Mercy (ManxBoy)

63: ωσяℓ∂ ιи му єуєѕ

I'll take you to the highest mountain,
To the depths of the deepest sea,
We won't need a map, believe me.

S Y K E S:

I was surprised by how fast time truly passes when you're not just living a solitary life. I've found myself missing days entirely, just because the moments of things that happen just bleed together into one thing: happiness.

It's been months—to be exact one year. Zaire has become my entire world. I wake up to Zaire, frolicking around the house getting ready for work, I go to bed with Zaire cuddled up to my chest. Everything in between—thoughts, kisses, hugs, memories—mainly surround him.

Zaire has changed so much in the past year. He was no longer fragile—he was strong. He had to go in for some therapy after Jerome happened, to deal with the trauma of what had happened.

He had finally broke down and told me everything—everything. I felt that it was necessary for him to talk to someone about the feelings he had and everything that Jerome had put him through. But not only Jerome—he wasn't the only monster in Zaire's closet. There was Steven also. And there was Zaire's father.

Zaire had a lot of pain in his past, and he had never spoke to anyone about it.

I had tried to get it out of him, but I refused to push the matter knowing that there was nothing that if he wasn't comfortable with the subject, me making it happen wouldn't help our relationship—or me understanding him.

Jerome had destroyed Zaire's sense of worth. He'd taken him down to nothing—made him run from his life over and over again. Anytime he'd settle for a short amount of time he'd have to move again. And Zaire knew that it was because he was in danger. Zaire had that looming over his head every day of his life. And I honestly wish I could have taken that from him.

Steven destroyed Zaire in every way. He'd taken his trust, he'd taken his submission and his giving and pampering nature and used it in all the wrong ways. He'd let his friends rape him, he'd let his boy be abused—and he'd done the abuse. There was nothing I could even begin to admire about that sack of shit. If I ever saw him face to face, I would've killed him. No doubt about that.

Then there was Zaire's father. His addiction ruled his life, and though he didn't mean to hurt his son, he did. Zaire spoke nothing but positively of his father. But I knew deep down in his heart he knew that his father was toxic to him just like I did. I couldn't say too much about that though, because the man had raised Zaire into the passionate, amazing, sweet man that I fell in love with when I didn't even begin to believe in love.

My father had come around to Zaire when he realized that he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't love Zaire, but he certainly didn't call him a gold digging hooker anymore. Especially not after he tasted his devilishly delicious cherry pie. It'd shocked me that my father had touched it, honestly.

My father also apologized to me. He'd sat down with me, and explained why he was the way he was when I was growing up. None of the excuses were really... valid, I guess, but the fact that he'd apologized gave me variable amounts of reasons to at least move on from it.

Life is too short to be worried about petty shit my father put me through. Now, I'm a forty one year old man, dating a twenty four year old man. Now I'm too old to be focused on my father, and the amount of shit he's put me through. Now is the time to focus on one thing that I've never been able to focus on before: The future.

Tonight is the night I'm going to ask Zaire to marry me. He's currently getting ready, and I've been preparing for a week now. I knew he'd say yes—I just couldn't shake the feeling that he wouldn't.