Chapter 34 #3
I knew, deep down, this was always where the road would end once they found out. There was never a version of this where my father said, ‘I love you, I just want you safe, let’s talk.’ There was only ever this: conform or be cast out. It still hurts, though.
“That’s a very pretty way of saying you’re disowning me,” I reply, because if I don’t keep talking, I’m going to cry—and I refuse to give them that satisfaction.
Mom is crying enough for all three of us, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. “Please, Brendon,” she whispers. “Don’t do this. Don’t throw your life away for some boy who doesn’t care about you.”
The worst part is that he does care. Dominic cares so much that he tried to leave me to keep me safe, and then broke when he couldn’t.
He cares enough to chase me through a forest, just because I mentioned that thing about fear once.
He cares enough to admit, drunk and bleeding on my couch, that he never wanted to feel this way about anyone.
But I can’t explain that in a way they’ll hear, and I won’t drag his name into this mess any more than it already is.
“I’m not coming home to be your cautionary tale,” I snap, the fear igniting into anger for the first time.
“I’m not letting you parade me in front of the congregation as the prodigal son who was ‘saved’ from the evil gays.
I’m not going to stand up there and lie about who I am and who I love, so you can keep your church tidy. ”
My mother lets out a strangled sob. “Honey, please,” she says, reaching for me again. “Please don’t do this to yourself. To us. That boy… he’s not worth losing everything over. He’s not worth your future.”
‘He is,’ my heart says, loud and clear, even as my head is screaming about rent and loans and the way my life is about to implode.
Aloud, I just say, “It’s not just about him,” I shake my head, tears burning hot behind my eyes.
“If I explain, you’re just going to hear what you want to hear.
You decided somewhere between home and my doorway that I’m an abomination, and immediately flew here to tell me how much of a disgrace I am.
I can’t argue my way out of that, and I’m tired of trying. ”
My father studies me, then his expression closes. “Then this conversation is over. We’ve said what we came to say.”
My mother flinches at the harshness, but doesn’t contradict him. “We love you, but we can’t approve this. We can’t pretend this is anything but sin.”
“I know,” I say, voice small. “I never asked you to say it was okay.”
My father straightens his jacket, like the matter is settled.
“We’ll inform the student’s account office that we’re withdrawing financial support at the end of this term.
You’ll need to speak to them about how you plan to cover the next semester.
You have until then to decide whether you want to come home and repent, or stay here and… continue down this path.”
“Please,” my mother says softly. “Think about what you’re doing. Think about eternity, Brendon. This boy will not be there for you when it matters.”
The words sting in a way they shouldn’t.
Dom’s face flashes in my mind, the way it looked when he whispered ‘I love you, Brendon.’ I don’t know where he’ll be in ten years.
I don’t know if he’ll make it that far. I know right now, he’s the only person who has ever looked at every broken, twisted part of me and said, ‘Yeah, I still want that.’
He turns toward the door, but Mom lingers for a second longer, eyes searching my face. “We love you,” she says, and it sounds true, even as it feels entirely conditional.
“Love shouldn’t have this many terms and conditions,” I say, and her face crumples.
Then, they’re gone. The door closes behind them with a soft, final click that sounds louder than the slam earlier.
Silence hits me like a wave.
I stand there, fingers dug into the edge of my desk—staring at the space where they stood, and seeing the disgust on their faces.
Out of nowhere, a hysterical laugh bubbles up. Of course. Of course, the thing that finally blows my life up isn’t the murder I witnessed, or the bodies Dominic has buried.
It’s me, on my knees in the dirt. Loving him out loud.
I scrub both hands over my face, dragging at the skin, trying to get my breathing under control. My father’s words keep replaying. ‘We will not fund your rebellion. We are cutting you off. Find other arrangements.’
Rent. Tuition. Books. Food. Jericho.
Panic digs its claws into my chest. My brain starts doing math it’s never had to do before. What I make as a TA. What’s in my savings? How long do I have before bills hit?
Beneath all that is something else.
Someone filmed us.
I knew that, from what they said, but seeing it on my own screen makes it real in a new way. Somebody was out there in those trees, with a camera, following us and watching me ride Dominic like goddamn Seabiscuit. And if somebody sent that video to my parents… they could send it to anyone.
I close my eyes, and drag the video up in my mind. The angle. The distance. The way the camera doesn’t shake much, even though it’s in the dark. That’s not someone holding up a phone for fun; that’s someone practiced.
My stomach twists.
Whoever sent that video didn’t just want to shock my parents; they wanted to isolate me. Make me a problem. Make me a liability. They wanted to show Dominic what happens to people around him.
This is her.
I don’t have proof, but this reeks of his mother. Violence packaged as concern. Punishment wrapped in the language of protection. He warned me she’d kill anyone who distracted him; of course she’d start by trying to cut me out in the most surgical, devastating way possible.
I reach for my phone with fingers that don’t quite feel like they belong to me. The screen lights up, blinding in the dim room. Dominic is two towns over, and should be starting his game soon. I read over our text thread from this morning, then type up a message.
We have a problem.
My finger hesitates. Delete. Re-type.
Someone filmed us.
Delete. Too much. Too real.
Finally, I type the only thing I can manage.
Me: Are you awake?
I stare at the message for a second, then hit send before I can overthink it. The little “delivered” pops up under the text. No read receipt. No dots.
I let the phone drop back to the desk and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
My parents just disowned me. My funding’s gone. My future is a giant question mark. Someone out there has video of me worshipping my boyfriend like a god while I ride him in the woods. The only person I want to call is the one man my father just blamed for ruining me.
I’m sore and exhausted and drowning and still, beneath all of it, my heart twists when I think of him, of the way he looked at me when he said ‘you’re the only thing that matters.’ Then my phone pings, and relief rushes over me when I see his name.
Jericho’s going to have a lot to listen to tonight.