It's September and I need a roommate. I couldn't live in the dorms anymore. I was fed up of being paired with idiots. I was done sharing my kitchen and my bathroom with an entire floor. When I signed the lease for my apartment, I did it with the guy...
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It's October and one of Holt's brother calls him because his father is about to throw out all of his mother's things, every photos, every piece of clothes, every books. Anything that ever belonged to her. If he wants them he has to come pick them up.
I drive him to his childhood house.
We barely talk during the whole car ride. Holt just holds my hand, squeezing the life out of it.
He's scared, I can feel it. Even if he kind of stood up to his dad the last time he saw him, it wasn't back in his house, where he survived that unbearable childhood.
When I finally park the car in front of the house, my heart breaks.
Even if sometimes families don't have a lot of money, you can see if there's love in a house. It's the way the yard is taken care of, it's the way it's presented. Even if it's not done in an expensive way, there's a sense of care to it.
There is no care at this house. There is no love.
It's falling apart.
Holt still hasn't let go of my hand.
"I'm not sure I can do this," he whispers, staring at our hands.
"You can do it Holt," I tell him, giving him a reassuring smile.
"I don't even need her stuff. She never stood up for us. She's dead. Why should I care what happens to it?"
"Because you might regret it if you don't. Because in a few years you might want to have some kind of reminder of her, a picture, something. Even if you never need it later on, you might regret not taking now."
"You should come in with me. And I should probably tell them. I never see them anyway. I might as well do it now," he says, laughing bitterly.
He doesn't need to say it for me to understand what he means by that.
"Holt, you don't have to come out to them. They're not a part of your life. You don't need this. I don't think your father is the kind of person who's going to surprise you if you come out. I think he's the kind of person that will hurt you, and in many ways." I'm honestly frightened that his father might beat him up if he tells him he's gay. I do want Holt to be honest, to fully embrace our life together, but that doesn't mean he has to tell his family. They're not good people. And they're not part of his life anymore. "But if you do need me, I'll come in with you."
Holt takes a deep breath, running a hand under his eyes. "No, no, it's okay. I can do this. I... I have to do it on my own."
I nod in understanding, and we just look in each other eyes. And then Holt steps out of the car.
He doesn't stay inside for longer than twenty minutes, but it feels like twenty hours.
When he finally steps out, he's got two boxes in his hands.
His father and one of his brothers stand at the door behind him. I can also make out the shape of a woman behind them. Maybe the monster's got a new wife. I can't understand it.
Holt quickly puts the boxes on the back seat and comes to sit in the front.
"You okay?" I ask him, once he closes the door behind him.
"No," he just says.
I start driving.
When we're far away enough, I park the car on the side of the road and hug Holt. He cries against my shoulder as I rub his back.
