Gone (Ianthony)

Three Months and Seven Hours Before

Ian:        

I sat on my bed. I checked my watch. I took a deep breath. I checked my watch.

Everything was ready, right? Yeah, everything was ready. Definitely. For sure. Not a doubt. Right?

I put my head in my hands. I couldn't wait any longer. I'd waited too long. Soon, it would be morning, and Anthony would wake up, and everything would be ruined. My plan. My life. My dream.

I sat and thought for a second. Why was I having such a hard time with this? It was what I wanted. It was what I'd wanted for five months. There shouldn't have been a doubt in my mind. So why was there?

There wasn't.

That's what I told myself. There was no turning back now.

I stood. Took a deep breath. Grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder.

I walked toward the door. I stared at my room. It would be the last time I would ever see it. 

My eyes landed on the little note folded up neatly on the end of my bed. They lingered there. They felt dry. I felt like I should have been crying, or even feeling some sort of emotion, but like normal, I felt empty. 

If I felt anything, it was happiness. To be getting out of the hell I created for myself.

I turned the light off. I would never see my room again.

I walked slowly down the hallway. Really slowly. I couldn't wake up Anthony. 

I stopped in the middle of the hallway. 

No. I couldn't do it. I had to go.

But I ignored my judgement. I shouldn't have.

I crept down the hallway, running my hand along the wall for guidance, and stopped outside his room.

I should have turned around. God, why didn't I turn around?

I slowly peeked through the crack in his door. I pushed it open a little more. 

And, sure enough, there he was.

His face was turned toward me, his lips just slightly parted as a soft rhythm of snoring escaped them. His chest was bare, his covers thrown carelessly to the side so they only shielded the lower half of his body.

The moonlight shone through the little slits in his blinds, producing just enough light to reflect off his face and chest and create a pattern of diagonal lines across his skin. As my eyes adjusted, I began making out every one of the little features that made him the Anthony Padilla I knew and loved - his messed-up right eyebrow that stuck out farther than the left, the tiny little freckle that decorated his left cheek, his dark hair just barely covering his closed eye. 

I knew I shouldn't have.

Because right then, the memories of just a few short hours ago flooded back into my mind, and I shook my head and forced myself to look away. 

"Dude, alright, alright," Anthony breathed in between laughter. He set his controller down. "It's so late. I gotta go to bed."

"Yeah, okay, me too." I turned off the TV and yawned, hoping he couldn't tell it was fake.

He stood up and stretched his arms. He opened his mouth like he was gonna say "goodnight" or "see you in the morning" or "I'll rematch you tomorrow and win this time," but right before he could say anything, I stopped him.

"Hey, wait."

He looked down at me.

"What?"

"I just... thank you."

He rolled his eyes. He sat down.

"Are we having one of those nights?" He smiled.

"I don't know." I smiled also. It was only half-fake. "What's one of those nights?"

"Well," he shrugged. "It just seems like every time you feel better, the last night of the Rise you'll sit me down and tell me 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry I'm such a piece of shit' even though we both know that's far from true. But that's okay because I really like those nights."

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is one of those nights, then."

He rolled his eyes yet again, leaning back into the cushions. 

"Go on."

"Thank you for putting up with all my shit all the time. I don't know how you do it. I would probably be dead by now without you." I blinked at him. "I really do love you, man."

He leaned forward. Our faces were close. Like, really close.

"I love you too, Ian."

I had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life. I was really close to doing so, just because it would be my last chance to. Ever.

But I didn't.

I wish I did.

My whole life would have been different.

He smiled at me. His face was so close. I was so close to doing it. I even started leaning in.

But he stood up.

He disappeared around the corner.     

I thought that would be the last time I ever saw him. But, of course, I had to give in and see him one last time. Of course. Even if it was just his sleeping face barely illuminated by the slits of moonlight flashing through his blinds.

I stared at him. I counted down from ten.     

Ten.     

His snores were so soft, so soothing.     

Nine.     

His hair was so messy. So perfectly messy.

Eight.      

His bare chest fell in rhythm with his snores.

Seven.     

His cheeks were bright red. They always were.

Six.    

He looked so tranquil. If only he wouldn't wake up tomorrow and find what I left for him.

Five.     

I wanted to wake him up. Tell him I meant I loved him in a different way.

Four.    

I was about to ruin his life. The one person who held me together, I was about to break apart.

Three.   

I didn't have to do this.

Two.     

Yes I did.

One.    

I looked at him one more time. His messed-up eyebrow, his bare chest, the diagonal lines, his rosy cheeks. I wished I would have kissed him.

Zero.    

I turned around.

That was it.

I walked outside.

I looked at the house. It was the last time I would ever see it.

I got in my car.

I realized what was happening.

I forgot about Anthony. His messed-up eyebrow and his rosy cheeks and the diagonal lines. I forgot about the house and my old life and everything I knew up until that moment.

I started the car.

I smiled.

The first real smile in five months.

I left.