Page 100 of Pretty When He Bleeds

Fuck. This isn’t going to be good.

We walk into my apartment in silence, the weight of whatever the fuck my mom is about to say pressing down on my chest like a cinderblock. Roman doesn’t say anything, just heads straight for the kitchen, grabbing mugs from the cabinet and setting up the coffee maker like it’s muscle memory.

I drop onto the couch, running a hand over my face, my knee bouncing uncontrollably. My mom sits across from me, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze unreadable.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s so fucking wrong.

Roman comes back a few minutes later, placing a steaming mug in front of her before handing me mine. He sits beside me, close enough that his thigh presses against mine, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. His presence is enough.

My mom exhales, curling her fingers around the mug like she needs something solid to hold onto. Then she puts it down again and pulls a set of envelopes from her purse and my heart fucking stops.

“There’s something I should’ve given you both a long time ago,” she says, her voice tight. “Caleb left letters before he—before he died.”

I stare at the envelopes like they might fucking explode and Roman stiffens beside me, his breath catching.

“I—” My voice cracks. “He left—”

“Yes,” she says, softer now. “He left three. One for me and your father. One for you. One for Roman.”

I can’t fucking breathe. Roman grips his mug like he might crush it, his knuckles white, but he still doesn’t say a word.

My mom hesitates for a moment before carefully pulling out one of the letters. This one is already opened, the edges of the paper slightly worn, like it’s been held too many times.

“This was for me and your father,” she says quietly. “I want you both to read it before you open your own.”

I don’t want to. I really fucking don’t want to. But my hands move on their own, taking the letter as she passes it over. Roman shifts closer, leaning in to read with me, and together, we look at Caleb’s words for the first time.

—

Mom, Dad,

I’m sorry. I know this is going to hurt you, but I can’t do this anymore.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the son you deserve, the son you can be proud of. But I’m not, am I? And I never will be.

I heard you on the phone with Damon tonight, Dad. I heard every word you said to my brother out of spite. You said he was a disgrace. A demon. An embarrassment to our family.

It’s funny how you preach about the bible and what’s so morally wrong, but you cut off your own son because of something he never chose himself. You’re a goddamn hypocrite, dad.

After that call, I knew. I knew that if you ever found out the truth about me, you’d say the same things. I can’t change who I am. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve fucking tried. But I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep living in a house where I know the truth will destroy me.

Mom, I’m so sorry for breaking your heart. Please keep Roman close, he’s not going to be okay without me when he has to go home to his dad every day and I’m not there to comfort him. You know why.

I love you both. But I need you to understand I was never going to get better.

I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. Please don’t be sad, Mom. This isn’t your fault.

I just couldn’t do it anymore.

Your son

Caleb

—

The words blur, my vision tunnels and I can’t fucking breathe.

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