I woke up the next morning with an aching neck. My throat burned and itched, and my stomach growled with hunger.
I needed to go somewhere, that much was obvious. But I wasn't sure I could get through a day of school. I was already way late, anyways. There was no point in going.
There didn't seem to be much point in anything, really. I didn't feel like getting up, I didn't feel like getting food, I didn't feel like getting water. I spent a long time staring ahead, watching as people came and went, listening to the sounds of outside and trying not to let myself think.
I fell asleep again after a while. When I woke up, it was mid-afternoon, and I felt even more tired than I had before. School would be ending soon.
I forced myself to get up and get out of the car. I didn't have anything to do except walk around the gardens, but I figured I at least needed the fresh air. Besides, there had to be a water fountain around somewhere.
People greeted me as I passed; people who knew me as Nathaniel Jean, the star-athlete son of a businessman; not Nathaniel Jean, the boy who just got kicked out of his home for being gay. They did double takes when they looked at me—when they saw my tear-stained cheeks and dark-rimmed eyes and pale skin. None of them stopped to ask, though. They continued on their way, and I continued on mine.
Eventually, I found a water fountain. The water tasted disgusting, but it soothed my aching throat, and that made it delicious. It wasn't until someone cleared their throat behind me that I was forced to move.
I found a bench next to a rose bush and sat with a heavy sigh. My phone was in my hands, but I didn't bother using it. I found myself once again with nothing to do but sit and stare ahead. And so I did, for who knows how long. I watched families admiring the flowers, insects buzzing through the air, plants swaying in the breeze, the sky turning orange, then red, then navy, sprinkled with stars. A smile made its way onto my lips when I thought of my conversation with Kenny the night before, and the fact that I would soon be in New York one way or another, even if I had to drown myself in work to make money.
Then my smile fell, as I remembered that I was, in every sense of the word, broke. That my sister hated me. That I was living in my car, not far away from where I sat. I fought back tears, because I didn't want to cry over my family's betrayal. I didn't want to blame myself. But tears found me anyways, and I had to rush back to the parking lot so that no one would see me fall apart. Night had struck, and there really wasn't anyone around to see me fall apart, but I felt too vulnerable out in the open.
I spent another night sleeping in my car. I didn't call Kenny—I didn't want to be pestered about finding a place to stay. I didn't respond to texts from Lucas, which were starting to build up now. Not just him—our friends were sending me messages now, asking where I'd been. Hell, even Trevor messaged me, wondering why I'd missed school and practice. I ignored them all.
I was starting to wonder if I'd ever have a happy ending. Or if, every time I found something good, something bad would arise to burn it town. Maybe it was just me and my unkind fate. Maybe I brought others down with me, too. Maybe the world was trying to tell me not to grab hold onto anything that I would ruin. Maybe it was trying to tell me that I would ruin Lucas, some way, somehow. Maybe it was trying to drag us apart before I caused any real damage. Maybe he was too good, and I was too goddamn tragic.
Tragic. I was tragic.
I woke up with a horrible taste in my mouth. My stomach burned with hunger, relentlessly reminding me that I couldn't live in my car.
I thought about going to school. It could be a good distraction—and god knew, I needed a distraction. I went as far as to finally pull out of the parking lot and drive there, only to stop the moment the familiar buildings cane into view and pull over onto the side of the road, realizing that I couldn't go. I couldn't see Lucas, or Eric, or Halima, or Lilly, or Sae; I couldn't handle their questions. I definitely couldn't handle Shawn and the rest of them, staring at me, unknowing of the fact that their suspicions were true and had finally been realized, even if not by them.
I had to go somewhere, though. I couldn't go back to the gardens. I couldn't go to school. I clearly couldn't go to my house—what used to be my house.
More than anything, I needed cash. To feed myself and satisfy my thirst. I climbed into the backseat and opened a suitcase, shuffling through and checking every pocket for some change—even a dollar. When one suitcase provided me with nothing, I moved onto another.
It was then, while my fingers were buried in the front pocket of a pair of jeans, that I finally felt paper in my grasp. I pulled it out triumphantly, only to feel a tidal wave of disappointment when I realized that the paper wasn't money.
I unfolded the yellow sticky-note, pulling when the adhesive side stuck to itself.
402-052-5600
A phone number. One I'd forgotten all about.
