Paper Hearts (boyxboy)

The Accident

Noah:

"I told you why we just can't make it, I want you still but I just can't take it. The time has come we ought to break it, someone had to pay the price..."

I roll over in bed, facing my radio. Is that the alarm going off? My eyes struggle to focus on the numbers, the music pounding in my head. 9:45? Well, if it is the alarm, it's awfully late. I slap the top where the snooze is, but it doesn't stop, so I sluggishly yank the cord. "Fuckin' Ramones." I mumble, slipping out of the bed to go take a leak.

Once in the bathroom, I look out the window to see nothing but dark skies. At nine in the morning? That can't be right...

I hear shuffling in the next room. Little John must be sleeping, he'd be at school by now if it were the morning. I guess that means it's 9:45 p.m. I must've fallen asleep with the radio on.

Making my way back into my room, I kick an almost-empty bottle and trip, spilling bourbon on the carpet. "Shit." I grumble, feeling around for the light. It burns my eyes to turn it on, but despite being blinded, I look around my desk and dresser for a bottle with anything left in it. There's just one: Captain Morgan. "Good enough," I knock back the seven or eight ounces left inside.

There's a knock at the door, it sounds like a wrecking ball. "Noah? Are you up?" Heather's voice is soft behind the wood.

"Yeah." I groan, plopping onto the bed. She opens the door slowly, a look of concern on her face. She's wearing her nightgown and house shoes, but looks wide awake.

"Can I come in?" I motion as if to say she might as well, all the while throwing a pillow over my face to block out the light. I feel her sit on the side of the bed, and she is quick to say: "We really should have a conversation."

Here it comes, I knew it was only a matter of time. Can't say I blame her, I'm not exactly the ideal tenant. She's been so distracted by having an eight-year-old son the past few days, she's hardly noticed anything was going on with me and Andy. I was starting to wonder when she'd see and kick me to the curb. "No need to say it Heather, I understand. I'll be out by tomorrow."

She grabs the pillow and moves it so I'm looking in her eyes. "Noah, no. I don't want you to leave, I want to know what's wrong. You haven't spoken to me in days. Andrew won't even leave his bed, his door's been locked for three days."

I nod; I already know all this. He won't even respond to me. I'm not sure how he's surviving, I haven't seen him leave the room once. Then again, I'm not sure how I'm surviving either. "What makes you think something is wrong?"

She crosses her arms. "You're wasted. And from the looks of this room, you have been for a few days." I sit up on my elbows and look around. Shit, she is right. This room is a disaster, my clothes are everywhere, empties are scattered about, there's even a horrid lingering odor to make it worse. After a moment of me trying to decide what to say, Heather reaches out and grabs my shoulder. "Please tell me what's going on."

I look down at her hand as if it's a foreign object. It feels so strange to be touched as if I'm someone's son. I wonder if my mom ever held me, or worried if things were wrong? I can't remember. I like to think that she was wonderful, always worried about us and loving. Heather is like that. "We... I think we're just ready to graduate, that's all."

Her sigh is desperate and disappointed. "Why are you feeding me that bullshit? Something happened, and you aren't telling me."

I sit up all the way, pulling away from her touch. "Don't worry about it, we'll get over it soon."

She sighs softer this time. I can feel that she's upset, but I don't say a word as she gets up and leaves, wishing me a goodnight at the door. I know I should tell her. I know I should get over it. But I don't want to acknowledge the reality that we are so hated by so many. That's why I haven't broken down Andy's door, because I'm no better. What's the point? No one will ever accept us. The rest of our lives, we will be ridiculed over and over again, teased relentlessly, looked down upon. Either we live our lives hiding the truth of who we are, or face the societal repercussions of being gay. Getting jobs will be harder, getting respect from anyone will be near impossible. So what's the point? The world has shown me it's true colors, and now I see. There is nothing left in this world for me.