Page 111 of Without You

Since my father has never been one to give such blatant orders I’m surprised when my mother listens, giving us a moment of reprieve to walk through the house like family and not strangers.

When she enters the living room Julian and I are sitting on the two-seater and my father is hunched forward on the recliner.

Mom returns with beers on a tray sliding it onto the coffee table in front of us. I don’t reach for one, neither does Julian, but if my father could drink two at time, that would’ve definitely been his preference.

“I’m guessing you and Julian have something to tell us,” my father states.

Begrudgingly I break our connection, my fingers feeling like stone, unable to bend or move from the stiff tension.

I rub my clammy hands up and down my thighs and keep my eyes to the floor. I will them to rise and use all my mental strength to look my mother in the eye and tell her exactly what we came for.

“Julian and I are together,” I say calmly. “He’s moving to Seattle, to live with me.”

My father’s face is expressionless, and my mother’s is bloody murder.

She shoots up off her chair. “What do you mean ‘you’re together’?” she hisses. “You can’t be. It’s impossible.”

Fully expecting her next words to be about my sexuality and how it doesn’t make sense to have always been with women only to switch now, I’m completely floored when she storms up to me and slaps me across the face.

The collective gasp from Julian and my dad ensures I didn’t just conjure that up as fragmented pieces of my nightmares.

My hands immediately react, cupping my cheek. “What was that for?” I ask her calmly.

With not an ounce of remorse or shame for the slap, her shoulders are squared, her head held high as she looks at Julian and back at me. “He’s Rhett’s,” she deadpans.

My head drops in disbelief, hanging between my shoulders. I feel myself wanting to shrink inside myself at her words.

I can feel things move around me. I can hear my father shouting, but all I can focus on are her words.He’s Rhett’s.

“You can’t have him,” she continues, her voice getting colder. “He’s not yours to have, he’s Rhett’s.”

Before I can process anything more Julian moves at record speed. He stands between my mom and me and raises a hand to stop her. “You’re not doing this to him.” He whips his head around to my father. “Are you listening to me? I will not stand by her ruining him.”

Feeling numb, feeling everything, I manage to push myself up off the seat.

Before I even manage to take my first step Julian is on me, using all his strength to keep me in a tight hold, whispering into my ear repeatedly. “Please don’t listen to her. Please don’t listen to her. Please don’t listen to her.”

If this were a movie, and I was a superhero, my mother and her ruthless tongue would be my kryptonite.

“I love you,” Julian chants. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

My shoulders begin to involuntarily shake, and I can feel myself unraveling. My knees buckle, and I force myself to let Julian carry my weight.

If I fall to the floor, I won’t be able to get back up. The hurt will seep out of me with an audience, and regardless of the fog I’m in right now, I know I will not let my heart bleed in front of her.

“Please, get me out of here,” I cry into his neck. “Please.”

It all happens in a blur, my head swimming, my throat coated in bile. Every part of me feels broken. Her words were like a sledgehammer cutting me off at the knees, giving me no reason to stand tall.

The scenery around me keeps changing in a blur, and before I know it, we’re in the hotel room, and Julian is tipping the porter who has just brought up our bags.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into nothing, when I feel Julian climb on top of me. He sits on my lap, his long, lean legs wrapped around my waist, and his arms around my neck.

He rests his head on my shoulder, still chanting the same three words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Eventually, I wrap my arms around him and let myself bleed.

“Am I enough for you?” I shamefully ask Julian. Refusing to meet his eyes, I continue, “I know I said I was fine with everything you shared with him, but I need to know the truth, because I’m so sick of being the fucking consolation prize.”

---