The nice nurse at the hospital. Natalie. "So I, a complete and total stranger, am offering you help if you need it. Now or ever."
I didn't waste a second before dialing the number. This was my answer—it had to be.
She picked up after the first ring. "Hello?"
"Hi, Natalie," I breathed. "This is Nate. I'm . . . I'm the kid from the hospital. You gave me your number and told me to use it if everything goes to shit."
Her responding "Oh" gave me the comfort of knowing that she at least remembered me. "Does this mean it's all gone to shit?"
I chuckled, slightly embarrassed over what I was about to ask of her. "To put it simply; yes."
"Damn," she breathed. "What happened? Wait, you don't have to tell me if you don't want, sorry. Just tell me what you need, and I'll try my best. I want to help."
I still struggled to believe that people as nice as her existed. "You're fine," I assured her. "It's just . . . My parents found out about me and Lucas. And I'm kind of short on a home at the moment."
I heard her gasp softly across the line. "You're serious? They kicked you out?"
"That they did."
"Well no offense," she said, "But your parents seem like assholes."
I snorted. "Oh honey, you don't know the half of it." Then I paused. "I just realized how incredibly gay that sounded."
Natalie laughed. "Youre funny, Nate. Though I don't think this is really a humorous situation."
With a sigh, I said, "Yeah, you're right."
"Well," she said, "Renaldo and I have a spare room. You're more than free to crash here for a bit."
I felt horrible, invading their private lives, but I needed it. Somehow, Natalie felt like the right answer. None of my other friends were; I just knew. "Are you sure Renaldo won't mind?" I asked tentatively. She scoffed.
"No way; he'll want to help too, I promise. I'll text you my address, kay? Or do I need to come pick you up?"
"No, I can get there myself," I said. "Thank you so much, Natalie. Really. I swear I won't be long. I just need to figure stuff out, then I'll be off your hands."
"Hey, don't worry about it," she said. "I believe that people should get what they deserve, and you don't deserve to be homeless. I'm more than happy to take you in for as long as you need."
"You're an actual angel," I said gratefully, ready to cry at the mere fact that a complete stranger was so willing to help me out of nothing but the goodness of her giant heart. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"You're welcome, you're welcome, you're welcome," she said with a giggle. "And be quick—I don't want you to be homeless any longer. It's, like, depressing as fuck."
As promised, Natalie soon sent her address. And as promised, I was quick to arrive at her house. It was a small home, nestled near the edge of town, closer to the city.
My stomach swam uneasily as I approached the building, pulling one suitcase behind me. I couldn't help but feel wrong encroaching on their lives, but at the same time I couldn't see myself choosing a different solution. With that in mind, I raised my free fist to knock on the door.
Natalie, thank god, was the one to answer. Her hair was different since I'd last seen her, now falling down her back in long braids.
"Hey," she said with a smile, stepping aside to let me pass. "Come in."
I returned her smile and stepped into the house. I liked the quaintness of it—it was much more homely than my house.
"I'll show you the guest room," she said, and she led me across the living room to an open door, behind which was a simple room with a bed, a closet, and a nightstand. There was a picture frame on the nightstand, and on it I saw Natalie smiling in a park, accompanied by the entire Suarez family. "Hey, that's Eric," I said with a grin. He looked like such a goof.
Natalie nodded. "You know him?"
"Yeah, he's a good friend of mine." I set down my suitcase. "Anyways," I said, turning to her, "Thank you again. So much. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Natalie rolled her eyes playfully. "You can stop thanking me, you know. I get it, you're grateful."
I chuckled. "I'm gonna keep thanking you."
With a groan, Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm gonna regret this," she said, but she was obviously joking. She eyed my suitcase. "Is that all you've got?"
"Well there's more in my car, but it's fine; I can survive on th—"
Natalie didn't even let me finish before walking out of the room. I followed her as she sauntered over to my car, ignoring my protests and "you don't have to"s. She demanded that I unlock the car, and, deciding to give in, I did as she said and helped her unload. We managed to handle all of my remaining things in two trips—even the things that I insisted I didn't need to bring. Getting through the front door was a hassle, but we made it work nonetheless.
"Okay," she breathed, collapsing on the bed. "That was a journey." I whistled in agreement. "Now, I've actually gotta head off to work, but make yourself at home, kay? Whatever you need, don't be scared to grab it."
