger than they think." He thought about his studies at Columbia University, where he had chosen to pursue Literature despite his father's objections. Books were his escape, his passion, and he had defied Richard's wishes to follow his own path. "It's not much," he thought, "but it's mine."
As Evan continued to gaze out at the city, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. Longing for acceptance, for a place where he truly belonged.
Today was the annual family check-up. A day I always dreaded, but today, it was especially heavy. The Hawthorne family took pride in their health and success, and this yearly hospital visit was a testament to our
picture-perfect lives. Or so it seemed.
I walked through the hospital halls, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. My father, Richard, led the way with his usual stern demeanor, while my mother, Patricia, followed closely behind, her face as rigid as ever. Clara and James walked on either side of me, making me feel like an outsider in my own family.
The check-up started as usual, each of us going through a series of tests. I tried to keep my mind occupied, thinking about anything other than the cold, clinical environment. But then, the unexpected happened.
The doctor called us into his office, and I could feel the tension in the air. He looked at me with a mix of confusion and concern. "Evan," he began, "we found something unusual in your tests. You... you have the ability to become pregnant."
The words hung in the air, heavy and incomprehensible. I felt the world spinning around me, trying to grasp the reality of what he had just said. My father was the first to react.
"What kind of nonsense is this?" Richard's voice boomed, filled with rage. "A man can't get pregnant! This is absurd!"
"How could you let this happen?" my mother added, her voice cold and accusatory. "You're supposed to be a man, Evan, not... whatever this is."
Clara sneered, her eyes filled with disdain. "You're such a freak. You can't even be normal in this."
James, my brother, just shook his head in disgust. "You're a disgrace to this family."
I stood there, unable to move, unable to speak. My father's words cut through me like a knife. "You're not my son. You're a disappointment, an embarrassment. How could you do this to us?"
My mother chimed in, "We tried so hard to make you strong, to make you a man. And this... this is how you repay us?"
I felt my whole world shattering into pieces. I was desperate, lost, and utterly alone. I wanted to scream, to cry, to make them understand, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I stood there, silent and trembling, tears streaming down my face.
As we left the hospital, I couldn't bear to be with them any longer. "I'll take an Uber," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. They didn't argue; they probably didn't care.
In the backseat of the Uber, I stared out at the city, my mind racing. "I don't have a place here," I whispered to myself. "I'm alone. I'm sad. I can't do it anymore. I'm tired." The city lights blurred as tears filled my eyes. "Why do I have to be this way? Why can't I just be normal?"
Suddenly, a loud horn blared, and before I could react, a massive truck smashed into the side of the Uber. The car went flying, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Glass shattered around me, and the world spun violently.
"This is it," I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. "This is how I'm going to die. Without ever being loved, without a loving family. I had everything, but I was never loved." As the car flipped and crumpled, I found myself thinking about my family. "Will they cry for me? Or will they be relieved that this 'creature' is finally gone from their lives?"
In the chaos, I whispered to myself, "I want to live. I don't want to die. Not like this." The pain was unbearable, but the fear of dying alone, unloved, was even worse. "Please," I begged silently, "I want to live."
As the world around me started to fade, I remembered the last moments with my family. My father's angry face, my mother's cold words, my siblings' disdain. I had been too scared to speak when I learned I could be pregnant. My father's yelling, my own tears – it all came back to me in a rush.
I burst into tears, overwhelmed by everything. The last thing I saw before the darkness took over was the city skyline, a blur of lights against the night sky. "Please," I whispered one last time, "I want to live."