Sage
FIVE
Glancing around Mac’s so-called apartment, the guilt I wanted him to hold wavers.
He’s lived in the same purgatory as me. But this shoebox of a room is just pathetic.
A queen bed takes up most of the space. A small nightstand wedged into the gap between the mattress and wall.
A sad hot plate on top. A knife cuts into my already fraying heart with the fact that all of his belongings seem to fit into a single trash bag at the foot of the bed.
Mac stands beside a pocket door that leads to a bathroom. I lean forward and peek inside. Yup, this is just sad. I rock back onto my heels, stuffing my hands into my pockets to stop myself from doing…I don’t know what. Pull him away from this depressing “apartment”?
My teasing of Henry, whatever sins Mac confessed, are now forgotten. Even my fear over June telling him what I did should go out the sad, little window. One more glance around the room, and all I can think is get Mac out.
When my blatant perusal draws out longer than necessary, Mac starts to look around for himself. As if imagining what I’m seeing. He kicks out his foot and snags a pair of boxers off the floor, shuffling it over towards the trash bag with his shoe.
A concern so sudden, so out of place tugs at my brain. Are those his? A boyfriend’s? A one-night stand’s? I shake my head, clearing the bombardment of pointless inquiries. Refusing to look into why that bugs me in the first place.
“Yeah, man, it’s uh. It’s…nice,” I lie through my teeth. But Mac just shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah.”
I try to keep my own guilt from showing.
If I had only reached out sooner, instead of condemning him to this claustrophobic hell.
I searched for signs of the Mac I knew. Anything to tell me he had any happiness while he served his punishment.
Anything to ease my guilt. But I come up empty.
It’s lifeless and void of any reminders of the guy I knew.
“Grab that bag and let’s get out of here.” I’m not completely sure what I’m doing. But my thoughts are spiraling around with a migraine. Too many feelings trying to drag me under. I’m also terrified if I don’t force him to come home with me now, he’ll slip from my fingers.
We have a lot of shit to work out. Shit conversations we have to have.
But I finally got him back. After last night—well, after the staring and silence—I got to see my best friend.
Got to laugh with him. I’m still pissed he left; I think a part of me might always be pissed he left.
But for the first time in two years, anger isn’t the stronger emotion I carry.
If I’m truly honest with myself, I think I always understood why he ran.
When he showed up at my door bloody and beaten, I knew his fear of Dave was justified.
Something had Dave more unhinged than ever before.
Something Mac refused to tell me. No matter how hard I pressed that night, he wouldn’t budge. Just kept repeating his need to leave.
His dad had always terrified him, but after that night, that terror grew into something even more sinister. Dave was his own personal monster that made his life a living hell.
After the fight I had with Dave, I definitely understood. Dave had snapped a wrecking ball, ready to murder his only son. Instead of looking at this from the frightened mind of a nineteen-year-old, I let my own anger grow. Let it fester and control my choices. Cloud my judgment.
I could have called sooner. I could have texted back. But I was young, too. I went from an angry kid with a best friend to an angry adult who got left behind. I couldn’t get past that morning I found my bed empty. His promises broken on the stained carpet.
But he came running for me. I called, and he dropped everything to get to me.
He lives almost an hour away from the park, and he got to me in less than forty minutes.
He didn’t even hesitate to come to my aid.
Throwing everything he was afraid of to come save me from myself.
So I’m furious, and ecstatic, and everything between. But I know I can’t let him leave again.
I won’t make it a second time.
Looking at him now, acting shy and uncomfortable in his shoebox, I know my mom was right. We were meant to travel this fucked-up life together. I’m grateful he has Henry, but he should have had me. I can’t get those years back, but I can make sure I don’t waste more time without him.
“What?” he asks, but he bends down and grabs the trash bag anyway, twisting the ends closed with a white-knuckled grip.
“You don’t belong here.”
“I work here.”
“Then you can take the Mustang when you have work. I’ll ride to work with Jeremy.” He casts a look around the tiny room, and I fear he’s about to say no. That he’s about to turn me down and stay here.
I don’t want him to say no. I want him with me. Next to me. Pissing me off because he brushes his teeth like an animal and gets toothpaste on the mirror. I just want my best friend back where he belongs.
“But…what if Dave comes back? I can’t be there if he comes back. Sage…I just…”
“He’s not coming back,” I state firmly, knowing Dave will never hurt him again. But he still looks unsure, scared of the possibility that I’m wrong. If I wasn’t such a coward, I’d explain everything, erase all his fears and doubts. But the words are trapped on my tongue.
So instead, I simply say, “I promise.”
“You can’t know that!” he shouts manically, his voice bouncing off the walls that feel like they are closing in on me.
“Do you trust me?” Mac is practically vibrating with nerves. The mere idea of Dave finding him almost sending him into a panic. But Dave isn’t going to come back. Dave can never hurt him again.
Mac stands before me, terror etched into every line of his face. My heart splits further when his frantic eyes meet mine. They silently plead with me, like I am his life-vest saving him from drifting off into the sea.
If he knew what I did, how would he look at me then?
Would he still see me as a savior? Or would those eyes turn dark and fill with hurt at the secrets I’m keeping?
My conscious screams at me to open my mouth and tell him.
Clear that terror off his face completely.
I open my mouth and slam it shut again. I can’t. I’m weak.
Before I can think it through, before I can ask if this is still acceptable, I step towards him, closing the small space between us. I grab his nape and pull him towards me, pressing my forehead against his.
Although we found ourselves in this very position countless times before, it feels new now.
But also so familiar my body feels like it’s relaxing for the first time since he stormed back into my life.
He sighs, as if it actually took some of his panic and dread.
Such a simple thing, but it feels like it’s stitching me back together.
The trash bag lands on the floor with a thud, and his hands rise and fall over my forearms. Fingers dig into my skin.
“You’re safe,” I whisper into the space between us.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” I say, praying the guilt I feel doesn’t seep into my words.
I watch as his eyes dart around my face.
Probably looking for the truth I’m afraid is written along my skin.
But he exhales, although it’s choppy and choked.
The fractured air dances along my lips as his eyes slowly flutter closed.
A want I don’t understand has my hold tightening on his neck. I close my eyes, trying to banish my wayward thoughts. But they are persistent.
I want to kiss him. All I would have to do is close the void between us. Press my lips to his. The seconds tick by. Us frozen, locked together closer than we’ve been in years. And I want to fuck it all up with kissing him?
Mac’s hands fall away from my arms. My eyes fly open, finding his already trained on me. So many things I can’t name fly through those eyes.
He sluggishly backs away, breaking the hold I had on him. My arms hang in the air for a second before uselessly falling to my sides. He rubs where my hand was roughly, as if trying to rid himself of the feeling.
“Sure. Yeah…I’ll come.” Every syllable drips with hesitation. However, he quickly grabs the bag he dropped. My heart fills with hope I don’t deserve. It’s quickly squandered when he refuses to look at me. Fear takes the place of hope, and for a second, I think he saw the thoughts in my head.
“I’m off work tomorrow…so I’ll figure out work Monday, I guess,” he says as he crams the maybe-not-his underwear into the bag.
I scrub my hand over my jaw. What was I thinking? Kissing Mac would only make him leave again.
I might know where he’d run to now, but that’s not good enough.
Not after last night. Not after remembering in vivid clarity how much I need him in my life.
The half-life I have been living suddenly feels uninhabitable.
Unsustainable. Knowing he’d be so close yet so damn far wouldn’t help. I need him back with me.
I make a silent promise to man up. To tell him what he needs to know. Swearing to myself it wouldn’t take him away from me again. But even in my head, I know that’s a lie.