Break In My Heart

35. Sharing Stories

I sat with my hand securely tucked in Tyler's beneath the dinner table. The rest of our day had gone in relative peace, though I could still see the gears turning behind Tyler's eyes and the temptation that tugged at him every time his phone rang and his fingers itched to pick it up. But he hadn't, though by putting it off, he was essentially holding the unavoidable conversation over our heads like a deep gray cloud. We were simply waiting for the rain to leak out, slowly at first then constantly and mercilessly.

My lower half of my body was still a bit sore, though I'd slowly become more mobile throughout the day. It was like breaking in a shoe: a process. Only, I was the one who was broken in and trying to relearn how to move, so more like an infant. A newborn deer. An explorer. But, during the day between our embraces and the nap Tyler had taken, I'd texted my fathers, giving them a vague, yet telling text about what was going on. Not enough to tell the whole story since it wasn't mine to tell, but enough to let them know it was serious.

We didn't make it to dinner. Something happened and I think Ty will need to stay over a bit longer.

That was all I said, and by the looks on my dads' faces as they sat across from us at the table, they understood the magnitude of those words. It was only the four of us. The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon. My siblings were tired from their travels and it was a school night, however, Tyler and I were wide awake, minds racing not only with whatever situation we were about to face, but with school as well. We were out. No more sneaking to the studio and having to hide, no more looking over our shoulders. Now we faced a new challenge: possible looks of disdain, insults murmured under the breath, pressure. It didn't help that all of this was happening the final week before we headed off to All-State. All of the stress was pressing in on us, heating us up and compressing us like a pressure cooker.

"Do either one of you want to tell us what's going on? We're worried," Papa softly said, his words hesitant yet filled to the brim with sincerity.

"The looks on your faces are doing little to comfort us by the way," Padre said with a slight chuckle but it was void of any humor or warmth.

I gently caressed Tyler's bruised bandaged knuckles under the table silently telling him that I was in his corner and would support him whether or not he decided to speak up.

His grip on my hand tightened as he let out a breath. "My...I don't have a good relationship with my mom. She, uh...she sent me to conversion therapy for a long time after she found out that I wasn't straight. My dad had no idea and got me out as soon as he found out. But.. now she's in town. I-I don't know why and frankly I don't care. She just brings back so many emotions and memories that I've tried to hard to push down. Every time I see her face I relieve everything on an endless loop and it pisses me off how much power she has over me with just a look, but I can't fight her no matter how hard I try and–"

His frantic words were cut off as my Papa wrapped his arms around Tyler and pulled him into a hug. Somehow between the time Papa had asked the question and Tyler's response, he'd gotten up and made his way over to him.

I saw the pain in my father's eyes as he feverishly blinked back the moisture that pooled in his eyes. I could practically see the painful memories that were being revived from their deathbed in his head as he rocked Tyler who merely held onto my dad as if he were the only life jacket in the middle of a bottomless sea. "You poor, poor boy," Papa whispered.

Also to my surprise, Tyler eagerly wrapped his arms around my father, holding him tightly and crying into his stomach. Papa gently rubbed his back and hair. I could see the muscles pulling and popped underneath his pale skin, showing how tightly he was holding on to Tyler. "Let it out, son, let it out."