55. FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-FIVE
With a cigarette between my fingers, I stare up at the sky. Between the sparse clouds are splashes of pinks, oranges, and yellows as the sun appears. It’s cold, my breath mingling with the smoke I exhale.
I didn’t sleep a wink last night. It's not that I sleep well anyway, but guilt is eating me alive.
Coming to the airport was a mistake because it reminded me that I had let the best thing that ever happened to me walk out of my life.
For all my obsession, for all my affection and care, it all amounted to shit when the moment to choose it came around.
Alex informed me that Gray was safe but wouldn’t tell me where he was. I can’t say that I blame my assistant—ex assistant…? Everything is falling apart all around me, and the majority has me paralyzed with confusion.
My chest burns with this fierce ache radiating within it.
I spent hours earlier just fucking berating myself. I paced this tarmac until my feet cramped. I screamed at the stars until my throat went raw.
And now…now I’m lost.
Logically, I know everything that has happened isn’t so terrible.
Careers can change, relationships end, and children often disappoint their parents.
The facts of my situation only highlight the many flaws of being human, how easily we make mistakes.
But logic doesn’t take away my fears nor relieve the weight off my shoulders.
I’m at a crossroad with my eyes peeled so far open they burn.
My dad knows.
He fucking knows.
Was he lying yesterday when he said he loved me? Or did he mean it regardless of what he knows? I can admit I’m desperate to believe the latter. I want that so fucking bad it nearly brings me to my knees. But he still demanded I get rid of Gray. He still chose his image over his son.
He chose his career over his son.
He chose everything over me.
After everything I’ve sacrificed and done to prove myself to him, he still forced my hand and cost me what I’m certain is the love of my life.
“You’re just like them,” I say to no one.
Because it’s true, I am just like my parents.
Selfish.
I prefer the mask over my real face because it’s easier and makes everyone happy.
Hurting the person who should matter the most, just to avoid the backlash of the truth being known.
My mother hurt me so she could run away.
My dad refuses to offer even a scrap of his love because it makes him seem weak.
And I let Gray go back into the cold, unforgiving bleak because I’m too much of a coward to change any of it.
I don’t want to be like my parents. I don’t want to lose my identity to a fallacious image that suits everyone else. Gray’s text shoots through my psyche like an ice pick, a poignant reminder of my failures as his lover and friend.
Why did you give me the opportunity?
Frustrated, confused, and hopeless, I toss my cigarette to the ground and stomp on it. My hands grab at my hair as I spin in place, looking for any semblance of a sign that’ll help me make a fucking decision.
Or better yet, help me decide what means more.
The promise of love and companionship? Unconditional, new, and bright? Or the mold I’ve come to accept as my own skin? The shame of hiding who I am. The invisible filth I’ve never been able to scrub off of me.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I whimper, biting my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
While I’m on the verge of tears, I spot the security guard driving over. The little golf cart putts over the tarmac until it reaches me, and Leonard climbs out of it.
“I know that look,” he says with a warm but sad smile.
I grumble something unintelligible.
Leaning against the car hood beside me, Leonard lifts his left hand and stares at the gold band around his ring finger. “When I thought it was over between Matt and me, I had the same look.” His dark brown eyes snag with mine. “Although I don’t think I screamed as much as you have been.”
I slump my shoulders and stare down at my feet. “I can’t stand myself or what I’ve done. Screaming seemed like the best option.”
“You’re too hard on yourself, Hunter.”
He isn’t wrong, but I don’t need another reminder. “How did you and Matt resolve your problems?”
Leonard smirks, staring off in front of us.
“I realized that I didn’t like how my life looked without Matt in it.
It wasn’t easy for us to talk about it all, but we did.
I laid it all on the table for the first time in seven years.
Nothing is ever perfect, but we don’t need it to be.
As long as we can carve out some chunks of happiness along the way, feel safe while doing it, and enjoy the person we pick more than anyone else, I think that’s the best anyone can aim for. ”
“So you stopped trying to get the impossible, is what you’re saying?” I glance at him.
“Exactly. I wanted no fights. No problems. And that’s unrealistic.
It pushed Matt away because he felt invalidated, while I felt dragged down and insufficient.
