Damian was settling down in his new room. His family just moved to Sarasota, Florida from Klamath Falls, Oregon because his dad received a new promotion, and they were forced to move here. The town itself looked utopian, like the kind of place everyone would’ve loved to take a vacation to. However, what’s on the surface never reflects what lies within. This town was full of fakes, people who only cared about looks and reputation. 

              He hated it here; he felt as if he was never able to be himself without someone silently judging. It drove him mad. His parents have always been this way, as well: perfect parents with a perfect son on the outside, intoxicated, violent beasts with blonde-haired, hazel eyes, bruised boy behind closed doors. His daily thoughts were interrupted by his mom calling him for dinner.

          “Danica, you better get down here for dinner in nice clothes! We’re having guests over. You better be down here with your best behavior in five seconds, or else you’ll get it way worse tonight!” she screamed.

            Damian responded, “My name isn’t Danica, it’s Damian! How many times do I have to tell you?”

            This had been going on for years; ever since Damian decided to express himself. He was 17 now, almost 18. One more month, he told himself, then you can go back and live with Conner. We can be free to be whoever we want. The thought of being able to live with his boyfriend warmed his heart. For now, however, he would have to deal with long-distance calls and texts, not to mention his parents. 

            He got dressed in a nice dress shirt, binder, and trousers then strolled downstairs. There he saw a young lady and her parents. The girl was very beautiful, with her short black hair in ringlets, paired with striking blue eyes that looked like they could pierce you if you looked at them directly. She completed her look with a red dress and white flats. “Xyla” she stated as she stuck her hand out. “Damian,” he replied and shook her hand. “Her name is Danica. ‘Damian’ is just a silly little nickname that she wants to be called, but never will,” Damian’s mother, Tessa, chimed. Damian was fed up. “No, Mother. My name is Damian. This ‘Danica’ girl is non-existent. I thought we discussed this?” he snapped.  

               Damian glanced at Xyla. Did she look… proud? No. He couldn’t put his finger on the expression, but it wasn’t something negative. Tessa stiffened. “Why don’t you go show Xyla your room while the adults talk?” She suggested, plastering a fake smile on her face. “Alright, come on Xyla. My room is upstairs.” Damian stated. He paused, leaned in, and whispered in Xyla’s ear, “Let’s avoid these plastic dolls.”