Musically in Love

Chapter 26

Tyler's POV

Things have been going really great with my relationship with McKinley. Since his classes have started, I haven't been able to see him as often as I did over the summer, but I knew that was going to happen. What surprised me, however, was that he actually switched into a sign language class his college was offering. I was so incredibly proud of him for taking that step completely on his own. He wanted to do it for me.

I just wish I could be the person he thought I was. I loved him, how could I not? And I knew he loved me too, but I couldn't be sure he would still love me if he knew how damaged I really was.

McKinley had a habit of running when things got difficult. He's done it to me on more than one occasion, but he's always come back to me. I felt that if he knew the truth about this part of my life, he'd never come back. As selfish as it sounded, I didn't want to lose him. I didn't think I could handle losing him.

But for now, he was oblivious. Currently, he was half laying on me, headphones in his ears as he pretended to sing lyrics to songs I didn't know to me. It was really adorable.

My phone vibrated in my lap and I picked up. On the screen was a text from the devil himself: Get ur ass over here i no how u can repay me. I sighed. I should have known this was going to happen sooner rather than later.

McKinley stopped dancing around, taking out his headphones. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta go." I lifted up my phone. "Boss texted."

He sat up, clearly upset that I needed to leave. "But it's like eight! Why would he need you to work this late?"

I hated lying to him. But it was necessary right now. "I don't know. But it'll be overtime and I need the money."

McKinley huffed in annoyance, but leaned up to kiss me anyway. "Text me later, okay? I love you."

I smiled. "Love you too." I also loved how easily we've been saying those words to each other since we first said them a few weeks ago at his house. It hurt slightly knowing that he couldn't love the damaged parts of me, but that's why I was keeping those parts away from him. He was better off not knowing.

Half and hour later, I parked my car in the street and walked up to the front door of the small house that contained too many bad memories. I knocked a few times, figuring the doorbell probably never got fixed. It took him quite a few minutes to open it, which was long enough for me to contemplate just leaving and going home, although I knew that would just make things worse for myself in the long run.

He pulled open the door, leaning on it for support as he gave me a disapproving glance. "Good. You came. Get in, ya fucking bastard."

I sighed, stepping around him into my childhood home. Sometimes I wished he never got me that first pair of hearing aids in the first place. Then I never would have had to hear him call me every insult he could think of. The drunker he got, the more he said. I could tell he's had at least two or three drinks already, and I'm sure he'll down a least four more while I'm here. It was the only way he knew how to deal with me anymore.

I took in what I could see of the house when I stepped in. Empty beer bottles and trash littered every surface and the room smelt of must and molding food. How could he live in this filth?

"I want this house spotless," he grunted, slamming the door as soon as I was through it. "Start with those boxes, you little shit." He pointed at three cardboard boxes stacked against the couch. "Burn everything that's in them. Start the fire in the back."

I haven't lived here in more than five years, and yet I was the one who had to clean it up. I felt like some alternative version of Cinderella, and all because I needed to repay him for buying me new hearing aids. It wasn't fair, but that's life.

I knelt next to the boxes and lifted the lid off the first one. It was filled with old pictures of my childhood. From what I could tell, these were the only pictures of my mom that were left.

"Dad..." I shook my head as I looked through the top couple layers of pictures. "I can't get rid of these..."

"You're not my son," he shot back at me. "Do what I said, faggot. Burn 'em."

I stood up, facing him. I was taller than him, probably stronger too. But years of verbal and physical abuse had made me weak when it came to standing up for myself. But not anymore. "Fine, John. Those are the last pictures of your wife. I'm not destroying them."

"That bitch is dead. Fifteen years. She ain't my wife anymore. I want 'em gone."

I shook my head slowly, the anger building steadily in me. "Don't call her a bitch. She was my mother. You loved her. Just like you used to love me."

"Yeah, and look at where that got me, stuck with a bitch-ass deaf faggot as a son." He scoffed. "Get rid of 'em. I don't want 'em in my house."

He walked out of the room and into the kitchen, probably to get another beer. But at least that left me alone for a few minutes.

I knelt back down by the boxes, opening the second one. This one had a bunch of old artwork I did back in elementary school. I honestly didn't know either of my parents had kept this stuff, and definitely never expected my dad to have kept any of it for this long.

The third box held items that had once been in my bedroom that I had to leave behind. Some old trophies from when I played baseball in third grade, trading cards that I used to collect, and a ton of other things that I had completely forgotten about.

I wasn't about to lose any of these again. So, while he was distracting himself in the kitchen, I grabbed two of the boxes and quickly skirted out the front door. Both boxes went into the backseat of my car before I went back inside to grab the third. These were going to come home with me, far away from his destructive tendencies.

I let out a sigh as I looked back at the house. I really did not want to go in there. It was already after eight at night and cleaning everything was going to take hours. I would much rather spend the next few hours back at McKinley's apartment, but hopefully once this is done, I won't have to do anything else for that repayment.