aterovis_bleedinghearts.pm6 (7 page)

You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I simply nodded.

“I have something for you, Killian,” he said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket, “I found it as I was clean-55

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ing out Seth’s room. It’s a letter that he wrote to you. I hope you don’t mind that I read it. I thought he’d like for you to have it.”

He handed me the letter, and I looked at it for a moment.

“Please, open it and read it while I’m here,” he asked me. I could hear the pain in his voice. How could I say no? So I opened it with trembling hands and pulled out a single sheet of lined notebook paper. I unfolded the letter and looked at the date on the top. It had been written the day he kissed me. I forced my eyes down the page and began to read.

“Hey Killer,” it began. “I’m really sorry about what happened today. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Maybe that’s the whole problem. I wasn’t thinking. I wanted so badly for you to be gay, that I guess I imposed it on you. I get so lonely here in this town. I wanted to find someone I could love and who could love me. I guess I was expecting too much. I know I’ve probably ruined everything by now, but if not, if you can forgive me, I’d still like to be your friend. If you don’t hate me that is.”

The letter stopped here and then picked up again in different color ink.

“Wow. I just got off the internet after talking to you.

I can’t believe I was right! You are gay! But I’m not getting my hopes up or anything. I’m just glad you don’t hate me and you still want to be my friend.

“After you signed off I looked up your middle names.

I think it’s very interesting what it meant. Maybe you will, too. Travers means ‘the crossing.’ Do you see it? I think it means that you are at a crossroads right now.

You know you’re gay, but you don’t know what to do about it. There are several paths you can take, but only you can decide what path is right for you. And there really is only one path that’s right for you.

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“I hope you find it and I hope that maybe I can help you along that path.”

It was signed, “Your friend, Seth.”

By the time I reached the signature, tears were streaming freely down my face. I looked up to see that Adam was crying as well. I cleared my throat, “Why didn’t he give it to me?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said simply, “but I think he’d like for you to have it now.” Then he stood up. “That’s all really. I wanted to give you the letter. Thank you for being a friend to my son. I can let myself out.”

He started out of the room, then stopped in the doorway. He stood there for a few moments and then turned.

“He’s right, you know. You are at a crossroads. What path you choose now will have an impact on the rest of your life in a way that you can’t even begin to fathom now. Choose carefully.” And he was gone.

Mom came back into the room a few minutes later.

She took in my tear-stained face and the letter in my hands and then sat down in the chair Adam had just vacated. She sat for a few moments in silence.

“Killian,” she said finally, “are you gay?”

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I sat like this for what seemed like an eternity before I finally pulled myself together enough to shut my mouth. I nodded instead.

She sat there for a few more minutes without saying a word. Just when I thought the silence would deafen me, she simply stood up and walked out of the room. I felt as if my heart had been ripped out. I know that sounds like a cliché, but that’s exactly what it felt like, as if suddenly there was a gaping hole where my heart had been.

I began to cry, and then once again I was racked by sobs. I don’t know how long I cried, but suddenly I became aware that a storm had come up. I could hear the 57

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rain beating against the house and slight rumbles of thunder in the distance coming closer with each crash.

I struggled up from the sofa, ignoring the physical pain. The emotional pain had taken precedence for the moment. I opened the shades at the window and stared out at the storm and thought about how it reflected the storm I was feeling inside, slowly building up to the point where it was a force that couldn’t be stopped.

I was at a crossroads. What path should I take?

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I was sitting at the window overlooking the garden, watching the wind blow furiously through the brightly colored flowers. Many of the plants had already lost their petals, but so far the bleeding hearts were holding their own, which is more than I could say for myself. I was feeling more and more lost every second.

I stood up and went outside into the storm. No one said anything to me, and I wasn’t surprised. Once outside, the wind buffeted my body and the driving rain almost instantly soaked me, my tears mixing with the raindrops. I didn’t care. I was half hoping the raging storm would blow me away — or at least blow away the storm raging inside me.

