what we do best

part five

My day's routine had taken a drastic turn. Being loved changed a person. I was out more, Dad noticed less. Zoey and I talked a lot more, I hid less. Having someone with you during the day made you less accessible to beat up, so that was a plus. It turns out I'm kind of okay at school. Staying at school for the whole six hours meant I could see Tris more.

Tristan was smart. Really smart. We had no other classes together, but that only increased the anticipation.

Sometimes notes would flutter out of my locker, written on tiny green index cards.

Your hair looks good brushed down

Chem was boring. Kissing you isn't boring. I miss you :(

Ur ass looks cute in those jeans

I return his love with winks in the hallway or sliding my hand in his back pocket on our way to class.

Months passed; the snow turned to mush, and the sun began its journey from out behind the clouds. Tristan could no longer use the excuse of being cold to fold his body into mine.

Tris and I would meet at the flagpole after school. Our "spot".

"I can't today. I promised I would hang out with Zoey," I murmured into the crook of Tristan's arm. We sat at the base of the flagpole, facing away from the masses of people who didn't care to notice.

"Tomorrow then?" Tris had been trying to get me to meet his moms for a while now. We always manage to be at his house when they're conveniently not home.

"Maybe," I lace my fingers through his.

"I still haven't met your dad," Tris pulls away, so we sit parallel to each other.

"You don't want to, trust me," I almost laugh. Dad had surpassed the semi-sober abusive stage and is currently in the always-drunk-can-never-be-hungover-because-he-just-keeps-drinking stage. I kind of prefer this one instead. If he's not passed out on the couch, he's at the bar. I can't remember the last time he had a meal. But I also can't remember the location of the last wound he caused.

"Shouldn't your dad know that his firstborn has a boyfriend?" Boyfriend. That word sends a shiver up my spine. "Boyfriend" meant commitment, loyalty. Dad was never any good at that while Mom was alive.

"No, he shouldn't," I feel a little sick to my stomach standing up, but I suddenly felt the need to leave very quickly. I can't blame Tristan for not knowing about Dad. He'd never been inside of my house, and he's never known the constant drunken state of my father. He'd also never asked about the mysterious bruises I'd come in with. But I never asked about his scars.

"Is he homophobic or something?" Tris was patient, but his sudden push for answers nearly suffocated me. I shook my head.

"My dad's fucked up. Please, don't worry," I scoop my backpack and give Tristan a quick kiss on the cheek before speed-walking down the street. I felt bad leaving Tris like that. I should go back and apologize. But I was already too far down the sidewalk.

It was Friday, which meant I had no obligation to see or talk to Tristan until Monday. But that would be shitty of me.

+++

O: can u come over

I text on Saturday afternoon with no context. Not fifteen minutes later, Tris is standing on the sidewalk outside my house. I wonder why he didn't come to the door, then realizing he never had before.

"Hi," I crack the front door open and Tris slips in. He starts to speak, but I put a finger to his lips and point to the couch. There my father lays, holding an empty bud light and a blanket tight to his chest. A mixture of horror, pity, and confusion flashes across Tristan's face before I can drag him down the hall.