When Two Worlds Meet

The Call

Logan's POV

For the first time in a long time, I was doubting my own skills. Because there is no way that a SIMPLE PIECE OF FILM had proof of an alternate dimension.

Unfortunately, it was starting to look that way. I'd been looking for all the signs of tampering and scanning it for ink marks or evidence in the background that would typically be there if this photograph were fake. But there was absolutely nothing. I'd even considered the possibility that someone had taken a picture of a drawing, but that didn't work either. I snarled under my breath, irrationally irritated at the photo.

I was sitting in my living room at 9:00 p.m. on my love seat. Thomas had raced over as soon as he could to give me the photograph, chuckling the whole way. He was teasing me the whole time about all the work he puts in to collect evidence for his theory and how it would so much easier WHEN I started helping. I'd just rolled my eyes and sent him on his way, only allowing myself a laugh after he had left.

I huffed again angrily, finally setting the photograph on my coffee table. I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes tiredly; it had been a long day. 'Just go to bed,' my body seemed to tell me. 'Be prepared for your date tomorrow. This doesn't need to be done now. Just procrastinate.'

I must really be exhausted if THIS was where my mind was going.

I had just stood up to get myself some caffeine when my phone rang. It was my mother's ring tone. With one raised eyebrow, I answered the phone.

"Hello?" I asked, hearing my voice echo on the other end. I was mildly surprised by how deep my voice sounded.

"Logan!" My mom's voice made me smile. She had a beautiful soprano voice that was stunning when she sang. She had perfect intonation and grammar; I've always wanted to speak just like her. "My darling, how are you?"

"I'm feeling alright at the moment." I replied smoothly. "What's up?"

"I just haven't heard from you in so long and I wanted to check up on you."

"I'm doing wonderfully, mom." I told her about work and school, and my date with Roman. She was super excited for me and asked me a few questions, some of which I blushed at. "How are you?" I asked in an effort to turn the attention away from myself. I smiled as she went off, talking about her day and the little things that she had found interesting. I sat there for about five minutes, making the right responses at the right moments, just enjoying listening to her voice.

I didn't get to see my mom very often. She didn't live too far away; she lived only about fifteen minutes away, in fact. The only problem was my father.

When I had come out as gay, I was seventeen. I had been planning on moving out after my first year of college to conserve money. But my father's reaction had 'encouraged' me to move out on my eighteenth birthday. I would have left sooner, but I didn't want to leave my wonderful, accepting mother. Besides, where would I go? I was still a minor.

My father was a very biased man. He hated anyone who identified as a part of the LGBTQ community and he let me know it. Though I wasn't physically abused, he emotionally and psychologically abused me until I moved out. I have no desire to go into the details, thank you, but I will say that he questioned my capacity to love and acted as though I was despicable person, incapable of even loving my own mother. He made me feel as though I was a broken sinner; he drove me to thinking horrible things about myself and those around me.

There were only two things that got me through: my mom and Thomas. My mother stayed by my side throughout the whole ordeal, even if she didn't know the full extent of what my father was doing to me. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her, but she knew that something was wrong. So she loved me and supported me the whole time. And Thomas was a miracle worker. I knew what type of person Thomas was and I knew that he was gay as well. It comforted me greatly, knowing that my father was wrong.

After I moved out, I could afford therapy, which was the biggest blessing I had ever received. And my mom still called to check up on me; she understood that my relationship with my father had become strained, so even though she didn't know all the details, she still helped me avoid him.

I'd been healing for the past three years and my life felt absolutely perfect. I didn't need a good relationship with my father to be happy, even if it would be nice. I had created my own happiness in my life.

"You still there, darling?" My mom asked, shaking me out of my reverie. "You've been pretty quiet. Are you sure you're okay?"

I smiled faintly. "I've never been better."

Author's Note: I know it's not a continuation of Virgil's story (and I'm super sorry about that) but don't worry. The next two will be about Virgil. ;)