Ten | newtmas

forty nine

The sleep I fall into after delivering the now not-so-shocking news to my parents is a horrible one at best. At first, I lay there with my things on the floor. I shake uncontrollably, and no matter what blankets I put on, it just keeps getting more freezing. The Normals were wrong about me missing my own bed. Truth is, I couldn't care less about where I am right now.

    After a while, and ignoring two knocks at my door, I lean down and open the suitcase. I see my journal first, and I decide to look through it later. Then, I take out what I was looking for—the shark toy. I get back on the bed, then hold it to my chest, bringing my blanket back up. I'm not sure I've got any tears left in me at this point. I think I may even be dehydrated, considering my head is pounding.

    Eventually, I wind up falling asleep. But only for a little while. An hour, maybe. Then, I toss and turn for a bit. Following that, I knock out again, only to have a nightmare, causing me to wake up again. I don't remember the nightmare, but it was enough to make me jolt awake.

    I try to sleep some more, and I continue the pattern. Whenever I'm awake, I face my horrible thoughts—how I don't have Thomas anymore, I don't have my friends anymore, I don't have much of a family anymore, my parents know I'm gay, and pretty much a thousand more things—which makes me just tired enough not to be able to get up, but apparently not tired enough to stay knocked out. It sucks. Everything sucks.

    Anyone would probably tell me I've got nothing to be upset about, and maybe they'd be right. But from where I'm standing, all I'm seeing is how unfair everything is. It's unfair that my friends are trapped. It's unfair that it's up to me to get them out. It's unfair that my parents are getting a divorce because of me. It's unfair that I have OCD. It's unfair that I fell in love and didn't even realize it until he was being ripped from me.

    I think, in a way, I knew I was in love with Thomas. But isn't it scary to admit that no matter what? In my case, it'd be that times a thousand. Thomas, however, is special. Knowing him for almost two months felt like a lifetime, especially in there.

    I think it is love. Soon or not, ridiculous or not, it's stronger than anything I felt for Alby. Not just because Thomas was the first person I ever experienced all of these things with, or, in his words, because there were no other options. I'd like to think this would have happened no matter what circumstances we met under; and I wish they were different ones.

    Thinking about Thomas gives me my first peaceful stretch of sleep.

It's half past seven when I wake up next. My first thought is that I should try to call Thomas. I sit up, then I'm presented with my suitcase again. My eyes find the journal.

    I can't call TIMI before I have to face my parents, because it's just occurring to me that the only phone I have right now is the burner phone Thomas got me. My actual phone is still buried out there.

    So, I pick the journal up. I flip through, past the pages I wrote in, until I find a page completely filled with writing. If I wasn't so tired of crying, I might be tearing up. It's obviously not my handwriting; it's a lot more jagged, but it looks like he was trying hard to make it neat. At first, I just scan the numbers. Thomas' home and cell numbers are on there, then his address, then under that is Chuck's and so on. All of the Normals' info—minus Fry's, which he gave me himself—plus Mrs. Flores' information and TIMI's numbers are on there.

    I don't know what it is that makes me turn the page in the journal, but when I do, I can only stare at it for a few long moments. It's an entire page. Not of numbers, but of words. Words from Thomas. I almost don't want to read it, but if anything or anyone could give me the courage to go down there, it'd be Thomas.