In the Closet (boy x boy)

30. The Boy in the Mirror

Sunday, April 30th

It's nothing. When you think about it, it really isn't. So why does the boy in the mirror stare back at me with such dejection in his eyes? I trail my gaze over him. His cheekbone is painted purple by a bruise. His lips are chapped, edges a sore red and scabs all over them. His whole torso, although currently covered by a shirt, bears colorful bruises that ache with every breath he takes. He's in so much pain but only I can read it in his eyes. Because, although his secrets are out, it's still straining for him to show how much they weight.

"We're ready when you are!" my mother yells at me from downstairs.

I watch the boy sigh. Both his parents know. They know he likes boys. They know he messed around with the wrong guy and had his phone broken. They know the wrong guy's older brother forced him to take a new phone as a gift. They know he fought with the wrong guy in question too. All they don't know is that the club trip he's about to go on involves that wrong guy. It revolves around him almost. But that would just prompt them to worry and nobody wants that. The boy swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing slowly. I realize through him how much Tavish has hurt me. I realize I didn't deserve it because I gave it my best and he didn't. I realize I deserve better. It's a comforting thought, I simply need to nurture it properly and avoid relapsing in self-pity. Should be easy enough, I think as I brush the shoulders of my shirt and grant my reflection a small smile.

Back in my bedroom, I wear my backpack, grab my baggage and drag it down the stairs. My parents wait at the door to drive me to school where, in an hour, I will take a bus towards the weightlifting competition in Toronto. Ready to go, I join them. Nobody moves towards the door. My mother simply stares at me with adoration written all over her. My father's gaze flickers, his features tense when our eyes meet. My sexuality is definitely a hard pill to swallow for him. He's probably still mourning his ground-plowing, cow-mounting, proudly Miller grand-children. He'll get over it, at least that's what my mother believes. It's not anything that will keep him from peacefully drinking beer on our couch with his farmer pals anyway.

"Oh, my poor handsome boy," my mother coos, rubbing a thumb on my cheekbone. I wince.

"Hurts," I say. She pouts and there's a prickle at my heart. It's odd that she cares so much.

She pats my head as if I was a dog. "Don't forget to thank that tall boy if you see him again." I try not to roll my eyes and nod instead.

I know she's referring to Seamus. She doesn't know she's referring to the brother of the guy who hurt me. A week ago, after Tavish left me there, injured, I passed out. Blair tried to go after Tavish. Seamus stayed by my side and tended to my wounds. In a couple hours, I was conscious again and my bruises were all bandaged. Seamus made sure I didn't have a concussion or a broken bone. I didn't. It's unusual for Tavish not to shatter bones when he fights, apparently. I don't know why exactly I was spared but I was. And I don't want to think about him anymore either way. I have already thanked Seamus texting his phone number. And my mother practically thanked him on her knees when he brought me back home that day. She thought I had gotten in trouble, which isn't completely false yet still technically wrong. The trouble came to me, I didn't attract it. Yes, hiding in a closet wasn't a genius idea, but trouble kept seeking for me afterwards. And, to be fair, I found trouble fucking hot. Anyway.

The car departs and I clutch to my backpack a bit tighter. For comfort, I rest my chin on it. My eyes catch some spots of the blurring scenery. The sun is nearing the horizon, soon it will embed itself there for the night. We should arrive in Toronto before noon tomorrow, just so the younger division can prepare and compete around 3pm. Then Tuesday, the seniors will partake in the last competition of their high school career. It's a pretty big event for them, it seems. I wouldn't know. I'm apparently only there to assist with the gestation of the members, like in a day camp, and aid with general preparation. Considering I'm driven on a trip, housed and fed for free, I don't mind at all.