TO LOVE IN THE DARK

🖤 TO LOVE IN THE DARK

Story Profile

Genre: Dark LGBTQ+ Romantic Drama / High Angst

Tone: Emotional, tense, heartbreaking, and resilient.

🥀 Main Characters

1. Karen Whitmore

- Age: 22

- Traits: Deeply loving, sensitive, gentle, and emotionally vulnerable.

2. Eliana Harrington

- Age: 27

- Traits: Loyal, brave, protective, wealthy, and influential. Suffers from asthma.

3. Victoria Harrington (Eliana's Mother)

- Traits: Torn between family pride and motherly affection.

⛓️ The Antagonists

4. Karen's Parents — The Whitmores

- Traits: Extremely abusive, cruel, and controlling. Willing to use violence and torture to break Karen's spirit.

5. Eliana's Father — Mr. Harrington

- Traits: Authoritarian, controlling, and obsessed with family status and reputation. Willing to sacrifice his son's happiness to protect the family's image.

🖤 TO LOVE IN THE DARK

Chapter One — A Curse in Their Eyes

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🌹 The Whitmore Residence

Karen Whitmore had learned that being a good son did not guarantee being loved.

At twenty-two, he worked tirelessly at his little flower shop, arranging roses, wrapping bouquets, and serving customers from morning until evening. Every flower he sold represented another small step toward the life he dreamed of building for himself.

Yet, no matter how hard he worked, the money never seemed to belong to him.

His savings went toward his parents' expenses. The household bills, groceries, and countless demands always came first. Whenever Karen tried to keep a little money aside for himself, his parents reminded him that he owed them everything simply because they had given birth to him.

And Karen, who had spent his entire life longing for their affection, always gave in.

That evening, he returned home with tired feet and a small paper bag containing bread he had bought on his way back from the shop.

His mother sat in the living room, examining a list of household expenses. His father occupied the sofa, watching television.

Karen quietly placed the bread on the table.

"You're back late," his father remarked without looking at him.

"I'm sorry, Father. A customer came in just before closing, so I had to finish her arrangement."

"Did you make any money today?"

Karen nodded. "Yes. The shop did fairly well."

His mother immediately looked up.

"Good. Your father needs money for something tomorrow. Give me what you earned."

Karen's fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

"Mother, I already paid for the electricity bill and the groceries this week. I was hoping to save a little for—"

"For what?" she interrupted sharply.

He fell silent.

"For what, Karen?"

"I just wanted to keep some money aside for the shop. I need to replace a few things, and some of my supplies are running low."

His father finally turned away from the television.

"Are you telling us you want to keep your money for yourself?"

"No, Father. That's not what I meant."

"Then stop making excuses and give your mother the money."

Karen swallowed the words gathering in his throat.

He had worked for hours arranging flowers until his fingers ached. He had smiled at customers even when they mocked his appearance. He had spent his days standing behind a counter, trying to build something of his own.

Still, he couldn't refuse them.

He reached into his bag and handed his mother the money he had earned.

She counted it before placing it inside her purse.

"At least you're useful for something."

Karen lowered his eyes.

He wanted to believe that one day, if he worked hard enough and did everything they asked, his parents might finally look at him with pride.

But he had been waiting for that day for as long as he could remember.

And it never came.

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🥀 A Son They Couldn't Accept

"Look at you," his father muttered when Karen turned toward the staircase. "Twenty-two years old, yet you still look like a fragile little girl."

Karen stopped.

His father shook his head in disgust.

"How can a man be this delicate and weak? You have no strength, no backbone, nothing that makes you look like a proper man."

"Please, Father," Karen whispered.

"Please what?"

Karen's lips parted, but no words emerged.

His mother gave a bitter laugh.

"He's always been like this. Too soft. Too sensitive. Even the way he walks makes people stare."

"I work hard," Karen said quietly. "I do everything you ask me to do."

"And you expect a medal for it?" his father snapped.

"No."

"Then stop standing there looking pathetic!"

Karen flinched at the sudden shout.

His mother rose from her chair, her expression hardening as she approached him.

"You're a freak, Karen. A useless, embarrassing freak. I don't know why you couldn't have been born normal."

He stared at the floor, blinking rapidly as tears gathered in his eyes.