I fell to my knees in the middle of the yard. I had never felt so alone. In the course of the last two weeks I had lost everyone I cared about. I had alienated my best friends. Seth had been murdered. And now my mother knew that I was gay, something I’d only figured out a few days ago. There was no one I could turn to, no one to talk to. I found myself wishing that the guy who had killed Seth had finished me off too. I wanted to die.

I had never had thoughts like this before. I’d never understood how anyone could even consider hurting themselves, let alone killing themselves. And here I was trying to think of the best way. I knew where Dad kept a gun in his bedroom. He’d made me learn how to shoot 59

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and I was good, but I didn’t like guns. There was no way I could follow through with that. I could swallow some pills, but I didn’t know what kind or how many or even if we had anything that would work. I didn’t want to get halfway done and have it not work. I didn’t think I was strong enough to slit my wrists. Maybe I could just lie out here and hope I would die of exposure. The temperature had dropped quickly, and even though it was only the middle of September, it was only in the upper 40s. I was shivering violently as I knelt in the middle of my back yard in the pouring rain with lightning flashing and thunder crashing all around me.

I don’t know how long I had been sitting there when a voice penetrated my dark reverie. “Killian!” I got the impression it wasn’t the first time it had called my name.

Before I could even raise my head, someone was at my side. I looked up through the rain pouring down my face and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Asher!

“What are you doing here?” I asked. My voice was thick from crying.

“I came to see how you were doing, but I can see for myself. Obviously, not well. Come on. You have to come inside. It’s freezing out here, and you’re soaked.” When I didn’t move he picked me up and carried me inside. I let him. I was past putting up a fight.

We came back in through the sliding glass doors just as Mom came into the room.

“Oh my God,” she gasped when she saw us, “What happened?”

I guess we did look pretty bad. I was soaked to the bone from the torrential downpour, and Asher had gotten pretty wet, too, even in just the few minutes that he was out there. At least Asher was wearing a jacket, although I was pretty sure the black suede would be ruined. He came the rest of the way in and lowered me to the couch before turning back to my mother.

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“He’s okay physically, but he’s really upset. I found him in the backyard,” he said. “He needs to get into some dry clothes, though.”

My mom stood, staring at me with one hand over her mouth. After what seemed like forever she still hadn’t responded, so Asher said, “Mrs. Kendall?”

She looked at him as if she’d just noticed him for the first time, “Oh, Asher, could you leave us alone for just a minute. Don’t leave; I think I’ll need your help. I just need a few minutes alone...”

“Okay, I’ll go get some towels,” he said after she had faded out, and he left the room.

Mom walked slowly to my side and knelt on the floor.

She reached out a trembling hand and smoothed back the wet hair that was plastered to my forehead.

“Baby, what were you doing out there?” she said, almost in a whisper.

I turned my head so I didn’t have to look into her eyes. “I wanted to die,” I whispered back.

Her hand on my arm began to tremble and she began to cry softly.

“Oh, God! Killian, I’m so sorry,” she cried. She reached up and turned my face towards her. “Baby, I don’t care if you are gay or...or...whatever. I love you with all my heart and that will never change. I think I’ve always known you were different. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s just...it’s going to take some adjustment on my part. I don’t know anything about being gay, but I’ll learn. I love you.”

We were both crying by now, and I rolled onto my side and hugged her tightly, ignoring the pain that I still felt in my stomach. My adventure outside didn’t seem to have helped much.

“I love you, too,” I told her through my tears. I think this was the first time we’d ever said those words to each other.

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“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” she said, pulling away. I was reluctant to let go. “Asher?” she called out.

He was there in a moment so he must have been waiting around the corner so as not to disturb us. He had taken off his jacket, and his long-sleeved shirt under-neath was still dry, so that meant that only his pants were still damp. He looked as if he’d dried off a bit already himself. His curly hair, even darker when wet, was standing out in tufts.

