I Have Only Myself to Give, Nothing More

Two months later …

“Guess what! Guess what!” he says, taking my hands in his and spinning me around the room.

“What?” I ask with a laugh and twirl him around into a dip.

Brendon’s large eyes are staring up at me and our noses are almost touching. “Spencer, Jon, and I are gonna rent an apartment together,” he says and I pull him up out of the dip.

“Jon’s mom finally got tired of putting up with you?” I ask, wishing that I were free to move out and live with them too.

Brendon shrugs. “I guess,” he says and moves over to my iPod to scroll through my songs. “And Spencer’s mom thought it’d be good practice for him to live away from home.”

“Have you found a place yet?” I ask, going to lie down on my bed, and Brendon nods.

“I think so,” he says and finds something interesting on my iPod. “What’s this?”

He clicks on a song and, to my mortification, a familiar melody fills the air.

“Oh, please, she’s not bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention,” my voice sings through the speakers—an awkward recording I made a couple weeks ago. “That’s just ridiculously odd.”

“I didn’t know you sing!” Brendon squeals, turning to me with warmth overflowing in his eyes. “Why don’t you ever tell me these things, Ryan?”

My eyes flicker to my guitar in the corner of my room—I only invited Brendon over today since I knew my father would be gone all day. “Um,” I stall. “I just … I’m shy.”

“Hmm,” he says, tilting his head thoughtfully to one side. “I don’t recognize the song; what is it?”

“It’s, uh, an original composition,” I stammer out, blushing, as my voice bursts through the speakers: “Boys will be boys, hiding in estrogens and Aubergine dreams. Have some composure! Where is your posture? Oh, no, no! You’re pulling the trigger all wrong.”

“Wow! I had no idea you were such a talented writer,” Brendon says with a smile and curls up beside me, tucking his head into my neck. “You’re so gifted, Ryan.”

“Only to have such wonderful friends,” I murmur drowsily, my arm going around his shoulders.

We lie there silently for a few minutes, just content to snuggle and drink up each other’s company. I’ve never felt this comfortable, this safe, this cared for around anyone before, and it scares a small part of me. The rest of me is thankful that I’ve found Brendon.

“How come I never see your Dad around?” he asks suddenly, causing me to flinch and stiffen.

“I … he works a lot,” I mumble. “And he’s not … very social.”

“Okay,” Brendon says simply, pulling even closer to me.

His warm scent hits my nose, filling me with a tingling feeling deep in my stomach. Turning on my side, I face Brendon, our eyes locking and our noses brushing.

Is this what love feels like? I wonder as my heart hammers in my chest, and my father’s words echo in my ears: "Damn faggot."

“I’m so glad you transferred to our school,” Brendon murmurs sleepily, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me towards him. “My life has never felt more complete.”

“Glad to know, sweetheart,” I say bitingly, the weight of my father’s disappointment making me mean.

“Don’t be like that,” Brendon whispers, his lips just barely touching my ear. “I’m being completely serious.”

Maybe I am too. “I’m sorry,” I say and bury my face in his chest. “It’s just … it’s hard for me to open up to people.”

Brendon sighs and I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking it too—

We’ve had this conversation one too many times in past couple of months.

I’m too afraid of committing to people and Brendon just can’t stand being frozen out by the people he cares about and what if we fall apart because of it?

“Well, you’ll always have me, Ryan,” Brendon says and holds me to him. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Not when my father’s on one of his drunken rampages and there are black spots in my vision, I think bitterly and I can hear his steady heartbeat in my ear. Not when I need saving. You can’t be there for me then.

I won’t let you.