"Thank you," I said, fully expecting the following glare. "Really, though. This is insane." I gazed around the room, at the bed and the closet and the ceiling fan. I decided then that I would never stop thanking her, even if it drove her insane. For as long as I called this place my home, and even after, I would let her know that she was a godsend. In that moment, I realized that my fate might not be as awful as it often seemed—if Natalie had never overheard my conversation with Lucas at the hospital, I would still be stuffed in my car, trying to figure out how I would live without the basic things humans need to survive. But she'd given me access to those necessities—to food and water and shelter—and to those things that humans don't need but always want—like beds and closets and ceiling fans.
Friends were hard to make, and love was hard to build. But on that day at the hospital, Natalie had made herself my friend, and now I loved her, instantly.
Then, finally coming to terms with what I needed to do, I added, "Is it okay if my boyfriend comes over? I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna call him and, you know, tell him, and knowing him, he'll want to come see me."
Natalie's eyes rounded in surprise. "Does he not know?"
Sheepishly, I shook my head. "I've been avoiding telling him."
"Well then you better invite him over!" She said. "Jesus Nate, the kid's probably worried sick!"
Guilt dropped in my stomach like a series of pebbles, light at first but increasingly heavy as more and more fell. I remembered all of the missed calls and ignored texts. "I know, I know."
I gave Natalie a hug before she left, saying 'thank you' a few more times because I couldn't help it. When she was gone, I thought about calling Lucas, but then my stomach rumbled hungrily. She had said to make myself at home . . .
I went into the kitchen and did a bit of raiding. I felt kind of bad for taking so much, but my stomach didn't let me feel too bad. I ate and drank and ate and drank until I finally felt like I hadn't been homeless for the last couple days.
After eating, I found a guest bathroom and showered, because I felt—and probably smelled—disgusting. It was only once I was full, hydrated, and cleaned that I sat on my bed and called Lucas' number, waiting in dread for the backlash I'd get when he answered. It didn't even get through the first ring when his voice sounded frantically from the other side.
"Nate, what the hell happened to you? You dropped off the face of the fucking planet! Where have you been? Are you okay?"
"I—"
"You haven't answered a single call or text from what seems like anyone since Sunday night! Sunday. It's Tuesday. And you haven't been at school, either! The hell have you been doing for three days, sticking your head in the pool and pretending you're a fish?"
"I'm—"
"I drove by your house this morning, you know," he continued. "I didn't stop or anything, but I just wanted to see if your car was there; I figured you were maybe sick or something. You can imagine how I felt when I saw that it wasn't, and the only car there was your parents'."
"Well I—"
"Then Eric called me. He said he thought he saw your car by the gardens. So I went to check it out like an hour ago. Nothing."
I waited for him to continue, since I clearly wasn't going to get a chance to speak until he was absolutely finished. "You done?" I asked after a decent amount of silence. I heard Lucas sigh.
"Yeah," he breathed out, and I could picture him rubbing his temples. "Sorry. I'm just worried."
"Well," I said, "I'm okay." I could practically feel him relaxing over the phone. "At least, I'm safe. I just . . . A lot of shit happened. I, um . . ."
I paused, suddenly losing the ability to speak. I'd thought that after a few days, and after talking to Kenny, it would be easier. It wasn't.
"My parents came home, which I guess you figured out," I said. "And they saw some pictures on my phone. From Saturday night."
Lucas was completely silent; so much so that I wasn't even sure he was still there. Nevertheless, I continued. "My dad kicked me out. Took my money and let me go. Just like that. I wasn't sure where to go, so I crashed at the gardens for a few nights."
"Nate," Lucas said, his voice meek. Maybe he'd planned to say something else, but he decided against it, because he fell silent once again.
"Do you remember the nurse at the hospital? The one who gave us her number in case stuff got rough? She's who I'm staying with."
I wasn't sure what I was expecting. Maybe more questions—how did it all go down? Why did you choose to stay with a stranger instead of someone you know and trust? How are you coping?
Instead, all he said—his voice even quieter than before—was, "Can I come over?"
"You—yeah, I'll send you the address."
