Hate (BL)

18

Dylan Skylar

December 20th.

My birthday. 29 years old.

Alone.

I stare at the single candle I’ve taped to the side of my wine glass. It flickers unsteadily. I blow it out with a slow, tired breath, watching the smoke curl into the air and disappear, just like everything else in my life.

I tip the glass back and chug the wine, letting it burn down my throat, but it does nothing to dull the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

I didn’t bother decorating this year. No lights, no tree, no wreath on the door. Just me and these four blank walls that feel closer and closer every day, pressing in until it’s hard to breathe.

Jason and Stephanie got married two years ago. Had a baby last month. Before that, they were already distant. I don’t blame them; they have their own lives now, full and happy.

Nick and Vanessa moved to Colorado last year. We text, sometimes. Call even less. The distance stretches wider with each passing day.

Mom died last year.

I take another slow sip, closing my eyes as the thought creeps in.

I always saw my parents as lovebirds, the kind that mate for life. And when Dad passed, I knew it was only a matter of time before Mom followed. She didn't die because she was sick. She died because she didn't know how to live without him.

And Grayson...

I swallow hard, staring at the empty chair across from me.

He left. Not with a fight, not with a dramatic goodbye. Just... silence.

After his confession, he never came back.

I didn't even know he was gone until the movers showed up at my door unannounced, packing up his things while I stood there like an idiot, watching everything disappear piece by piece. He didn’t even have the decency to face me one last time, didn’t give me the chance to say anything at all.

The last thing he ever said to me was through a text. Just two words.

[Forget it.]

Then nothing. No calls. No messages. Just silence.

I fill my glass again, my hand trembling slightly as I take another drink.

I've been to the hospital twice since Mom passed. The first time, I tried overdosing. Jason showed up and yelled at me until his voice gave out, while Stephanie stood in the corner, staring at me with those sad, pitying eyes. I hated it. Hated them.

The second time, I fainted from not eating. They kept me there for a few days. No one visited. Not Jason. Not Nick. And definitely not Grayson.

But I waited for him anyway.

Every time I opened my eyes, I expected to see him storming in, his face scrunched up in frustration, telling me I was an idiot and handing me one of his stupid homemade meals.

But he never came.

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into weeks. Weeks into months. And now, months into years.

And I still wait.

Whether I’m exhausted from work, sick in bed, or lying on the cold floor staring at the ceiling, I wait.

My texts don’t go through. My calls never connect. But I keep hoping.

Hoping that one day, he’ll come back.
__________________
Uploaded 11/20/24
Edited 01/21/25