Something Beautiful.

I wake up the next morning unnaturally; the sun is falling across my face. There is a cramp in my neck, I’m hot, my eyelashes are sticking together, and my throat is unbelievably dry. It makes me want to turn over and curl into a ball to go back to sleep, but I’m coherent enough to realize there’s something wrong. Which is proved when I open my eyes and see that it’s nine-thirty in the morning. On a Friday.

I’m supposed to be in second period right now.

I don’t freak out like I probably should. It’s not like this would be the first time I slept in and was late to class. It is here in Comfort, but I don’t entirely have a problem with it. I’m still too bleary to care to be honest. When I go to scrub my hands over my eyes so that I can see properly, I find that my right arm is being held down by something. I freeze only for a second before glancing down to see that Shane is still here, in my bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His head is beside mine on the pillow and he’s lying on his side, an arm thrown across my stomach and his torso holding down my right arm, which is why I couldn’t raise my hand.

For only a moment I am confused as to why he’s here, but then I remember the doorbell going off while my mom and I ate ice cream, and finding my boyfriend standing on our doorstep on the verge of tears. Tiger died; I saw it coming, and I know Shane did too, but it absolutely broke his heart. And then he confessed to me that when he was a freshman in high school, he attempted suicide.

I hadn’t known what to say, except that I was proud of him. Thinking on it, I’m not sure if that’s what he wanted to hear. But those are the only words I could come up with. I’m proud of you, Shane. I am proud. Proud that he had the courage to tell me, proud that he was so unbelievably strong now, and proud that he had the strength to keep going when he woke up in the hospital. I’m not going to say I don’t understand what he went through; I do, just in a different way than him. I’ve never actually committed the act itself, like he had, but the thought of dying was comforting. To think that I could take my life and not have to deal with all the pain had seemed tempting at times. But my sickness- and it is a sickness, it’s not something to be cured with medicine and it doesn’t go away after a week –was different than Shane’s sickness. Just like depression is not the same for every person.

It hurts to think about it. Shane is the happiest person I know. He’s carefree and accepting and he’s always laughing and having a good time. Things just roll off him; he’s laid-back and cool. To think that he went through a period of time where he wasn’t like that? It hurts. I can’t imagine Shane being emotionless, and I certainly can’t imagine him hating himself. He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out. And to think that he was so unbelievably unhappy- or maybe there just wasn’t enough, maybe there wasn’t anything –and he then took his life? That was the intention, anyway, to cease to live. It makes me speechless.

Because what am I supposed to say to that? How am I supposed to comfort him? It’s like when Shane found out I cut my left side. The only thing he told me was that it’s okay. And the only thing I found I could say to him was I’m proud of you. There’s nothing else I could say. He tried to kill himself. That’s such a serious issue I’m not sure how people could argue on it, or try to make any sort of point. There is nothing else to it. It’s simple, yet it’s the most complex thing in the entire world. More so than when mass murderers crash a plane into a tower. No one really understands why people kill other people, and it’s one of the most disgusting things in our society. How could two guys sic a dog on a person after they beat him bloody? No one knows the answers to these things, and there are plenty of opinions on the matters, but nothing comes close to the extremity of wanting to take your own life. You can take the lives of others and not bat an eyelash, and people will argue over it and they will ponder on why, but even worse than that- yes, even worse than murdering others –is when someone murders themselves.

I don’t know. I don’t know what to think now and I hadn’t known what to think when Shane told me. I’m just thankful that it was three years ago, and that he’s here now, safe in my arms. I’m thankful he doesn’t still feel that way, that he’s whole again and taking on life with a new outlook.

Slowly, being sure not to wake Shane, I move from underneath him. There’s no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep, even though my body kind of aches and I just want to crawl back into Shane’s lonely arms. Even though we should be heading to school, I don’t want to wake him up. So I opt to waste a little time; we can wait until third period is starting and then go in. I grab a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and head downstairs.

I’m more than a bit surprised to find my mom in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a bowl of Special K. She’s wearing one of my dad’s hoodies and a pair of jeans, her dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She looks at me with wide eyes for a second, like a deer-caught-in-the-headlights, and then smiles and dips her spoon back into her bowl. I expect her to start yelling at me and asking why I’m not in school, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me like a weirdo.

I smile a little, moving past her to open the fridge and pull out some eggs and bacon. If we were already late, I might as well make Shane and me a nice breakfast. My mom follows me with her eyes even as I pull out a skillet and the toaster, my cheeks warming as I wonder why on earth she’s looking at me like that.

As I’m cracking the eggs into a bowl, I ask, “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Usually if my alarm didn’t set or Nick didn’t get me up, my mom came into the room to remind me I had school. Apparently she didn’t feel like it this morning. I’m not complaining.

“I thought you could use a skip day,” she says, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth as she tosses her plate into the sink. She watches me mix the eggs before looking back into my eyes. “I know Shane was up there crying all last night, and I talked to his parents. They agreed that he wasn’t ready to go to school and I figured you would want to stay with him. So I left you sleeping. And don’t worry,” she says with a little smirk, “I’m gonna go into town, get some errands done. Leave you two alone.”

