Three Simple Words

Chapter 16

The willow tree blew in the light breeze, blocking Thomas from the world around him. The ground welcomed him as he succumbed to the pull, his back against the wise tree. If only he could be as wise as the life that he leaned against.

He brought his knees gently to his chest and rested his head against them. From a spectator's view, he knew he must look like a child but he felt safe in that position. In that position he could imagine his mother wrapping her arms around him and whispering comforting phrases to him as he cried.

But that was a long time ago and this time he didn't cry. It wasn't because he didn't want to, all he wanted was to let those emotions out, what stopped him was the realization that no one was there to comfort him.

Why waste empty tears when no one was there to help him put back the pieces in his broken life? The weight of the razor in his pocket still called to him and he wasn't sure how much longer he could avoid it. After all, he had made it almost a full school day without succumbing to his temptation.

Reluctantly, he pulled out the object from his pocket and laid it on his palm. Thomas hoped the weight of it would be enough to stop some of the pain and numbness he felt. He had always been amazed at how a person could feel impress pain but be numb at the same time, it was a paradox in itself. But that was the thing about his life, a good majority of it came in paradoxes.

His parents had said they'd love him no matter what but it appeared his dad's love came with a limit and he found that limit. All he wanted was to be normal, to have two parents that loved him, maybe a girlfriend, a career someday, friends that he didn't have to worry about finding out he was gay.

What he wanted was a world where he wasn't gay, that no one ever could call him a fag. He knew deep down that it was pointless to dream like that, that God didn't work like that. Every aspect of his life felt out of place and he didn't know how to fit the pieces back together in some semblance of the way it was. Even his faith wasn't something he could turn to anymore.

When he finally accepted that he was gay, he did believe that God loved him but everyone in his life told him that it was impossible. From a young age he was taught that God loved him with unconditional love but then why was being gay the exception to that. He was taught that if you even had a gay thought God would hate you and send you to hell. Thomas always thought that was a little extreme but he was young and basically worshipped his father.

His mother never openly acknowledged that sin but she wasn't like Thomas's father, she had an open-mind. Regardless, none of that mattered now. His mother was gone and his father kicked him out, nothing was going to change that.

He refused to go back into the closet; he refused to keep living his life for a religion that said he was going to hell for loving a man.

What kind of fucked up bullshit was that? That someone would go to hell for giving their love to someone who happens to be the same gender as them. That was what sent him over the edge, that anger and he drew the blade across his olive skin. He barely felt the pain at first, only the numbness that he had felt for the past few days or possibly the past few years.

The blood flowed from his arm, crimson in the afternoon sun. It wasn't much but the superficial cut still bled but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He knew he could only cut so many times before it became noticeable and he found that number to be three, so he drew the blade across his skin once again. Something wet fell onto his arm, burning the open wound.

He was crying. He hadn't even realized it, but tears streaked down his face and he wished his numbness could protect him from this. He was numb to the outside world but maybe not to himself; maybe all of that pretending did him no good.

The willow tree blew in the wind, carefree in the face of all this suffering, in the face of the young boy crying below it. Thomas couldn't help but feel like the young boy that kept desperately seeking his father's approval only this time he didn't know who he wanted that approval from.

The blade drew across his skin once more, the blood pooling around the open wound. It dripped down his arm and onto the grass coating it in a thin layer of crimson. Every drop weighed him down and lifted him up.

He felt the relief he needed, from all of this pain but he also felt the guilt gnawing at him. The tears and blood continued to stream until the sun started to set behind the horizon. Pulling out some gauze from his bag, he wrapped his wrist and racked up the courage to go back to Jess's house.

With that, the willow tree blew behind him, obvious to the suffering right next to it.