Don't Leave Me Here Alone

Chapter Two

Three years earlier

Adam stood by his father in the church. The sermon echoed off the high roofs and left a hollow space in his chest. The heating wasn't on, and the tips of his fingers were starting to go numb. He couldn't take his eyes off the simple black coffin. It was small, like his mother's life had been. Small, and inconsequential. Eleanor Parrish hadn't been much of anything to anyone, but Adam knew she had always preferred to be called Nellie.

The dark wood reflected the candles on either side of the altar, flickering shapes across the box that made him blink and wonder the condition of his sanity. He couldn't comprehend that his mother was truly dead inside that box. He couldn't really even understand what the Hell life was, if he was being honest with himself.

The police had called Adam at 5:37PM on a Wednesday. They had said something about an accident his mother had gotten into and his father who couldn't be reached. Adam had stopped listening after the first words, "I'm sorry to tell you but". The resignation in the police officer's voice had been enough for him to understand what was happening.

Dead on impact.

No revival possible.

And that was it.

There were no tears when he told the police that he would be there soon. No tears when he had to identify his mother's mangled body not even an hour later so he could sign the papers.

"It's hers," he had told them.

And that was it.

The funeral had also been his job to organise. His friends had tried to help with sad half-smiles and pats on his arm, but he hadn't really wanted their help. Adam didn't feel anything. No sadness, no anger, but no happiness either. The emptiness inside him was all-consuming and nothing was left behind.

He'd picked the music and used his mother's hidden savings to pay for the costs so that his father couldn't drink it away. His throat tightened as he stared at the black box in front of him, eyes full of unshed tears.

He had offered her the opportunity to be in his life, and she had never taken it.

That, or his dad had stopped her.

The man in question stood beside him in an ill fitting suit and cheap leather shoes. He stank of whiskey. Adam was breathing shallowly through his mouth, hoping to avoid having a panic attack by the end of the service. He reached his finger up to the too tight collar of his cheap dress shirt and pulled slightly. It did nothing to ease the clawing anxiety rising up his throat. Being this close to his father made his skin crawl. He hadn't seen Robert Parrish in over a year, and time had not treated the man well. His face seemed to be melting off his skull. His jawline had already disappeared into chins and jowls, his cheeks were sinking, and his eyes were drooping down at the edges. Ruddy red streaked across his sun-tanned skin. Wrinkles ate up his forehead.

Adam hated him.

Zachariah was somewhere at the back of the church. Adam knew because he had specifically told his boyfriend not to come. He knew, because Zachariah had agreed a little too easily to stay at home. He was embarrassingly grateful that Zachariah had ignored his request; one he had made not because he didn't want Zachariah there but because he didn't want to aggravate his father. Sometimes, Adam wondered if Zachariah was his prize for surviving his crappy childhood. Everything else he'd earned by fighting tooth and nail. Aglionby. College. Escaping the trailer park. Standing up to his father.

Zachariah was just his; not earned or won. Just the quiet evolution of a friendship into something so much more. And if he had earned Zachariah, that was okay because Zachariah had earned Adam right back. They were on equal footing. Always.