Behind The Mask

Chapter 32

Obviously there was no possible way I was going back to some group home, even if it was just for a few weeks.

See, the thing about freedom is that when you have it, you do not want to let it go. You do not want to go back to curfews, lights out, and someone being in control of what you are allowed to have and do. Other than that, this would not be my first stunt in a group home. The last time I was staying in one, almost all my personal stuff "disappeared" without being found again. I at least found one photo of my mom I carried with me under my bed. The silver frame that hosted the photo was gone.

And this time would be even worse. I have a bag full of shopping, memories of my trip with E.J., and a list that I wanted to preserve for the rest of my life, even if I wasn't going to finish it just here and now. Maybe the end on the list doesn't even have to be suicide. Maybe I can just one day die, an old man, holding the hand of the person he loves. Maybe that can be an end as well.

"I can't tell your mom who my social worker is," I whisper to E.J. while his mom is in the kitchen making some promised hot chocolate. "I just can't do it."

"Then you'll stay here," E.J. answers without any question, again putting his hand in mine, making me shiver and long to be back in some hotel room, all alone where I can kiss him and hold him in my arms.

"Your mom will never fall for that. Let's be honest about this," I answer again, this time wishing I could sweep the hair out of his eyes and stare into their never-ending pools of sorrow.

"I might have an idea," E.J. answer. "Just stay here for a moment."

I don't want to leave his hand, but I do, as E.J. gets up from the living room sofa and disappears deep into the house, leaving me to rub my thighs through my jeans in a stressed anxiety that just doesn't seem to ever disappear when I think about being in the system.

"Where's E.J. off to?" E.J's mom asks, holding two steaming cups in her hand as she enters the living room which I finally get to look at now that E.J. is not in the same room anymore.

"Not sure. I think he went to his room," I answer as I study the pictures on the wall above the fireplace. There doesn't seem to be many of E.J, and even the few that are there are from when he was still a kid. Maybe about ten years old, or younger.

"Well, he'd better hurry up and get back in here before his hot chocolate gets cold," she says with a click of the tongue before leaving me alone, making her way back to the kitchen.

It has always bothered me that James could have done all of those things to E.J. right under his wife's eyes. From the outside she doesn't look like a bad mom at all. She looks like the type of person that would protect her son no matter what. But... Then again, her son just did disappear for a few weeks without her even knowing where on earth he was, which also says a lot.

"Where's your brother?" I ask as E.J. walks back into the room, taking his mug from the coffee table and plunking down next to me. I gesture to the pictures on the wall, almost as if to remind him who I am talking about.

"Oh, Keith?" he asks. "Dunno. Probably with my grandparents or something. My mom usually leaves him there when she wants some alone time."

"She just leaves him there?" I ask, my eyebrows raising against my forehead.

"You seem surprised," E.J. mentions as he brushes over my hand. "My mom really only cares when she feels like it. Not meaning that she doesn't love us. She just kinda loves life and having fun a little bit more."

I try to imagine having a mom like that, but I just can't. My mom was the total opposite until the day she died. She made sure she knew where I was every second of every day.