I grin, setting my bowl down and turning to face her, my arms crossed. “Wow I’m being left alone in the house with my boyfriend, I’m surprised,” I smirk.

She rolls her eyes, reaching over to hit me in the arm. “Don’t be stupid,” she says. “You’ve been left alone before, and it’s not like you’re having sex.” I raise my brows, cheeks tinting pink a bit from her words. I’d never known my mom to be that blunt about something. She winces suddenly, asking, “You don’t, do you?”

“Oh my god mom,” I say slapping my hand against my forehead. “If I was I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you!”

“I resent that,” she giggles walking over to wrap her arms around me. I freeze for a second wondering what she’s doing before I realize she’s hugging me. I hug back, about to ask what she’s doing when she huffs against my shoulder and says, “You can talk to me about anything Noah, you know?”

I roll my eyes, resting my cheek against the top of her head as she’s just a tad bit shorter than I am. “I know mom,” I mumble. We hold each other for a few more seconds before I sigh, pulling her away so I can look in her eye. "How is Nick? And dad?"

Mom frowns, thoughtfully staring into the distance. "I'm pretty sure your father cried last night... And Nick held him. They're both such manly men, it was odd yet beautiful. I think they're going to be okay. You know us; we're a fighting family."

"That we are," I grin, turning around to finish scrambling my eyes so I can get them on the burner. "We've made it this past year, we can make it through anything."

"I love you so much Noah," my mom says, wrapping her arms around me from behind. I smile down at the eggs, not saying anything back. "But I'll get going now. Remember, safe sexy is happy sex!"

"You're an idiot!" I yell after her, giggling. As much as she embarrass me and as much as she can get on my nerves, I love my mom to death. I love all of my family to death; what we'd said earlier was definitely true. Our family was in this for the long-haul; we were the only people we knew for sure loved each other. The only people we were stuck with for the rest of our lives. And I think I got out pretty lucky with mine.

I put the eggs aside, knowing they would cook quickly and that I should get started with the bacon so everything gets done around the same time. I wasn’t entirely sure if Shane liked bagels, but I set some aside as we’d ran out of regular bread. I hoped during my mom’s errands she goes to the store.

I’m standing over the skillet, watching the bacon sizzle and turning it when necessary. I guess I’m districted, thinking of Shane and if he would want to talk about last night or if he would want to eat breakfast and pretend it never happened. I don’t hear Shane’s footsteps, so when his arms are wrapping around my waist from behind I’m startled. I jump a little, hissing when some of the bacon grease hits the back of my hand. I pull it away instinctively, accidently elbowing Shane in the gut in the process. He tenses and lets out a grunt, pulling his arms away from me so that I can turn around and glare up at him, shaking out my hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask, turning the stove down a little since I’m no longer adamantly watching it.

Shane pouts, looking far more adorable than should be legal. His cheeks are red and his curly hair is all over the place, ringlets sticking straight into the air from his forehead and a couple curling under his ears. I want to giggle at the sight of him and coo, but I refrain because that would probably embarrass him. I definitely don’t want him getting the idea that he should cut his hair back off.

“I was trying to be romantic or something,” he grumbles, rubbing his stomach through the material of his t-shirt. My eyes quickly travel over his attire; he’d put on his shirt from last night again and a pair of my pajama bottoms, which were a touch too short. Again I thought he was adorable; I don’t care if he is the theoretical man in our relationship. That’s what Harris implied anyway and Madison told me she agreed. The whole thing was stupid, I was just as much of a man. I mean on New Year’s I’m the one who gave the hand job, not him. That should stand for something. “You ruined it.”

“I’m cooking bacon!” I laugh, moving to wrap my arms over his shoulders. Shane accepts me, his arms automatically wrapping around my waist and pulling me close. He bends down, pecking a kiss to my lips. “I hope you’re hungry,” I mumble against his lips before leaning back some. “I’ve got eggs, bacon, and bagels.”

“Sounds good,” he says, smiling. “I’ll have to run it off this afternoon.” I just roll my eyes at him, pulling away and turning around so I can check the bacon again. I start warming up the other skillet for the eggs, deciding everything is close to be done. I hope it tastes good for Shane’s sake; I kind of want to impress him right now to be honest.

Shane settles beside me, leaning against the counter with his elbow and extending his body sideways. He alternates between watching my hands move and staring at my face. I try not to let anything show, emotion wise. Not because I’m emotional for anything, but I’m not sure how Shane feels about last night. His story was still running through my head, the way his mouth twisted when he told me the things those boys said to him, when he told me about that asshole Josh who kissed him and then left. How low can you be? I’m grateful my first kiss never just ditched me and pretend like I was a girl. Of course we hadn’t been caught, but still. I can’t imagine what all that was like for Shane.

