They keep telling me that I should just let her go, let that night rest and move on with my life.
They don't realise that I still wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing for Chance and sobbing for myself and sobbing for the fucked-up world with...
At Old Tor, once the sun disappeared from sight, Max and I agreed to meet the next evening, Saturday. He told me to wait at the end of his street and call him — I guess he didn't want me to have to face his dad again any time soon.
He said no to skateboards, as we'd be climbing up the headland to the right of the beach — to one of his favourite places. And that was about all the clues I got.
Thankfully, by the time I got home last night, Ian and Brielle Bellamy were already gone. Max headed straight back towards the beach once we'd left the woods. I could only hope Ian didn't hurt him anymore.
My parents were, and still are the next morning, disgruntled — though not at me. According to my dad, they'd spent the remainder of their dinner party debating whether sexuality is a made-up concept and whether everyone is actually straight and pretending to be attracted to the same sex or otherwise. According to my mum, Brielle stayed quiet and steadily worked her way through a shit ton of wine.
My head aches when I wake up in the morning. I'd managed to have a lie in, but I ended up dreaming about Max. Like any half-decent dreams I have, I can hardly remember any of them.
Because I spend the day thinking about meeting up with Max this evening, the hours blur together. I walked the Count, I helped Mum take some exceed tinned food to the food bank near school, and I typed up some of my class notes — but I don't even remember which class it was for.
As I finally start walking off to Max's — my parents all too happy to see me reaching out to him — it feels like every atom in my body is anxious and excited to see him. Which is odd; I only saw him the night before.
The logical part of my mind suggests that it could be because Max is starting to open up a little. While he still seems to be keeping his emotions in check (whatever that means), he does actually want to meet up with me.
Before I can turn down Max's road, he rounds the corner and stops in front of me.
"Hi." I smile, happy to see him if not a little surprised that he's already out of his house, without me having called him. "I'm kinda early, I know."
Well, we didn't really agree on a time, so I just had to wing it.
"No, no, it's fine," he rushes out. "You just didn't need to bump into my dad..."
Sensing his anxiety, I ask, "You good to go?"
"Yep," he responds without looking at me and we set off.
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"A church?" I frown as we approach the dilapidated greying building with a wonky cross fixed on the steeple. The metal cross barely looks able to survive a breath of wind, never mind conducting a lightning bolt.
I stiffen; the memory of Ian Bellamy's religious homophobia instantly surfaces in my head.
