Blighted Soul

My first impression of Caleb’s house was that he had way more money than I would have ever guessed. The house wasn’t exactly a mansion, but it was pretty damn close. Lots of elegant staircases, pricey looking furniture, and intelligent paintings every five feet.

“You didn’t tell me you were rich,” I muttered as he led me down a hallway.

“I’m not rich,” he said with a laugh, “but my parents are both doctors. So I guess you could say they get paid pretty decently.”

“’Pretty decently’ doesn’t get you a mansion,” I said.

“Nine bedrooms is hardly a mansion, Evan,” he said, pulling me close and kissing the side of my head. I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. Soon we were entering a massive kitchen that was all black and white tiles. A woman in an elegant green dress that swept the floor was standing at the counter, putting the finished dinner in their respectable bowls and plates.

She was pretty. She had a full head of dark blonde hair that perfectly matched Caleb’s, and his bright green eyes. She also looked good for her age. But I suppose that’s to be expected from someone with so much money.

“Caleb, Honey,” she said warmly, “you’re here.”

“Yeah, Mom. This is—” Caleb tried to speak, but he was immediately cut off.

“Your father should be here soon. By the way,” she stopped in the middle of pouring a pot of pasta into a dish. She waved her hands around herself with a broad smile on her face. “How do I look? Good enough to make your father regret the split?”

“You look great, Mom,” Caleb said in a tired voice. “But like I was saying—”

“Dear, can you help me bring these to the table—?”

“Mom!” Caleb said loudly, exasperated. “Can you please just listen to me for once? It’s not always about you.”

His mother suddenly looked remorseful. For the first time, she even looked at me, but only for a fleeting moment. “I’m sorry, Honey. I just want this dinner to be good. That’s all.”

Caleb’s eyes were disbelieving, but instead of commenting on this, he took my hand in his and said, “This is Evan, my boyfriend.”

His mother cleared her throat in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Well, that’s great, Honey. He seems like a nice boy. But I thought you were going to start dating the Andersons’ daughter…” She’d muttered the last part, but it was all too easy for me to make out what she said.

“Mom,” Caleb said defensively. “One more word and Evan and I are leaving.”

Without saying another word, Caleb began leading me out of the room. “It was nice to meet you Ms. Wilson,” I said meekly, because it was obvious that it wasn’t nice for her to meet me.

We came to a stop in a living room twice the size of mine. He released my hand and turned his back on me. I could tell how upset he was by the rigidness in his shoulders. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t know how. He let out a growl before punching the nearest wall. When he drew his fist back, there was a reasonable sized dent in the wall, as well as several spots of blood.

“Caleb,” I said in shock.

“Unbelievable,” he yelled, ignoring me. “She is so selfish. She couldn’t care less that I’m happy! All she cares about is what her stupid friends and colleagues are going to think about her gay son. And I bet she doesn’t even want to apologize for the way she’s been acting! She’s probably using this dinner as an excuse to see my dad.”

I took a hesitant step towards him. I’d never seen him so angry. “Caleb, it’s okay…” I said softly. He whirled around.

“It’s not, Evan,” he said. His voice had lost all of its anger. Now he only sounded sad. “I’m so sick of it. Of all of it. My parents may as well be dead for all the good they do for me. They only care about themselves. Hell, half the time I don’t even see them for days.”

I let out a sigh. “Come here,” I murmured, holding my hand out, “Let me see your hand.”

Sighing, he placed his hand in mine. I examined it, taking in the bloody knuckles. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” he said miserably.

“Shut up,” I said, “You did this to yourself. Now go and find a first aid kit. I’ll wait here.”

He left without saying anything and returned a few minutes later with a small plastic box adorned with a bright red cross. He sat next to me on the couch and I immediately went to work on cleaning up his cuts. His complaints were minimal and soon they were reduced to low hisses and winces.

“That’s what you get for being a hothead,” I muttered as I covered his knuckles with a light wrapping of gauze. I closed up the kit and then just sat there with my hands folded neatly in my lap. He flexed his hand carefully before looking up at me.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“No problem,” I said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth which was a relief. I hated seeing him frown like that. He closed the space between us, touching his lips lightly to mine.

“I’m sorry for being a hothead. I love you, Evan.” He said.

“You’re forgiven. And I love you, too.” I said.