Focus - Logicality

Patton - It's Make Or Break (FINAL CHAPTER)

"We appear to be trapped in a closet," Logan blurts. His eyes dart across the room, not drawn to or away from anything in particular but instead flitting quickly to each and every corner of the small space. I bite my lip and remain silent. In the small closet, there is ample of room for two people standing. Sitting would be cramped and take up unnecessary space, so we choose to remain on our feet. "Trapped," he repeats the word over and over again under his breath.

"I can't stand seeing you like this anymore," I shout.

"Then why are you giving me the silent treatment?" He demands. "And why didn't I get a chance to explain?"

"It's not just that," I sigh. "Can I explain before you start passing judgement?"

"You mean the luxury you never gave me?" He answers dryly. "Of course, go ahead."

Despite every bit of unwanted, angry silence I've worked so hard for the last three days, despite myself, I hug Logan tightly and cry into his shoulder.

"You don't know how hard it is being happy all the time," I sob. "I can't keep doing this. I'm happy for the cheer squad and my teachers and my parents and sister and Virgil and Roman and every single student at this miserable school, even the ones who hate me just because I'm gay. Because of who I am. I mean, I'm gay, not blind! Do you think it doesn't bother me? Maybe I'm a happy-go-lucky guy by nature, but just because I date guys instead of girls and feel comfortable wearing sundresses on hot days doesn't mean I can deal with this crap all day, every day. I like helping my friends with their issues; I like playing matchmaker for others and I'm perfectly fine with getting in the middle of deep, complicated feelings and issues that I really shouldn't have to just because a friend asked me to because Patton is good at feelings. I like being the one who cheers them up when they feel down, or even when they don't, because Patton is the happy one. That's a reputation I strived to achieve. I follow my heart--it's just what I do."

Logan opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. He just returns my tight embrace and lets me continue. "But when I always overextend myself, so what can I do? Nothing. It's not like I can just say no. And even when I don't overextend myself, I still have to bear the load of shoving my own emotions into the backseat. I don't cry or get angry when other people are around because I'm the happy one. It's what they expect. The last time anyone other than the walls of my bedroom have seen me get angry was fifth grade. When you first revealed what you were hiding from me, I was genuinely hurt, and I was very mad. In fact, I'm still hurt. But it felt so good to be something other than happy that I couldn't bring myself to swallow my feelings again and pretend I wasn't hurt."

"You never have to pretend for me, Patton, I promise. All you had to do was say that you were offended from the start and we could have sat down and talked through it.," Logan murmurs. He releases me, holding me at a distance so he can look into my eyes. "I love you for who you are, I told you. I like vulnerable Patton and angry Patton and happy Patton and despondent Patton. I don't love you because you're happy, I love you because you're you. Whatever you feel--good or bad--is always blatant and honest and genuine. It's real. You wear your heart on your sleeve: that's one of the first things I noticed about you. I love you more for it, not less, and I always will."

"Really?" My eyes shine with hope, and this time, it's not fake. Logan nods, smiling for the first time in days. "Okay, then. It's your turn."

Logan sighs, his smile immediately fading. It almost makes me feel guilty, but I tell myself that it's for the best.

Logan takes a deep breath. "As a child, I was never what one might call a social butterfly. I never had anyone to sit with, but it never really bothered me. I had my mom and that was always enough. But when I was about four, she started spending more and more time in the hospital. All I knew was that she started spending more and more time in the hospital and I wasn't allowed to see her while she was there. That was the first time she had breast cancer, but I didn't know at the time. I was little, though, so I coped as best I could. The day my mom came home from the hospital, we went to the mall. I still don't know why, but we just went to the mall and walked around for hours until my four-year-old self got tired and cranky, then she carried me in her arms until I fell asleep. But that day, she bought me a book; she gave it to me for my fifth birthday. My adolescent self saw a big, thick book with lots of words and pictures of the stars. I didn't know what it meant yet, but it filled me with wonder--she said she would teach me, and she did. She said that if she ever got sick and had to go away again, I'd always have the constellation book and I'd always have the stars. We looked at the stars every night, and by the time her breast cancer came back three months later, I had most of the constellations memorized and learned new ones every day."