Chapter Forty-Nine

There's a distinct point where escaping feels just a little wrong.

It's a two-fold problem. The first is that I'm taking Xavier away from a family that gives a shit about his wellbeing. Somehow it feels barbaric to strip him of a comfort I've been denied for so, so many years. He's never expressed his concern at this though—it almost feels like he hasn't thought it through, or if he has, he hasn't quite thought it through properly. It's almost like he doesn't care that we're leaving our shackles behind. Just when he's starting to get a grip on who he is and who he wants to become, he decides to make an impulsive decision into reckless abandon.

My mom is the second issue that haunts me these days. There's a difference between not living here, and not being here. Most nights I sleep elsewhere because usually the thought of someone else's bed is a nice escape in and of itself. If she's ever noticed she hasn't said a word.

But that's where it all gets complicated. My feelings of my mother are mixed. In some ways I hate her, and in other ways, I can't help but love her. It's the twisted knot in my stomach when it comes to these mixed feelings that actually separate us in the end. Our once close bond that had been strengthened through years of ongoing abuse had now broken down.

Had I changed? Had she changed? Had the definition of our relationship with each other changed?

Whatever it was, it left me with a soft growing guilt in my heart. If I was here I could be that secondary target—the backup punching bag. If I left, then she would take the full brunt of his forceful, hideous anger. Could I live with that? At the end of the day, could I just leave without any repercussions?

That answer was always going to be no.

I tried my best not to think about it as I stuffed a few more shirts into a duffel bag. Classic band logos flashed in the warmth of my bedroom light. My hands moved at an increasing pace, but still with an air of softness behind them; the last thing I needed was anyone finding out what I was doing. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he wasn't home yet. The doors to my wardrobe remained flung open, a nightmarish apocalypse of a mess spilling out. Despite having set the plan into motion a week ago, it never occurred to me to pack till tonight, most likely because if my mom seen so many missing clothes she might suspect something was wrong.

And as much as I wanted to tell her everything—how I felt, how this loneliness had been eating me alive, how I still don't know who I'm supposed to be—I just couldn't. It was my burden to bear, not hers.

A soft rap on the door makes me freeze in place. My blood solidifies as my entire mind goes blank for a sole moment.

"Yeah?" I say in synch with the fumbling of the zipper. Softly, it slips from my bed to the floor. The space between window and bed has concealed it expertly.

As always, the sound of the door opening makes her presence known fully. I've just about managed to clear my messes when she takes me in from her place in the doorway.

Everything about her is either worn, beaten, or broken. Somehow, she still wears the air of optimism around her as if things can get better. The clothes she wears are like mines—far too big for someone of her size. The beige cardigan nearly touches the floor in some areas, and it takes everything to try and look her in the eyes.

"I was wondering," she starts with a soft lilting tone that's come through years of practice. "If maybe you'd like to join me for dinner."

My eyes are caught in hers. I can't help but blink, and then blink again. Sincerity is catching on the edges of her face, but it's an empty offer. It's her way of saying that she's sorry for the things she can't control.

And any other night, I would have marched myself downstairs and acted like the proper family unit we were supposed to be. This night was different though. This was the night where I was no longer going to be tied down by this enormous weight that kept me in this dark lonely space. I'd seen better things and now I wanted more.

"I..." My voice trailed off, just trying to think of the right thing to say right now. This was the absolute point of no return; would I choose to be selfish for once or would I settle for what I had?

No. Fuck that. I was done settling.

Didn't I deserve to be happy? Didn't I deserve my own chance to make something of myself?

At the moment where I was about to say something, my phone went off. The screen flashed quickly on my pillow, and for a moment her gaze averted. Probably didn't help that the opening bars to 'My Hero' by 'The Foo Fighters,' rang through the air.

When she next looked at me, there was a strange expression that filled her face. All of her features were straining to look at me, as if I was some sort of ghost in her own home. That sadness that I'd seen so many times over, stilled for a few moments as she tried to get a better look at the boy who was standing in front of her. The song still played out in that long, excruciating moment of nothingness.

"I should get that," I said meekly.

Standing there for a few minutes more, she gave a sage sort of nod before breaking that half-frown smile at me. I couldn't be entirely sure of what she was pissed at, but the picture that got drawn was very clear.

Don't let him find out.

As if I would actually tell that horrible, flaming dumpster fire anything. I didn't say this though, and instead ushered her away with my eyes.

Turning my back, I stared out into the starry night. With a single push of the button, our breaths were back in alignment. Closing my eyes, I inhaled hard, just trying not to think about what had just happened.

"Hey," he said. His voice was so chill and natural. There was nothing nervous about him right now, and I could practically picture that cocky smile. "Are you ready?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I respond with a small half-smile of my own. Unlike him, everything inside me feels like it might come undone at any moment. Provocation could just send me floating away with the wind and I'm not ready to be apart from him just yet. "How far away are you?"

"I'm a minute or so off."

Slowly, I nodded. And then, because I realized he couldn't see this I replied, "don't take too long."

"Don't worry about it," he said so jovially. In our time together, we had shared our own stories of civil-wars in our heads. It felt selfish to share more when Xavier was coming to an end of his internal conflict. "Are you alright?" he asked after a few moments of the most penetrating silence imaginable.

"Yeah," I lied, a laugh giving me away slightly. "I just, I feel like I've got these words in my head that I need to get out."

"Oh," he says, voice oozing that confidence that makes him so appealing to all of his friends. "And what words would those be?"

I can tell he's not trying to force me.

But at the same time, I want to say those words. I want to scream them from the mountains because I've never felt anything more viscerally or passionately. By the time I'm through I want this whole world to know something truly important.

"I love you Xavier," I respond softly. And on the other end of the phone, I can tell he's smiling.

That thought is soon replaced with a colder far more chilling thought. It comes when I realise that I'm not the only presence here. A dark shadow has managed to encompass my room, and that's when I realize that the door is still open. The chill creeps into the room, turning my blood into ice once more. I feel trapped and alone, mostly because at this point in time I am very much trapped, and as alone as I could be.

Turning my head cautiously, I see his silhouette in the doorframe. His entire body weight is sluggishly leaned into it whilst his bony fingers clutch his beer a little tighter.

"You better just not have said what I think you just said boy," he practically hisses. Words tumble over and under each other. It makes me think I have a chance. He's so close though, and it makes me think that I won't be able to make it. The thought forces me to swallow hard. "Tell me right now what you just said." He looms closer, the alcohol on his breath now the only thing filling me up.

"Garth?" Xavier asks from the other end. "What's going on?"

"Fight or flight?" I whisper back.

The question is enough to knock him back a few paces in confusion. When he finds his balance again, he wipes sloppily at his mouth with his hand.

"Escape," Xavier replies.

"I plan too."