Mr. Lone Boy /BoyxBoy/

||Thirty-three||

"Mom," my voice cracked.

"What's wrong?"

"He...I..."

I broke down.

My mother grabbed me and pulled me in a tight embrace, filling me with warmth that barely did anything to the ice cold feeling in my chest. She dragged me from outside the doormat to the warm atmosphere inside the house.

"Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay."

"I want to move in," I managed to say.

She shut the front door. "Nate-"

"I'm sure," I said. "I need to stay here. Please."

With a worried expression on her face, my mother led me to a room which I recognized was my own before I moved to the attic.

I was too emotionally tired to register its details, and was swiftly tucked in bed.

I pulled the blankets up over my head and let the burning tears in my eyes slide down the sides of my face.

"Nate, talk to me. I'm worried."

"It hurts," I moaned. "Why does it hurt?"

"Honey, I don't think you liked the boy. I think you loved him."

"No," I said, pulling the blanket down. "No. I don't love him and I never did. He was...nothing."

It felt like nothing.

All that happened...what was it?

It wasn't a relationship.

We weren't even friends with benefit because we never even got to the "benefits" part.

My mother left me alone for a while.

When she came back she brought a hot mug of tea and set it by my bed.

She sat on the bed and leaned over to bush my hair back. "He must have meant a lot to you."

"It was nothing," I repeated.

My mother didn't argue with me.

I let her touch my hair and sooth me, closing my eyes when I finally managed to stop crying.

"I love you," she whispered before kissing my forehead. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She left, switching off the lights except the one near my bed, before shutting the door behind her.

I buried myself under the sheets and closed my eyes.

Love.

I didn't love him. I didn't love him. I didn't love him.

His face appeared in my mind again.

Why did he have to look so good?

I didn't love him.

I remembered his lips on my own-

I didn't love him.

His skin against mine. Slowly tugging his shirt off.

I did not love him.

My eyes stung.

His smile.

I was okay. I was strong. I didn't need him.

I didn't love him.

It wasn't love.

Mr. Lone Boy.

It felt like someone was cutting at my chest with a sharp knife, forever digging into my skin.