Speechless

I didn’t go back home. The thought of returning to that evil house of drunken lies was a tortuous thought better off left alone. I couldn’t imagine living in a place so vile for any longer. Brendon was all I needed right now. Brendon was here, at his house, not mine. I was happy here, not there. How could I ever go back? He called every day. “When will you come back, Ryan?” he asks. I never gave him a real answer, only saying I wasn’t sure when. Disappointment rang through his voice over the telephone every time he was about to hang up on me. I could sense the pain of loneliness, but I didn’t care. None of that mattered to me. I wasn’t happy when I was there, ever.

“Ryan,” Brendon’s mother was getting sick of me staying here, so she began lecturing me on why I should go back, “you can’t just leave your father like that.”

I snapped the phone shut quickly as he hung up. “I can’t go back to that nightmare of a home.” She left the room in frustration, unwilling to give in to my stupidity.

A sympathetic sigh escaped her lips as she rolled her eyes and walked away. “Don’t listen to her, Ry. You can stay here as long as you need to.”

“Bren, you’re the best.”

A smug smile reached his lips. “I know,” he said proudly.

He laced my fingers with his own, holding my hand tightly in an attempt to calm me down. It worked, a little. I felt some sanity finally reach my mind these past few days away from my father. The guilt of leaving Brendon in the dark for so long was still lingering, though. I looked up at his perfect face, wondering what could have caused me to stay away from him for so long. No mere mortal could achieve that feat. I must be crazy as hell.

“I’m still sorry about what I did…”

“Ry, don’t worry about it. It’s over now.”

I sighed, letting it go. I told him I was sorry almost every day. It was too obvious how ridiculously sick of it he was. The fact is, he didn’t care. He was just glad I was okay, yet I couldn’t let anything go. I’ve never been able to let things go so easily the way he could.

“But, if you do decide you want to go back home, that’s okay, you know.”

“I don’t want to go back home.”

A tiny half-grin curled the left side of his mouth upwards slightly. I was to his right, so he thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did. My head rested upon his shoulder as I suddenly clung to him for the sake of my sanity. I needed this more than anything. Being away from him for so long really took a toll on my mind.

His delightful disposition gave me a sense of hope that maybe things really were okay after all. I mean, if he was happy, why shouldn’t I be happy? There was another source for my guilt, however. I could feel it deep within my gut, but I couldn’t understand where it came from. So I continued to hold onto Brendon as I searched for the reasons as to why I felt so responsible for everyone’s misery.

He laughed happily but asked, “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know… I just need you right now.”

He gently wrapped his arms around me. He was always there when I needed him.

“You know, I’m really lucky.”

“So am I.”

“Bren, why do you love me?”

He stopped for a moment, frozen. His arms dropped down to his sides as his face filled with a look of complete horror.

“Brendon?”

“Ryan… how could I not love you?”

“I don’t… it’s just that no one else really does…”

“I’m pretty sure if you looked passed the alcohol, your dad does.”

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t love me. If he did, he would have changed for me, for my mom. He would have stopped drinking and begged her to come back. He wouldn’t hurt me the way he does. He doesn’t love me, does he?

“No.”

“Ryan…”

“He wouldn’t be like this if he did.”

“Hmph,” was all he replied with.

We sat there for quite some time, side by side but not touching. I could still see the hurt in his eyes by my question, as if he thought I didn’t believe he loved me at all. Sometimes, I found it hard to believe, but nevertheless I did my best to believe it. It was hard to understand, though. How could someone so perfect love someone as broken as me? I never was able to grasp that concept completely. And somehow, I knew deep down that I was being completely ridiculous.

It wasn’t long before Brendon’s mom came back into the room as she observed our awkward behavior towards one another. A sympathetic look flashed across her face, but only for an instant.

“What happened, now?” she asked.

“Nothing, Mom.” Brendon sighed, not wanting her to intrude on us. His hand was once again squeezing mine dearly. “We’re fine.”

She sat down on in the arm chair across from us, doubtful at her son’s tentative response. Refusing to leave us be, she idly picked up a magazine and pretended to read while flipping through pages of absolute garbage about celebrities’ unimportant lives.

“Something’s up,” she said, finally.

“Ryan’s just upset.”

“Why?”

“It’s kind of personal, Mom.”

“Whatever.”

She continued her meaningless efforts of fooling us into thinking she was only sitting there to read her stupid magazines. Who actually reads those? I watched Brendon’s expression go from worried about me to annoyed by his mom.

“Do you really think he loves me?” I asked.

“I think so.”

I stood up, and for a moment, I wasn’t really sure why. Then it hit me. I had to go home. I had to. If Brendon was right, then I was going about everything in an entirely wrong fashion. If he really did love me like Brendon says, then I shouldn’t have been doing this. I shouldn’t have been leaving him all alone in that godforsaken house.

“Maybe your mom is right.”

She sat up, put down the magazine, and smiled.

“Right about what?” she asked.

“Maybe I should go back home, for now, anyways.” I paused for a moment, waiting for a response, but I didn’t really get one. “You know, I kind of don’t want to go alone…”

Brendon was immediately at my side. “Say no more. I’ll go with you.”

I smiled at him with a real smile, nothing fake. “Thanks.”

He leaned into me, brushing his lips against my own. “Anything for you.”

His mom cleared his throat from across the room. No matter how in love we were, his mother could never get over the fact that it wasn’t a heterosexual love. I pitied her, honestly. He was happy; I was happy. There wasn’t anything wrong with this.

“Let’s go,” I said with confidence. With Brendon by my side, I could accomplish anything.

We walked hand-in-hand across his yard and into mine. My nerves shot a heavy pulse through my body as my heart raced to an unreachable finish line. This was it, I suppose. I had to finally live at home again for real. Not like before I met Brendon, and not like it was a week ago. No, I had to really live here like a normal person would. My father had to be himself again, and he had to know about Brendon and I. This last little detail would be the first step to normality we would take.

“Before we enter, I just want you to know that I’m telling him about us.”

“You… you are?”

“Yes.”

His face lit up with so much cheerfulness, you would think he had just won the lottery. In his mind, I guess he had in a metaphoric way. This gave me more confidence. This gave me hope. This gave me a real reason to go through with my intentions. I couldn’t let him down.

I opened the door. The house seemed quiet, empty, and melancholy.

“Dad?” I called out. No answer. We continued to walk through the lifeless home as we searched for my too-quiet father. “Don’t move” I said to Brendon as we reached his bedroom door. I cracked it open and peaked through. He was lying in bed, sleeping. His chest rose in even intervals of breaths taken. I sighed. Sleeping, of course. “He’s sleeping,” I whispered.

So we waited. Brendon and I sat on the living room couch together awaiting the inevitable moment of our possible downfall.