Where to Find Me | Tyrus

Part 11

TJ's POV

As I walk up to my front door, my heart is pounding. I have to adjust my grip on my bag, because the sweat on my hands is causing it to slip. I'm going to tell them now. I'll just get in there and rip the Band-Aid off.

I open the door, which immediately signals for my parents to come over and welcome me home. My mother hugs me.

"Hi, sweetie. How was your trip? Did you have fun?" she asks with wide eyes.

I nod. "Actually, I need to . . . uh."

I can't do it. Not now. It's too hard. I feel my throat dry up, and it feels as though my lungs have decided to stop filling with air.

". . . take a shower," I manage to utter before racing up the stairs to my bedroom.

I shut the door behind me and drop my bag on the floor before letting myself sink to the ground. My sleeves become soaked with tears as I wipe my eyes. I thought I could do it. Why does it have to be this hard?

Then I hear a sound from my bag and I unzip it to pull out my phone. I smile when I see a text from Cyrus, and smudge another tear across my face with my arm.

Cyrus: Hey.

TJ: Hey. Can I video-chat you?

I don't wait for a response. I tap the screen and wait for the ringing to stop. When it does, I see Cyrus' concerned face.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

For a second before he asked that, I forgot that I probably look like I just watched a puppy die.

"I'm fine," I say.

He shakes his head. "You are not fine. What's wrong?"

"I can't talk about it here," I reply. "My parents might overhear."

"You didn't tell them?"

"I tried."

"Do you want to come over?" he asks.

"I'm leaving now."

"See you soon," he says before ending the chat.

_____________________________________

I don't even have to knock. Cyrus opens the door for me as I'm walking up. He hugs me when I step inside.

"You look better," he says. "I mean you always look good. You just don't look all puffy-eyed and sad anymore."

I smile at that. "No, I'm okay. Seeing you makes things better."

He shuts the door to seal out the breeze. We go upstairs to his room. I've seen it before, but some things are different. There are still light green walls, which are still lined with shelves of books, mostly non-fiction, but it's less messy. He must've cleaned since I last came over.

"Do you want to do something or do you just want to talk?" he asks.

I pull out a box from the bottom of his shelf and hold it up. "I challenge you."

"You're on."

I set up the checkerboard on his bed. He sits on the side of the bed opposite from me, pondering over his first move. He moves one of the red pieces diagonally. As we play, he starts talking.

"So what was wrong?"

"Nothing, I just . . ." I sigh. "I couldn't tell them."

"You know you don't have to do it right away."