The Space Between You and Me

PART ONE

unedited

THE first time I came out, I needed four stitches to sew my bottom lip back together.

Looking back on it, it wasn't your fault, nor was it mine; we were placed in an unfortunate situation that was followed by a series of unfortunate events and, looking back on it, I should have been braver, you should have been gentler and together should have been prouder. If I had known what I know now, would it have been different?

It was the night of your seventeenth birthday. We decided to go swimming and it was a stupid idea, a reckless idea, but with half a bottle of Jack swirling in our stomachs, it seemed like a brilliant idea. We tripped and tumbled and toppled down the hill towards the lake behind your house, tossing our heads back with laughter. You ran in headfirst, like usual, fearless, and I trotted eagerly behind you. You grasped my hand as the moonlight reflected off of the glistening drops of water on your skin and I thought that nothing could be more perfect than that one particular moment; you watching me watching you. To this day, I wish to frame that moment; the wicked glint in your eyes and how soft your hand was in mine and the eyelash on your cheek and how, even in the pale light of the moon, you glowed, radiated with love and beauty.

You grinned at me, eyes glassy and you told me you loved me. I laughed and told you that it was the alcohol speaking, even though internally I was sure, so sure that I must have misheard you. The water lapped at our chests and you said it again (I love you) and I squeezed your hand tighter and my mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out. You uttered it again (I love you) and I furrowed my eyebrows whilst tears gathered in your eyes. Your voice was a whisper now (I love you) and I blurted, unable to hold the words in any longer, 'I love you too.' You looked at me and said, 'not the good kind of love', and I said, 'all love is good love', to which you said, 'not this love.'

I let go of your hand and you looked down whilst I looked at you and you said, 'I love, love you.' I whispered, 'I know', and you whispered it again (I love, love you) and I said, loudly, my darkest, best kept secret tumbling out of my mouth, 'I love, love you too.'

We were both quiet until you looked up at me, eyes filled with shock – disgust? – and you said 'it was a joke.' Your hands began to shake and you said, even louder, 'I was just joking', and I shook my head because it was a weak lie, even you have to admit that; but I understood why you told it. I said, 'I'm not joking', and you stepped back and I said it again (I love, love you). You took a step forward and I opened my mouth to say it again (I love, love you) but your closed fist replaced my words. Blood filled my mouth and I stumbled backwards while you just stood there, watching me as I blinked away the stars in my vision and in that split second, I knew the perfect moment was gone. You opened your fist, eyes void of emotion (I thought you loved me?) and said, 'that kind of love is wrong.'

I spat out a mouthful of blood into the murky water and straightened. I called you a coward. You called me a sinner. I slammed my open hand into the water as my heart clenched and crumpled and told you that you didn't have to lie to me, that I understood and that I cared for you more than anyone else (because I love, love you). You refused to look me in the eye so I grasped your face with both hands. You placed your hands over mine and looked at me, wide eyed and terrified. You told me how your sister would hate you, how your father would beat you and how your mother would never forgive you. You told me how God himself would never forgive you. You told me how you would never be able to forgive yourself.

I brushed your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. I wanted to hold you close, I wanted to tell you that everything would be OK and I wanted to shield you from the horrors that were almost certain to follow; but I couldn't bring myself to lie to you.