And to be honest, it kind of hits me hard. How opposite we are yet how alike we are. Shane cut yet has no scars he left behind. I cut yet they are littered on my side. He tried to kill himself and all I wanted was to be alive. I’d been attacked by a dog and given up and he’d been attacked by people and done the same. It was all sort of glaringly obvious and it made me want to take a seat for a moment, almost over powering. We were in high school, it should be impossible, but I felt as if Shane was it. Whatever it was, he was it.

Realizing this has a heavy burden on me, one I can’t understand, and suddenly my palms are clammy and my throat is closing up. I’m nervous.

“Why aren’t we at school?” Shane finally asks, moving a little closer when I turn the bacon on low to keep it warm as I finish up the eggs. His arm wraps over the top of my hips, keeping me close without actually holding me. It makes my cheeks heat up and I think I’m going to throw up. “It’s like third period.”

“I forgot to set my alarm,” I say. My voice comes out like it usually does, but I feel like I’m throwing it up, my throat all closed up and my stomach queasy. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, I’ve never experienced something like this before in my entire life. “My mom said she talked to your parents and they thought it would be a good idea for us to skip… Have a little break.” Shane nods though doesn’t say anything, and when I turn the stoves off and am finished cooking, he moves back behind me. His chin rests against my shoulder and his arms wrap around my waist, holding me close. The pressure of his hands against my tummy, stroking me a little above the fabric of my hoodie, suddenly lifts my sickness. Or maybe it makes it worse, because like vomit the lump goes out through my mouth in the form of words.

“I love you.”

I blurt it out there, yet my voice is not impatient. Nor is it harsh or nervous. It comes out like I’m asking Shane if he wants cream cheese on his bagel. Like it’s something I’ve said several times before and yet not enough. It slips naturally off my teeth yet tastes foreign against my tongue; a new dessert that I want the recipe too.

Shane tenses behind me, but I don’t regret it. I move out of his arms and he lets me, standing there in silence and watching me plate our food. I decide not to ask about the cream cheese, rather pick it up and set it on the table along with our plates. Before I can sit down, Shane says, “Noah.”

I clear my throat, staring down at my hands. “Look Shane, I know you said you wanted to take this slow and everything. And I do too, you know, but I can’t help the way I feel. And I do love you. I understand if you don’t feel that way yet, it’s soon, kind of. And I mean, and I understand if it’s me you don’t love because… Because. Or-“

“Noah,” Shane chuckles, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my cheek. “I love you too,” he says, and it’s not fireworks and explosions when I hear the words. He doesn’t say it like he’s confessing his biggest secret, nor like he’s nervous at all. It’s natural coming from him too, like all along we’ve been uttering the tree words and admitting to each other that this isn’t just the cliché high school romance. That whatever this is, it’s it. And it’s hard for me to wrap my head around. Hard for me to grasp because it feels like seconds ago I was a struggling boy wondering what there was left to live for, and the next I’m hearing I love you for the first time and it’s incredible. It’s absolutely incredible what I’ve been through, what Shane has been through, that we’ve somehow met here in this tiny town called Comfort, Maine and reached out to find the other’s offered hands. I’ve never been more thankful for Nick suggestion the move or my mom letting us skip school for the day. It all seems mundane and unimportant yet in the large scheme of things it’s all led me here.

Healing. I’m healing because of Shane. Because Shane makes me want to heal, makes me want to sing again, makes me want to wear a short-sleeved shirt to school. It’s not Shane saving me, it’s me wanting to save myself because Shane’s taught me, especially now, that down there road there will be more to come. That I can be happy again. That things will get better.

“Good,” I chuckle, wrapping my arms back around Shane’s neck to peck a kiss to his lips. His arms wrap tight around my waist, pulling me tighter against him as he deepens the kiss with his tongue. I moan quietly, not having expected it. I still had morning breath, I’d yet to brush my teeth as disgusting as that is, and I had a guess that Shane hadn’t done that either. But I didn’t really care and neither did he.

His hair was easy for me to run my fingers through like this, though they caught a few times a tugged. Each time I did this Shane’s arms tightened around me until there was no space between our bodies. He was bending down and I was on my tip-toes, but it was perfect. The best kiss either of us have ever had together, I think.

We pull away and Shane smiles crookedly at me. I roll my eyes at him, pushing him away and to a chair. “Sit down and eat the breakfast I slaved over for you,” I demand, smirking a little as I grab us both bottles of water and set it on the table, sitting down across for him.

“I could get used to this,” he says, grinning at me. “You’re like my good little housewife.”

“Shut the fuck up!” And Shane laughs at me loudly. As if last night he didn’t sob in my arms, as if he didn’t confess that when he was fifteen he tried to kill himself, as if we didn’t just take a huge step in our relationship and said I love you. Like it’s a normal day for us. And I think that’s what makes this so special, so different from the cliché high school romance. We’re both broken people who someone found their way here, right now, in this kitchen eating breakfast together, skipping school. As if our shards fit perfectly together.