As I waited for him to arrive, I got out my laptop and tried to log on to my bank account. Access denied. I kept trying and trying until it locked me out, and I had to press my lips together and shut my eyes tight to contain my despair. All this time, I'd thought the account had been operating under my name. I'd opened it when I was eighteen. There were several thousand dollars on that account, and yeah, it'd been my dad's money, but he'd given it to me—his sad way of pretending to be an actual parent.
I'd thought the account was mine, in my management. But, as always, he'd been working in the background, ensuring that he had total control. My dad was a powerful man, and powerful people could do anything.
I had a couple of other accounts—a savings account and an emergency account. Gone. I tried not to cry.
I heard the doorbell ring thirty minutes later and I jumped up, grateful for a distraction.
"Hey," I said, pushing optimism into my voice. Lucas didn't move for a few seconds. He just looked at me, taking in my lackluster appearance, trying to figure out where I was.
Then he stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me into him and wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace that I hadn't at all expected; nor, it seemed, had I realized how much I needed it. I hugged him back, appreciating the familiarity of his touch and his smell and his hold. Right now, he was my only constant. I may have been living in a different room of a different home with different people and what would now be a different future, but Lucas didn't change. I needed that. I needed him to stay the same.
"I'm so sorry," he breathed, his hand gripping the back of my hair, tilting my head onto his shoulder. "I can't help but feel like this is my fault."
I leaned back, just enough to look at him. "You know it's not," I said. "It was no one's fault."
"I could've told them not to take those pictures," he insisted, shaking his head. "I thought about it, you know. But I figured they couldn't cause trouble—that no one would ever see them."
"I could've told them, too," I said. "I could've deleted them when I saw them. But I didn't want to. Saturday was one of the best nights of my life, and I want to have those memories."
Lucas offered a smile. "It was a great night," he said. But just as quickly, his smile dropped. "It wasn't worth this, though. Nothing is."
I shrugged, trying to ignore the stinging I felt behind my eyes. "Maybe, but it happened. There's nothing I can do now."
Lucas raised his eyebrows, his eyes gazing at me skeptically. Probably seeing right through my nonchalant exterior.
"Here," I said, taking his hand. "How about we go to my room? Or, the room I'm staying in."
Lucas nodded, his eyes still searching. I couldn't help but avert my gaze as I led him across the living room and into my own. As he climbed onto the bed, turned away from me, I took the brief moment to blink hard and wipe under my eyes.
"So," he said as I sat next to him against the pillows. "How are you feeling?"
Again, I shrugged. "I'm okay," I said, staring up at the ceiling. "Been better, but I'm okay."
"I don't get it." Something changed in his voice, and I turned to look at him, only to be met with a confused and frustrated expression. "Why are you shutting off now?"
"What?"
Lucas stared down at his lap for a moment, before once again training his eyes on me. "This kinda thing isn't easy for anyone. And I know you enough to know that it's killing you. And you know me enough to know that I just want to support you however I can. Yet you're acting all closed off, pretending that you're fine when I know you're not, and I can't understand why."
His words caused a weird surging feeling in my gut, and suddenly it became a lot harder to hold back tears. Blinking rapidly, I shook my head and said, "Maybe I don't want to cry about this anymore. Maybe I spent enough time doing that, and any more would just be stupid. Maybe I just wanna hang out and pretend that everything isn't absolute shit right now."
Lucas turned his body the slightest bit so that he was facing me more. "What's the point of pretending?" He asked. His voice was soft, holding no accusation. "It won't change anything. Nate, there's nothing wrong with crying about this kind of thing. You're allowed to cry about it for weeks. There's no shame in being vulnerable when the world tosses you a boatload of bullshit and tells you to deal with it."
I looked away again, wiping at my cheeks. I felt Lucas' fingers delicately grip my chin, directing my face back to his. When I turned, his lips met mine, and something crumpled in my chest.
Since the first time I kissed Lucas, back in January, I'd known that it was a feeling I would never get used to. Every time, it felt like a whole new, beautiful experience. But this time . . . this time was a different kind of new. The touch was so soft, but he communicated something to me that I could only describe as powerful. Something that I couldn't quite put into words. Something that had me tensing and relaxing at the same time. Something that left me feeling barren and completely, absolutely, terrifyingly vulnerable, but at the same time unable to back away.
I felt as though I had no control of the tears that found their way out of my eyes. Lucas pulled me close, his fingers wiping them away as they came, and I clung to him tightly, afraid of what would happen if I let go. He became the only thing holding me together. I needed him. I really, really needed him.
