Confession under a clouded sky

Chapter Three:

The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind that fresh, wet scent that always lingered in the air afterward. I stood in front of the mirror again, running a hand through my hair, still damp from the drizzle. My reflection stared back at me, the familiar patches of skin a stark reminder of the insecurities I’d carried for as long as I could remember. I traced my fingers over the lighter spots along my cheekbones and down my neck, wishing for the hundredth time that I could see what Eli saw. What anyone else saw.

Eli. Even just thinking his name sent a strange warmth through me.

After our second encounter at the park, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. His smile, his voice, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at Zeus. There was something about him—something magnetic. It felt dangerous, like I was on the edge of something I couldn’t quite understand. But I wanted more.

Of course, wanting more terrified me.

A knock at the door shook me from my thoughts. I jumped, quickly wiping at my face as if trying to erase any trace of whatever emotion had crept in. The door creaked open, and my mom’s voice followed.

“Crisanto, I’m coming in.”

Before I could respond, she was already inside, her usual expression of concern mixed with frustration etched onto her face. She eyed me, then the wet towel hanging off my shoulder.

"Did you even go to class today?" she asked, crossing her arms.

I sighed, turning away from the mirror. "Yeah, I went."

Mom’s brow furrowed. “Don’t lie to me. I checked with the school. You skipped your last two periods.”

There it was again—her disapproving tone, the weight of her expectations crashing down like a wave. I couldn’t tell her that I’d needed space to think, to clear my head. That every time I sat in class, I felt suffocated by the weight of everything I wasn’t. How was I supposed to explain that?

“Crisanto, you can’t keep doing this,” she said, her voice softer now, but still carrying that edge of disappointment. “Your father—”

“Yeah, I know,” I cut her off, feeling my pulse quicken. “He thinks I’m weak. He thinks I’m not good enough. I get it, Mom.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” she replied, her voice tightening. “But you need to stop acting like you don’t care. Skipping classes, zoning out—it’s not going to help you.”

My jaw clenched as I stared down at the floor. “I do care.”

“Then show it,” she shot back, stepping closer. “I love you, Crisanto. We both do. But we can’t help you if you keep shutting us out.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” I said, though it felt like a lie. Maybe I was. Maybe it was easier to shut everyone out than to let them in and see how much I was struggling. How much I felt like I was drowning.

Before I could say anything else, Dad’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Crisanto! What’s going on in there?”

I winced, feeling my stomach twist. Mom looked at me, her eyes softening for just a second before she turned toward the door.

“I’ve got it,” she called back, her voice a little firmer. “We’re just talking.”

I could hear Dad grumbling something under his breath as he walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. My shoulders slumped.

Mom turned back to me. “Please, Crisanto, talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

I swallowed, feeling the familiar knot form in my throat. I could tell her the truth. Tell her about the way I felt every time I looked in the mirror, the way the weight of being different crushed me every day. I could tell her about Eli and how just being near him made me feel things I didn’t fully understand yet.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I just shook my head. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just tired.”

She sighed, a long, tired sigh, then stepped toward me, placing a hand on my arm. “You know I’m here if you ever want to talk. You can talk to me about anything, Crisanto. You know that, right?”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if that was true. She meant well, but how could I tell her everything? There were pieces of me I wasn’t ready for anyone to see yet. Pieces that terrified me.

She gave my arm a gentle squeeze before heading for the door. “Just… don’t let this spiral out of control, okay? You’re better than this.”

And with that, she left, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. I let out a long breath, the tension in my chest loosening, but only just. I sat down on my bed, running my hands through my hair, staring at the floor.

What the hell was I doing?

A faint knock sounded on my door again, but this time, it was softer, more familiar. I glanced up to see Celine leaning against the doorframe, a knowing look on her face.

“So, are we having a family intervention or what?” she asked with a small grin, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

I rolled my eyes. “Something like that.”

Celine flopped down onto my bed beside me, stretching out her legs. “You look like hell. What’s going on?”

I shrugged, not really wanting to get into it. But Celine had this way of getting me to talk, even when I didn’t want to. She nudged my shoulder.

“Come on, spill,” she said. “Is it school? Mom? Dad?”

“Everything,” I muttered. “It’s just… everything.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah, I get that. But you can’t keep bottling this stuff up, Cris. It’s going to eat you alive.”

Celine was only two years older than me, but sometimes it felt like she was lightyears ahead. Maybe it was because she was away at college, living her life while I was still stuck here, feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. Celine had always been the strong one—the one who stood up to our father when he got too harsh, the one who was confident in who she was, even when things weren’t perfect.

She had this effortless way of making you feel safe. It wasn’t just because she knew what to say, but because she made you believe it. That’s what I admired most about her. She saw me—really saw me—even when I felt invisible to everyone else.

She’d been the first person I came out to. And to this day, she was the only one in the family who knew.

I could feel her eyes on me, waiting, and finally, I broke. “There’s this guy,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Celine’s eyebrows shot up, and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “A guy? Tell me more.”

I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. “It’s not like that. I mean, it is, but… I don’t even know what it is.”

Celine propped herself up on her elbow, clearly intrigued now. “Okay, slow down. Start from the beginning.”

I hesitated, feeling that familiar knot in my chest, but it was Celine. If there was anyone I could talk to, it was her. So I told her. About meeting Eli in the park, about Zeus knocking me over, about how he made me feel. How confused I was by it all.

When I finished, Celine just looked at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she smiled softly.

“Cris… you’ve got it bad.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Don’t say that.”

“What? It’s cute!” she teased, nudging me with her foot. “I mean, it sounds like he likes you, too. You don’t just meet someone twice like that by accident.”

I shook my head, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t even know him. What if it’s all in my head?”

Celine rolled her eyes. “Cris, you’re overthinking this. Just… let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling. You deserve that.”

“Do I, though?” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

“Yes,” she said firmly, sitting up. “You do. And don’t let anyone—especially not Dad—make you think otherwise.”

I nodded, though the doubts still lingered. But talking to Celine, even just for a little while, made me feel lighter. She always had a way of grounding me when things felt like they were spiraling out of control.

Celine wasn’t just my sister; she was the one person in my life who had my back no matter what. She’d always been like that—fiercely protective of me, even when we were kids. I remember when I first noticed the patches of vitiligo on my skin, how upset I’d been, how scared. Celine had been the one to sit me down and tell me it didn’t change anything, that I was still me, still worth loving. She didn’t let me wallow in self-pity, but she didn’t push me to change overnight either. She let me take my time.

“Thanks, Celine,” I said quietly.

She smiled, leaning over to ruffle my hair. “Anytime, little brother.”

As she stood up to leave, she paused at the door,

“And hey, when you see this Eli guy again… maybe ask for his number next time, yeah?”

I groaned, throwing a pillow at her, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. She laughed, dodging the pillow before slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

And for the first time in a long time, those thoughts didn’t feel quite so heavy.

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