Mom took the towels and handed them to me. “Can you help Killian upstairs to his room so he can change?”

she asked Asher.

“Of course, Mrs. Kendall,” he said. They both helped me up and Asher put his arm around me for me to lean on and we started out towards the stairs.

“And Asher?” Mom called. We stopped at the bottom step, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Asher called back.

“For finding Killian and being such a good friend.”

We stood there for a second before Asher nudged me into moving again. The climb up the stairs, which was slow and rather difficult, was taken one step at a time and mostly in silence. Finally we made it to my room and Asher helped me to my bed, then turned around. I thought he was leaving, but instead he shut the door and came back over to me.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Your mom’s wrong, you know,” he said quietly,

“I’ve not been a very good friend.”

“You’re friends with Zack and Jesse,” I said, “They obviously come first. Like I said, I’m the back-up plan.

Or I used to be. I’m nothing anymore. Why are you here?”

He ignored my question and started rummaging through my drawers, pulling out dry clothes. I winced 62

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when he opened my underwear drawer, but he just pulled out a pair of boxers and tossed them onto the bed.

“His getting killed really upset you, huh?” he asked me, still digging through my dresser.

“Geez, Asher, what do you think? I found him. And whoever killed him tried to kill me too. No, I’m not upset, I’m just flippin’ fine and dandy here.” Then to my great embarrassment I burst into tears.

“Dammit,” he said rushing over to me, “Killian, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m so dumb sometimes. It’s just...I didn’t realize you were so close to him and all.”

“We weren’t that close,” I sniffled. I was really getting tired of crying.

Asher picked up one of the towels and gently wiped off my face and then started drying my hair. I felt like a little kid again. “What are you doing?” I asked him again.

“I guess this is my way of saying I’m sorry for being such a jerk,” he said, then he continued, “I had a big fight with Zack and Jesse. Earlier this week. I haven’t talked to them since.”

“You did? Why? What in the world happened?”

“I wanted to come see you after...well, you know, but they didn’t think I should.”

“Shouldn’t hang around with fags, huh?” I said bitterly.

Asher froze. We sat there for a few seconds, neither of us speaking or moving. Then Asher got up and picked up the shirt and sweat pants that he’d dropped when I had started crying. He brought them over and set them on the bed. He stood there for a second, as if trying to decide what to do. Suddenly he reached down, took off my glasses, and began pulling up my shirt.

“Hey!” I yelped.

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“I’m just helping you with your shirt, dude,” he laughed.

“I don’t need help, I can do it,” I insisted.

“Oh, you can, huh? You can pull this wet shirt over your head without an extreme amount of pain?” he said in a teasing voice. “Just let me help. It’s okat. I’m not gonna rape you or anything.”

He had a point. I gave him a dirty look then allowed him to help me untangle my arms from the wet material and pull it over my head. The maneuver still caused quite a bit of discomfort, and I knew he could tell. Once my shirt was off and all I was wearing were some wet bandages and soaked shorts, I suddenly became very self-conscious. I wasn’t unattractive or anything, but I also knew I wasn’t anywhere near as built as Asher was.

“Help me get my shirt on,” I mumbled reaching for the dry one.

“You need to change those bandages first, Kill,” Asher said.

I sighed. He was right again, of course. “The stuff is in a basket by the couch downstairs,” I told him and he was gone in a flash. I decided to change my pants while he was gone, since it was much easier pulling on pants then pulling on a shirt, but I only got as far as my dry boxers before he was back. It didn’t seem like he could have had time to even get downstairs, and here he was back with the basket with me sitting in my boxers.

“Your mom was bringing it up. I told her I would help you this time,” he explained.

“You don’t have to,” I said quickly.

“I know I don’t have to, I want to. Will you just stop fighting me and let me help you?” He was starting to sound exasperated, so once again I gave in.