"No." I would lie if Westley wasn't so cute. It's so hard being untruthful to him because I feel bad. He's too pure to lie to. "But-"
Westley releases my hand before rustling around in his book bag. He pulls out a granola bar and bag of pretzels, as he's been doing the last few days. The snack doesn't fill me up by any means, if anything, it makes me hungrier later on. I can't deny his offer, though, so I usually eat it. "Do you have water?"
"I do, yeah," I answer while taking the food. I don't want to eat this. I don't want the pain to disappear. It sucks how I still yearn for bits of miserableness, even while happy. Why am I like this? "Thank you."
"Of course, I want to keep my boy fed." My stomach swarms with butterflies. I'm his boyfriend, so I am his boy. That's so heart warming to realize. I love knowing I'm his. "What?"
I didn't notice my cheeks turned red and my eyes widened. "Nothing...it's just cute hearing you call me your boy."
"You are my boy." I'm more than glad I am. I smile at the thought while opening the bag of pretzels. Eating something small won't hurt; Westley would be happy I'm eating. "My pretty boy."
"It's too early for this," I groan, not bothering to hide my warm cheeks. Westley giggles at the effect he has on me, because gosh, he has such a effect on me. I didn't realize how much us being official would impact me. "Doesn't the bell ring in 5 minutes?"
Westley looks at the time before pouting. "I'm sorry for being so late, it's because of those damn pancakes."
"It's okay, baby, I don't mind." Westley sighs sadly. I lean over, kissing the frown off his face. Gosh, I love his face. "We'll call tonight to make up for it, how's that?"
Westley nods at the idea before pressing our lips together. Before he leaves the vehicle, he reminds me to eat, gives me one last kiss, and gathers his things. I walk him to class, as I usually do, not caring if I'm late to my first period. I'd be late to anything in the world if it meant walking with my boyfriend.
"Why are you smiley?"
"No reason," I say, but Randy knows the truth. He has made fun of me a number of times for almost being late for class due to meeting Westley in the halls. Plus, I'm sure the two of them talk in their math class, so Randy's up to date with my love life. "Dude, you didn't tell me how cool it was to be dating someone."
"I did tell you, man," Randy insists, shoving chips into his mouth. How does he have he appetite this morning? I then roll my eyes at own obliviousness, knowing he's higher than a kite right now. "Hasn't it been a week?"
It has been a week. That's so cool. We've been dating for a week. We've been figuring out a schedule for seeing each other at school since Winter Break ended a few days ago. It's all new to me, but it's more fun than overwhelming. It's so fun meetings in the morning, between classes, at lunch, and kissing in his car after school until I have work.
"Yeah, it has."
~~~
"Hey, honey."
I take a moment, inhaling a deep breath at the voice. Why did she decide to call me today? I don't want to talk to her. I don't want my mood to crumble apart. "Hi..."
"Why didn't you come for Christmas?"
Because I didn't want to. I don't think she realizes how much it kills me to see her. I love my mom, I do, but I can't handle seeing her in an orange suit and unable to hug me for longer than 10 seconds.
"I felt sick," I lie, frowning at my own dishonesty. Why am I lying to my mom? Why can't I tell her the truth? What is she going to do? Get mad at me? Or jump the barbed wired fence to yell at me? Nope. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, honey." Her tone doesn't seem like it's okay, though. She seems upset and like she knows I'm fibbing. This causes shame to eat me alive, as it did on Christmas day. "How's school? Any new friends?"
My mom knows I struggle with making friends. Well, I moreover struggle with keeping them because I self isolate so much to the point it drives people away. "Yeah, I'm close with this guy named Westley. He's cool...Randy and I are still cool."
"That's good, honey. It's good to surround yourself with good people who have a good influence on you."
Of course she'd say something philosophical. She must be reading more self-help books. She blabbered about the same thing during Thanksgiving, encouraging me to better myself or something. I'm not sure.
"Yeah," I dismiss. How do I get out of this conversation? I know it's horrible if me to not want to speak to my own mother, but I genuinely don't want to. Talking to her makes me sick to my stomach. Thinking about her makes me want to puke. "I'm sorry, I can't talk for very long, I'm at work."
I'm such a shitty son, why would I say that? Why can't I tell the truth? I'm hurting her so much and she doesn't deserve that. Gosh, why am I like this?
"That's okay, honey, I just wanted to see how you are." A burning sensation spreads through my nose as tears brim my eyes. I look down, feeling sickness and sadness rise in my stomach. "I love you."
I blink, but that doesn't stop my tears from falling. "I love you too, Mom."
"I'm sorry that I fucked up and that I can't be there for you."
My throat tightens at her words. She's said this before, and each time breaks my heart more. Especially since I go out of my way to avoid her phone calls or go visit her. "It's okay."
"It's not okay, honey."
She's right. It's not okay.
I miss my mom. I miss her loving touch in the mornings when waking me up. I miss the smell of her fancy candles floating through the house. I miss hearing her laugh at weird TV shows. I miss watching her do her makeup before she left for work. I miss the taste of her cooking. I miss everything about her. (I tried to do the five senses yall-)
I miss my mom so much and I hate how I avoid her like the plague because of my own selfishness.
"I love you, Mom," I repeat, my voice cracking. Quickly, I clear my throat and cough, trying to play it off. "I'll try to visit in a few weeks."
Though she's not in front of me, I can feel her smile through the phone. "Okay, honey, I'd love that."
After exchanging a couple, the call ends. The second I put my phone down, a bucket of tears leave my eyes. My face shoves into my pillow, sobs and broken groans leaving my mouth.
My mind begins to run wild as guilt flames me.
Why can't I be a better son? Why do I keep hurting everyone? Is this why my dad doesn't talk to me anymore? Is this why his family didn't believe in me, even after seeing evidence? Why can't I be a better person?
More and more questions spin around my head, consuming me for the rest of the evening.
I don't want to make it seem that Casey is now magically cured of depression due to being in a relationship... however, from personal experience and others I know, the first few weeks may feel as if it's like that due to being so distracted by the new relationship.
But yeah, I'm not wanting to make it seem like Casey is now doing fantastic and amazing being of Westley. He's feeling okay, yes, but he still has mental illnesses and trauma, yk?
I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter :) don't forget to vote, comment, and follow!
~whoops
