Angry at Love

chapter 17

<<<CASEY>>>

We were over at miles' house because there, we don't have to deal with any annoying siblings or pestering family. My family know I'm gay and they think every guy I have over is my boyfriend. (little do they know, they're right. This time.) Miles' foster parents let us do whatever, and don't ask too many questions. So that's great.

Anyway, we were currently at his house, I was on his bed hanging upside down cause why not. Miles was sitting against the wall near my feet doing homework.

His voice, which I think about more often than I'd like to admit, brang me out of my thoughts, "you're gonna fall off and smack your head." He sounds disinterested, but I can hear the slight amusement in his voice.

"Am not."

"You will for sure if I push you off." I can hear the slight grin I am sure is on his lips.

I kick around in the air, hoping to hit him when I can't see him. My foot connects and he shoves me off the bed. I let out a very unmanly squeal as I fell, landing on his carpet that broke my fall.

Not moving from where I landed on my back, I pouted at him as I said, "you're mean."

He isn't looking at me but I can tell he's not really paying attention to his homework either, just pretending to. He hums as he responds, "I'm your mean, mean boyfriend."

I grin and get up off the floor. He doesn't look up when I come closer.

Then, I jump and tackle him into the bed. We wrestle for a moment and I end up on the bottom. He grins triumphantly and swoops down to kiss me.

I smile against his lips and kiss him back.

His lips were amazing and I am nearly overloaded with the sensation of them, and the butterflies in my stomach. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Then, the door opens. In comes his foster father, saying something about dinner. He freezes mid sentence and doesn't move.

I watch him nervously, still underneath miles on the bed, him straddling my hips. Our chests were nearly touching. Neither of us moved, waiting with bated breath.

A long enough time passed that I started to wonder if time itself was frozen, not just Miles' foster father. And then he moved, and time kept moving.

". . . Miles?" He seemed hesitant, unsure what to say. "Are-- are you . . . gay?"

Miles sits up, he tries to act nonchalantly, but I can tell how tensed his muscles are. I really want to hold his hand to tell him, I'm here, but I don't know if that's a good thing to do with his foster father here.

"Yep." Miles said with fake casualness.

Then, as if there had been a timer on a bomb slowly ticking down, it hit zero. And Miles' foster father exploded.

"Youre a fucking fag?!" Then, pointing a shaking finger at me, he shouts, "You! You get out! I don't want to see you near my house ever again!"

I was frozen, shaking with wide eyes. My gaze shifted to Miles. He no longer held his facade of disregard. Instead, he had shrunk back into himself and was staring at the wall.

In his eyes I could see such fear, that I wanted to just cry for him. He seemed far off, in his own mind. He was scratching at his arm so bad it had turned a cherry red and I worried it might start bleeding. He didn't seem to notice. I wanted to hug him and protect him with my life.

"I said, out!" the man shouts once again.

I wanted to protect him with my life, I did. I wanted to hug him so hard and yell at fisher for the way he was treating him. I wanted to reach out and stop the scratching, and just rub his back and try to calm him down. I wanted to turn and yell in his foster fathers face.

But I couldn't. I just couldn't. And I hated myself for it. Under my breath, so quiet I can barely hear it myself, and I have no idea if Miles could, I choke out. "I-I'm sorry."

And then I'm out, half jogging out, half being pushed out by Miles' foster dad.

__

I was sitting on my bed, wrapped in blankets and staring at my phone as I bit my nails. When would he text me? Would he text me? Is he mad at me? I wouldn't blame him if he was. I was super glad nobody was home, I was in no mood at all to talk to people. And I didnt want to take it out on someone who didn't deserve it.

I was brought out of my own little world of worry when my phone rang.

And my heart crashed. It burned, broke, and fucking shattered.

Because there, right below my notification of a thunderstorm warning, was Miles' text.

We're done

That's it. No, "I'm sorry", "it's not your fault." Nothing.

For a moment, or maybe hours, I'm not entirely sure, I stared at my phone. Numb.

My eyes keep going over and over the words, hoping and hoping I was seeing things. Hoping and needing it to be wrong, for the words to suddenly change their shape, morph into something else.

But they don't.

They were right there. No typos, no immediate response of, "I didn't mean to text that!"

Just that.

Suddenly, my emotions kicked in, and I burst out into tears.

I leaned over, clutching my stomach as I gasped for air. Tears were flowing freely, and fast.

I could feel it, physically. Like my heart is slowly being torn apart, shredded. I cried until my throat hurt and my eyes were puffy. I buried myself in the blankets and cried some more.

I couldn't even think of anything, not ask why, or when.

It was just images repaying in my mind of things we did together, and I cried harder at each one.

Then my sadness turned to anger, and I sat up to try and find my phone. Through the tears and the blankets, I couldn't find it.

That only makes me more angry. Not at him, but at myself and the world . . . and a little at him, I admit. Ok . . . I'm very angry at him

When I finally find my phone, I scream and throw it against the wall as hard as I possibly can.

It thunks to the floor, and I don't care to check if it cracked.

My rage doesn't calm, and I search for something else to break.

The lamp goes to the ground. My homework ripped to shreds. I tried punching the wall, but it hurt my fist and that wall probably wasn't the kind you could punch through. All of the contents on my desk were swept to the floor. All the while I was making pitiful noises.

By the time my anger gave out, I was left feeling empty, numb. My room, well it was messy normally, but this, you could tell something really fucking bad happened here.

I flopped down onto the bed, staring at my wall numbly.

I layed there, and stared and stared and stared.