I Have Only Myself to Give, Nothing More

“Isn’t it amazing?” Brendon exclaims, spinning circles in the living room of the new apartment. “When can we move in?”

“Not so fast, Brendon,” Spencer says with a laugh. “We still have to pay for it.”

“But it’s gonna be ours,” Brendon breathes and turns to give Spencer, Jon, and I a look so full of wonder that it’s hard not to feel awed right along with him—his feelings are just that contagious.

I wish it would be mine too, I think, watching Jon beam and Spencer smile and Brendon, oh most of all Brendon, grinning and spinning and living so brightly. You could outshine the sun, I think and then, for reasons unknown, a blush reddens my cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Ryry?” Brendon asks, his voice a gentle coo. “You’re all red.”

“Aw, sweetheart, it’s of no great importance,” I drawl, winking at him and hiding my embarrassment as I usually do. I always call him ‘sweetheart’ whenever I’m flushed.

A blush creeps over his own face and he shakes his head with a laugh, turning to throw his arms around Jon. “Let’s pay-pay-pay already!” he begs. “And then we can move in!”

“You’re so silly,” Jon says with a laugh, flicking the tip of Brendon’s nose.

“And you’re so old,” the younger boy retorts, releasing him.

An indignant sound escapes through Jon’s lips and Brendon gives him a snarky grin, and man, that boy can pull some amazing expressions. “You make me sound like a pedophile,” Jon mutters, and Brendon laughs his beautiful laugh.

“Let’s go and pay,” Spencer says calmly, heading towards the door. “Before Brendon creams his pants or something.”

Jon chuckles and Brendon squeaks in surprise and I’m blushing at the mental image that suddenly floods my mind. Oh god …

But I think Brendon’s face may be redder than me as he pushes past Spencer. “Then let’s go pay!” he mutters angrily and I can tell that he’s really pissed off this time.

I hang back, waiting in the apartment, while the three go to pay for it. I wish I could live here too, I think wistfully, gazing at the perfect, whitewashed walls. I wish I could escape.

I’m sitting despondently on the kitchen counter by the time the others get back. Brendon’s still purposefully ignoring Spencer as he comes to hop up beside me.

“Isn’t amazing,” he breathes, arm coming around me as he whispers in my ear. “That we’re going to be living alone, no parental supervision and yet I still feel like I’m five-years-old?”

“No, Brendon,” I say flatly, a wave of anger suddenly washing over me. “You’re gonna be living alone. Not me. This isn’t my miracle.”

“Ryan!” he calls out, but I’m already out the door, jogging to the bus stop, catching a bus back to my home, my prison, my cage.

It’s beginning to get dark and all the lights in the house are off and as I run up to my room, I turn all the lights on, pretending that there’s a family who lives here.

The wrinkled corner of an old photograph teases me from beneath my bed and I get down on my knees, carefully pulling the picture out. It was my fifth birthday and I was wearing a paper crown on my head. Dad had me perched on his shoulders and his eyes were shining as he smiled.

He was smiling.

When did he stop smiling at me?

I miss you, I think, staring at the happy, laughing man in the photograph. And you too, I add, looking at the grinning, giddy boy on his shoulders. What happened to you? I ask myself, turning to glance in the mirror.

When did we stop smiling?

* * *

When I get open my locker on Monday, there’s a folded piece of paper sitting inside and it says RYAN in neat, purple letters so I know it must be for me.

Glancing around myself to make sure no one is looking, I carefully unfold the note.

Ryro—
I’m sorry if I upset by going on and on and on about moving out. I didn’t think about how that might make you feel. I’m sorry. I wish that you could live with us too. Then everything would be perfect.
<3 Bren

And I can’t help but smile because he can always find the words to heal my wounds.

“Forgive me?” a soft voice asks and I jump, whipping around in surprise.

“Brendon!” I squeak, clutching his note to my chest and blushing for some weird reason. “I, uh … hi.”

“Hi, Ryan,” he says with a timid smile, but there’s still his usual light in his eyes.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me. “Of course I forgive you,” I whisper. “You know I can never stay mad at you.”

“Good,” he whispers back, grinning.

I smile back at him and we walk to English together, fingers almost brushings, hands almost touching, and there’s adrenaline pumping through my veins as I glance at Brendon out of the corner of my eye.

You make breathing hard and yet I need no oxygen when you smile at me. And someday you’re gonna push me over the edge, but you’ll be the safety net below to catch me when I fall.