Wes sits on my bed, our shoulders touching as we lean against the wall. My legs are drawn up, my head hanging, glasses discarded on the bedspread that I've pulled tight over the corners earlier this morning. I'm worn out, my eyes irritated and red from relentless emotions.
I've been trying to just gain some composure, once Grace pulled me down the hallway and into my room I fell apart. Everything that's been bearing down on my shoulders hit me so hard I crumbled beneath it, clutching to Grace, begging her for relief. To make all the pain and the embarrassment and the hatred for myself to just go away.
At some point Grace swapped with Wes, and we've been seated in this position for awhile now, silent except for Wes' occasional tics.
I realized at some point tonight that I have to find my own closure when it comes to my parents. Regardless of what they decide to do. I can't keep living like this, trying to hold up to their standards even when they don't want me in their life. I don't want to be alone and unhappy and scared anymore.
"Savannah said she doesn't think James is going to go to dinner at my Uncles with me." I confess to Wes.
He takes a long breath, his answer coming slow as he tics. I don't lift my head, too exhausted to look.
"You're right, you know?" He says softly. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of. And you have people that love you. We might not be your parents but we love you."
I nod my head, I know he's right. There's just something so crippling about being rejected from my parents.
"And I could be wrong but..." he tics, an exaggerated wink, some grunts, nothing wild because he's calm and comfortable and relaxed. "I don't think I am and James just wants you to find some love for yourself too."
Hearing his name makes me long for him, for his comfort. For how right everything feels when he's near. The way our hands fold together and the way our bodies fit with one another. I desperately need him, I need him to stay, to give me one more real chance. That I won't throw it away this time. That I'm done sacrificing who I am and us for my parents sake. I'm done being afraid.
My head snaps up and I reach for my glasses letting my world become crisp and concise again as I look through the lenses and find my phone. It's a quick scroll before I find his name, pressing the phone to my ear. It rings four times before he picks up, his voice loud in my ear as noise fills the background.
"Where are you?" I greet, looking at Wes who watches me as he tics.
"Brett?" James shouts into the phone.
"Where are you J?" I say louder, the thudding of my heart in my ears as I wait for his answer.
"I'm at the Crooked Bottle, didn't I tell you I was meeting friends after work?" I vaguely remember him saying something, clambering off my bed, Wes at my heels even though I haven't told him anything.
"Can I come?"
"Yeah of course." James says.
"I won't be crashing anything?" Snatching my keys off my dresser I take off down the hallway.
"No. Brett, are you okay? You're making me worried."
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I'll see you soon."
It's probably rude but I hang up on him, shoving my feet into my shoes at the same time as Wes. He's keeping pace with me even though I know I've flown right past at least three rituals he has before leaving the house but I have to see James. I have to see him now. And Wes seems to understand that as he follows me out the door.
"Are you okay, fuck off, to drive?" A few motor tics come as he says "I'd offer but can't."
"I'm fine."
I'm too focused on getting to James to really think about it. My mind focusing on all the moments where I stifled James and I, my own internalized homophobia suffocating everything we ever had. And I don't want to do it anymore, I don't want to live like that. I can't.
By the time we reach the block the Crooked Bottle is on Wes' tics have increased and I'm a panicky mess, my hands slick with sweat.
"Hello cunt!" Wes chirps, his head jerking up. "Fucking whore, I'm fine. Sorry, go."
I keep apologizing to him though as we march down the street, Wes shouting all sorts of things as his motor tics come in rapid succession.
"We won't stay, I'm sorry." We reach the doors and even though I'm trying to offer him words of consolation, realizing my dramatics have sent him into a fit, he tells me it doesn't matter. I know it does though, I can't even begin to imagine what his OCD is doing to him.
He holds the door open, both of us met with a wall of heat and booze, bodies everywhere in the hazy light but I easily spot James. He's impossible to miss.
Wes shouts something and I glance to my side catching the reaction of the people standing closest to us and I shout "he has Tourette's!" in explanation before I start forcing my way through bodies.
The music that plays is just a booming rumble in the background, shocking my heart into it's fast pace rhythm making all of this seem more urgent and dire. And as we near, James spots us, his gray eyes full of concern as he starts for me. I just saw him yesterday but every time I see James it's like seeing him for the first time all over again. His warm skin and his piercing gray eyes, the way his shirt fits snug showing off his flat chest and strong arms. His jeans resting on his hips, the way they rock back and forth as he walks towards me, the most sensual thing I've ever seen. I'm completely infatuated with James, head over heels in love with him.
The people in the bar become blurs, the music turns to white noise, the stinging pain of a lifetime of rejection ebbs away as James opens his mouth to say something. Probably to ask if I'm okay because I'm sure I look a mess, shoving myself through the bar frantically with Wes in tow.
"I don't want to hide anymore." I breathe the words before I pull his lips to mine right there in a crowded bar for everyone to see.
Because I'm done hiding. I'm done running.
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It's about damn time Brett.
Also today is National Coming Out Day so let's double update and wrap this story up to celebrate!
