Page 77 of Racing Hearts
“Then I’ll help them beat the gay right out of you, boy. No son of mine is a sissy, so don’t you ever say that shit again.” My head hits the wall from the force of the bottle hitting my face. I feel glass and blood sprinkling down my head from the impact as I stare in shock. “If you ever say it again, I’ll kill you, understand? If I ever see you with a boy, I’ll kill you myself. Now get out of my sight.”
As I gape at my father, hatred builds inside me—one for myself for being born this way.
I will never be the kid he could love, nor will I be the kid others would be friends with and invite to parties.
I hate myself, and I hate them all.
Opening my eyes, I blink to clear away my tears. I hate how it’s all coming back now. I tried so hard to be normal, to be the kid he could love, and to be accepted into this society that punishes you for being different. I tried and failed.
I know I can’t blame my past for my actions now. Yes, I was young, and what happened was fucked up, but I’m older now. I know what Matty and the others did was wrong. I know my father was wrong and that being gay isn’t a problem. It’s who I am, but it doesn’t stop old insecurities and fears from forcing my hand. It doesn’t stop me from thinking that everyone I trust or let close will hurt or betray me simply for what I want.
I dropped out of school and got a job, and when my parents died, I grieved them. I moved on and grew up, so why can’t I let go of that scared teenager?
I used to hate Matty, but as I think back on it now, I just feel sorry for him. He was obviously scared and worried, and he used me as a scapegoat, but aren’t I doing the same thing now to Evan?
Look how that made me feel.
Evan is right, I’m scared, but I really wish I weren’t.
I wish I were brave enough to accept who I am and love without worry.
As I watch my sister learning to protect herself, I know I have a choice to make—to stay stuck in the past, never accepting myself and being happy, or to be brave like her. I could show her it’s okay to be who she is and to love whoever she wants. She looks up to me, so it’s my duty to lead the way—not just for her, but for me as well—and to be the change I needed back then.
Can I break the cycle?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Staring at my phone, I debate if I’m wrong. Am I? Or am I just missing him?
It’s stupid to get this attached to someone so quickly, but you can’t help who you love, and I love Alek Anders. I hate it. I hate that it’s hard to breathe. I hate that I’m just going through the motions, looking for him everywhere. He hurt me, and we are over, yet I’m here, staring at pictures on my phone of when we were together.
I was happier than I have ever been before, and the wide smile on my face as he poses behind me in this image is proof of that. My phone is filled with stolen moments and snapshots, and I can’t force myself to get rid of them.
His phone call last night didn’t help. It didn’t make me feel better to take it out on him when I know he’s struggling. That’s the thing—when you love someone, you make excuses for them. You don’t want to hurt them even when they hurt you. Even now, I hope he’s okay and he isn’t overworking and not sleeping.
Love is a foolish, fickle bitch, and I want it gone.
I don’t want to be in pain anymore. Rubbing my chest, I place my phone face down just as the chair opposite me in the dining hall is scraped back. I jerk my head up and see Alice. She slumps into it, groaning as she rubs her arms. I stare, and she tilts her head.
“What? We are friends, aren’t we? He didn’t get me in the divorce,” she jokes. I’ve noticed the more comfortable she feels around someone, the more she speaks, and she’s right. We are friends. I like Alice, but she reminds me of her brother. I can’t look into her eyes without seeing him.
I simply nod, and she sighs, reaching over as she flips my phone, seeing the picture there. I snatch it back from her and sit deeper into the chair, embarrassed she caught me.
“Evan.”
“Don’t, okay? I don’t need you to defend him or anything.”
“I’m not going to. I’m your friend, remember? Are you okay?” She reaches over, holding my hand. It’s soft and warm, but I wish it were bigger, tattooed, and his. Still, I let her comfort me.
“Not even a little,” I admit with a bitter laugh, meeting her eyes once more, the eyes of someone I love in a different face. They are so alike sometimes, it’s scary.
“Is he okay?” I ask.
“You want the truth?” she counters, and I love her for that. She might be his sister, but she’s also my friend, and it’s clear when Alice cares, she cares deeply. She’s like her brother in that regard. I nod, and she smiles.
“No.” Her smile is sad. “He isn’t. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like the energy is gone from him. He’s barely eating or sleeping—hell, he even missed work.”
I hate that concern winds through me.