Page 39 of Seeing Grayscale

It’s time to go.

Shouldering the strap of my duffle bag, I abandon the other crutch in favor of bringing the one. It’ll be easier to get around without two, and I can use it as a weapon if need be. I limpoutside, spotting him resting against the side of his car with a blank stare in his eyes.

His hand seems to move on autopilot, bringing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling. With his ankles crossed and the other hand in the pocket of his slacks, one could be fooled into thinking he is relaxed, like he’s waiting for his prom date or some shit.

“I’m ready,” I tell him as I approach.

“We’re making a stop on the way.”

“Oh?” I cock my head.

He nods, puts out his cigarette, and opens the door for me. He gently takes my things so I can sit and places them in the back. “It will keep me awake at night knowing I can’t get a hold of you, that you can’t get a hold ofme. If you are going back to that life, I want you to have a phone.”

I’ve never had a cellphone before—wouldn’t even know how to work one, but he’s serious as all hell right now, so I don’t argue.

I also don’t acknowledge the warm, tingling feeling burning through my chest or the flutters going off low in my stomach.

Hurrying to put on my seatbelt so I stop staring at him, I get it clicked as he shuts my door. Emotion clogs my throat, something melancholic and entirely unwelcome.

But this is the right choice—the safe one.

I got full of myself before. Look what happened.

Oddly enough, even as I try to reason with myself, I don’t think I would’ve ever given Hunter the time of day if it hadn’t happened. Was it my lowest? I’m not sure, but it felt pretty damn bad to me.

Choosing to go with Hunter was like getting a glimpse of color after so long in the dark, and I can’t regret that. Won’t.

This is self-preservation.

This is smart.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck or hurt and that I’m not seriously regretting it as we drive away.

NINETEEN

Ifeelsick.

It’s the only descriptor I have currently.

Just fuckingsick.

I still don't feel any better after getting Gray added to my cellphone account and his smartphone.

This is really happening. He’s going to leave.

He’s going back to that ugly world instead of risking anything withme.

Isn’t that ironic? How many men have done the same thing over the years?

No one wants to be my dirty secret, and I don’t blame them.

Ultimately, that’s what Gray is. In ways, it’s worse than the men I sleep with because it goes beyond my closeted sexuality. He’shomeless—the scum under my dad’s imported heels. I could be ruined with a single phone call. That’s how easily it would all crumble if anyone found out.

Yet, I’m parading him around a heavily populated area, buying him a fucking cellphone, and taking him to my personal physician.

God, maybe he’s right.

Maybe I can’t do this even though all I want is the chance to try.

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