He had heard those words before.

So many times that they had begun to sound like the truth.

He knew he was gentle. He knew his features were softer than those of most men, and his quiet manner often made people underestimate him.

But he had never understood why those things made him deserving of hatred.

He worked. He paid their bills. He came home every night.

What else did they want from him?

His father scoffed.

"Get out of my sight."

Karen didn't wait for him to repeat himself.

He hurried upstairs, shut himself inside his small bedroom, and leaned against the door.

Only then did he allow the tears to fall.

He pressed a hand over his mouth to keep his sobs quiet.

Even after giving them everything he had earned, he was still useless in their eyes.

Sometimes, Karen wondered whether there was anything he could do that would ever make his parents love him.

Tonight, as on every other night, he had no answer.

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🌧️ A World That Hated Him

The following morning, Karen opened his flower shop before the streets became crowded.

The modest store was his one source of comfort. Buckets of fresh flowers stood near the entrance, their petals bright against the weathered walls. Roses, lilies, tulips, and delicate sprigs of baby's breath filled the air with a gentle fragrance.

Here, Karen could breathe.

Here, he could arrange something beautiful without someone telling him that his hands were too delicate or his mannerisms were shameful.

He tied his apron around his waist and began preparing the day's bouquets.

By midmorning, customers had started arriving.

An elderly woman bought a bunch of white lilies. A young couple ordered red roses. Another customer collected a bouquet she had reserved the previous evening.

Karen served them all with the same gentle courtesy.

Then two men entered the shop.

He greeted them with a polite smile.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

One of them looked him up and down before turning to his companion with a smirk.

"Is this the flower shop?"

His friend laughed.

"Obviously. Look at the person running it."

Karen's smile faltered.

The first man imitated the delicate movement of Karen's hands as he arranged a bouquet.

"Honestly, how can a man behave like that?"

"Maybe he isn't a man at all," the other replied.

Their laughter filled the little shop.

Karen stood behind the counter, his fingers resting on a ribbon he had been preparing to tie.

He had heard worse.

He told himself that they were only words, that he could endure a few cruel remarks if it meant keeping his business open.

"Are you buying anything?" he asked softly.

The first man raised his eyebrows.

"Listen to that voice."

They laughed again before leaving without purchasing anything.

Karen remained still until the door closed behind them.

Then he lowered his gaze and continued tying the ribbon.

His hands trembled slightly.

He hated that even a few strangers could make him feel small in a place where he was supposed to feel safe.

But the cruelty did not end at his doorstep or inside his shop.

It followed him into the streets, into the markets, and onto the sidewalks where people gathered to exchange gossip.

In the world Karen lived in, men who loved other men were treated as though they carried a disease. People spoke about them with disgust, as if their existence threatened everyone around them.

Rumors spread. Neighbors whispered. Strangers stared.

Some called men like Karen a curse.

Others described them as a plague that society needed to eradicate.

And because Karen was soft-spoken, delicate in appearance, and unwilling to fight every person who insulted him, he became an easy target.

He learned to keep his head down.

He learned to walk faster when people began whispering.

He learned to smile at customers even when their words hurt him.

Most painfully, he learned to apologize for things that were never his fault.

By evening, he had sold several bouquets.

He counted his earnings, separated the money he needed for fresh supplies, and placed the remainder in a small envelope beneath the counter.

It wasn't much.

But it was his.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a future in which he could leave his parents' house, live without fear, and open his shop every morning without wondering who would insult him next.

Perhaps he would have a home filled with flowers.

Perhaps he would meet someone who wouldn't look at his gentleness as a flaw.

Someone who would hold his hand in public without being ashamed of him.

Someone who would see Karen as a person rather than a problem to be solved.

His smile appeared briefly before he lowered his head.

It was a foolish dream, he thought.

People like him weren't allowed to dream of such things.

At least, that was what the world had taught him.

Karen returned to arranging the remaining flowers, unaware that someone new would soon begin visiting his little shop.

Someone whose arrival would change everything he believed about love, happiness, and the possibility of being accepted.

For now, he had only his flowers, his dwindling savings, and a heart that refused to become as cruel as the world around him.

And somehow, despite everything, he still hoped that one day, someone would love him without making him feel like a curse.

To be continued... 🖤