Lucas pulled away to press a lingering kiss against my cheek. He wrapped me in another hug and let me just sit there for a few minutes. Let me sit there, with my forehead against his chest. Let me sit there and cry and shake and whimper in his arms. I relied on him, and he let me.
I started talking at one point, though I wasn't sure when. I recounted Sunday night. Not so much the events, but how I'd felt. I told him how much my sister's reaction had crushed me. I told him how scared I was about money. I told him how numb I'd felt for a good, long while that night, before everything hit me like a tidal wave. I told him how happy Kenny had made me, which led to a whole other explanation about who Kenny was. I told him how unmotivated I'd felt, how terrified I was to go to school, how isolating the situation seemed to be.
Lucas was quiet. He didn't say anything, even once I was finished. He just held me, and I let myself come undone, unraveling further and further until I was gasping. He held me through my ups and downs, through the moments where I seemed to be mellowing, then broke again. It wasn't until I said, "I feel like I just can't win this sick game," that he said something.
"Don't think like that," he mumbled, tightening his arms around my shoulders and briefly kissing the top of my head. "We'll survive here for one more month, and it'll be hell. But then we'll be out of here, straight to New York City, and that'll be hell too, because college always is, and we'll be broke and stressed and buried in responsibilities, but it'll be so fucking great because we'll have left this place behind. We'll be together and we'll be happy and free and supported and in love and we won't have to rely on these terrible people anymore, or care about what they think of us, or fear them. Our biggest problems will be paying bills and managing time, and it'll absolutely suck, but it'll also be better than anything we've ever experienced in this shithole."
I smiled despite myself. College would be hell. But compared to this, it would be heaven, and after all we'd dealt with, we deserved heaven.
To my dismay, Lucas loosened his grip and pulled away. "How do you feel?" He asked again.
"Like it's time for a distraction," I said honestly. Lucas nodded, silently agreeing, then glanced around himself to look for one.
He scooted from his spot and grabbed my laptop, which was still resting at the edge of the bed. Then he came back to me, setting it on my lap. "What do you say we apartment shop?"
His words were as exciting as they were heartbreaking. This was real. We were actually going to buy an apartment in New York, where we would actually live and actually enjoy our lives, far away from what we put up with now. That was my actual future.
And I had no money to do it.
"Lucas," I said, my voice breaking. "I told you, my dad—I have nothing. I can't . . ."
His expression fell devastatingly quickly. "Well," he swallowed, "You . . . can always live in a dorm. Your scholarship will pay for that."
I nodded. Of course, that was an option. An easy option. I hated it.
I would do it if I had to. I could live with it. But I really, really wanted to share a home with Lucas. To wake up to him every morning. To, after a bad day of school, come home to his comforting hugs. The idea of not having that made me shudder.
"I really don't like that option," I admitted hoarsely. Lucas chuckled.
"Me neither," he sighed. "You know, it's okay if we don't split. I can handle it for—"
"Nope," I said, swiftly cutting him off. Manhattan rent was crazy high—I wasn't about to let him tackle it on his own. "I'm not riding on your shoulders."
"Figured you'd say that," he grumbled. "You can always just live in the dorm and spend a lot of time at my place," he suggested. Which more-or-less translated to 'I'll buy the place and pay the rent; you can just practically live there and not pay'.
"Another no," I said.
Lucas sighed. "What do you want to do, then?" He asked. I shrugged.
"I can get a job," I pointed out. I tried not to think of the fact that college sports were insanely time consuming, and that balancing school, soccer, and a job would probably drain me. I'd do it if it meant I could live with Lucas.
He nodded. "Sell stuff you don't need. We can find a cheap apartment."
"We'll make it work."
Lucas smiled. "We have until now, haven't we?"
I opened up the laptop, excited all over again. We would make it work. One way or another, this would be our actual future. "We most certainly have. And we will. We have to."
Lucas looked between the laptop and me, and I rushed to log on, unable to contain my giddiness over the simple prospect of browsing apartments with him like a normal, happy couple.
But I remembered something, and put my hand out to stop Lucas as he went to search on Google. "Hold on," I said, earning a quizzical look."
"Hm?"
"Can we make a call first?" I asked him. "I want you to meet my cousin."