Accepting that just because we argue doesn’t mean we have less love saved our marriage.
That, and I’m speaking to a therapist about my ‘emotional wall’. ” He chuckles.
Pushing off my car, he heads to the golf cart and grips its roof. “Whatever you’re going through right now, whatever you are losing, don’t let it slip away. I know that look, Hunter. And it says I’m not ready to let go.”
With that, he gets in the seat with a loud creak , and drives away, something like relief blooming in my chest.
Dark bags cling to my under eyes.
My hair is a mess.
And this fucking beard represents so much that I take the razor in my hand and swipe the blades over it.
A rectangle patch of naked skin stares back at me in the mirror, fueling my determination, and I shave the rest off with speed.
Coarse, dark hairs fall into the sink, while tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
This is the first step.
I’ve had a beard since I could grow one.
I thought it’d make me older, masculine, and hell—even disguise my sexuality.
I became the beard metaphor so many queer people donned to survive the prejudice surrounding them.
With a clean face, I look so young, it makes me jerk a little.
I don’t recognize the man in the mirror.
As I wash off the residual hair and pat my face dry, not for the first time, I try to change my mind. I can see the hesitation for what it is. My cowardice is refusing to retract its claws from my fucking spine.
I can’t keep living this way .
The constant stress, the itchy, slimy feeling that always coats my skin, and the unbearable weight of lying every day.
Well, I don’t need to lie anymore. The truth is out. Bright overhead lights shine down on it like some shitty award I didn’t want to win.
I turn on the shower and strip. It’s a fast shower—one missing all the meticulous steps I normally take to ensure I’m thoroughly clean.
A means of control I don’t need to cling to anymore.
Gray’s words haunt me, reminding me that no matter how much I shower, it won’t erase the past. So I refrain from my unhealthy habit and get out.
My chest heaves with panic, but I push through it, drying off and dressing.
I don’t put on a suit.
Settling for dark-washed jeans and a Henley, I find my black socks and slip them over my feet.
It takes me a bit to find them, but once I secure the hiking boots, I lace them and stand.
The urge to vomit is so strong that I almost run to the bathroom.
Placing a hand over my stomach, I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose.
I can hear my dad’s voice now.
What are you wearing? What is on your feet? Why did you shave? What if someone saw you this unpresentable? Everything you do reflects on me, Hunter. Be better. Think about the repercussions of your actions. Think about me.
A shiver runs down my spine. I push my damp hair off my forehead and leave my bedroom, locking my jaw and forcing my body to reach the front door.
With my keys in hand and my cellphone and wallet secured in my pockets, I leave my house.
The short drive to the other side of the community goes by in a blink, and before I can stop it, I’m at my parents’ front door.
Mom’s car is in the driveway.
Good. She should be here for this.
I go inside. My father must’ve been expecting me—or just sensed I’d be showing up because he’s standing in the foyer with his arms folded and an expectant look on his face. Like I do whenever I’m two seconds from shitting myself, I drop my eyes.
No. You didn’t come here to cower, Hunter. So I lift my gaze, and my dad’s eyebrow arches.
“Hunter!” my mom’s voice carries from the living room. She walks over to where he and I are standing off to the side. She looks between us, her smile quickly vanishing.
“Not now, Candy,” my dad says easily, but we both know it’s an order.
It would be so easy to pretend it never happened, to go back to the way it was—easy, but unrealistic.
Steeling my spine, I straighten to my full height, and my dad’s upper lip twitches. “I trust you did what I asked?” he starts.
“You sold OAT?” I counter.
My mom freezes. “You did what?”
“Candy. Leave. ”
“No, I think I’ll stay right where I am.”
“Woman, leave us now or so help me I’ll—”
“You sold OAT!” I explode, cutting him off and slicing my hand through the air. “You sold it to Xavier Malone? The drug lord?”
I see the color gathering in my dad’s cheeks, the vein popping in his forehead, and the flare of his nostrils. “And Davidson, too? What the fuck does Xavier have on him?”
“Watch your mouth.”
“I’m going to be thirty in three days. I can fucking curse if I want to,” I growl, pent up anger quickly spilling over the surface.