Becoming Brett

43. Ugly Things

I've slept in the spare room a thousand times but it feels different tonight. Not that I'm sleeping much. All I've been managing to do is to tear the covers off the bed and twist them into knots.

Images of my parents replay in my mind, torturing me. Reminding me of how happy they were when they didn't know. How I ruined that.

I should have just kept my mouth shut.

I could have just kept pretending for their sake, it might not have been that bad. Especially once I moved away for college. The pretending would be limited to visits and phone calls. Seems doable.

But no, not me. I blew it all up.

Tossing the heap of covers to the side, I swing my legs over the edge and grab a pair of joggers Wes let me borrow. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, it does nothing but make me go crazy.

The house is quiet as I slide my socked feet across the hardwood floor, turning the doorknob quietly. It clunks and rattles, the noise like a blood curdling scream in the quiet of the night. I cringe, Grace isn't the heaviest sleeper. The door squeals in protest as I force the hinges to open wide enough for me to slip through and as soon as I can I squeeze past, making my way down the hallway silently.

Grace always leaves a light on in the kitchen, now is no different. I pour myself a glass of water and perch at the counter top. My fingers tracing the pattern in the fo-marble absently.

I think I might've have ruined my life.

How could I be so stupid?

So thoughtless?

What am I going to do?

Where am I going to go?

I'm drowning so deep in my thoughts, I don't notice Grace has joined me until she says "can't sleep?"

I startle, my heart leaping into my throat, my body jerking and I almost send the cup flying. It wobbles back and forth before landing back on its bottom and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd held.

"Wouldn't be the first cup that's been broke." She muses.

I try to laugh but it doesn't actually come to anything. Everything feels too heavy, too devastating, that even something that I would normally find amusing isn't.

Grace joins me at the counter after a moment. Her own glass of water cupped between her hands. I feel like I need to apologize. And thank her. Promise I'll be out soon. I won't be a burden. I start formulating a small speech, trying to articulate everything nicely so I don't waste time. Efficiency, right? It's been drilled into me.

But I never make it to verbalizing my speech because Grace beats me to the punch.

"I'm sorry that your parents kicked you out Brett." She tells me, I can feel her staring at me but I can't seem to lift my head. "It's not anyone's place to tell you who you should and shouldn't love."

Tears flood my eyes, a sob teetering in my throat threatening to tear through me. Is this what a heart break feels like?

If it is, I never want to feel it again. It hurts from the tips of my toes to the very end of the longest strand of hair on my head. Every bit of me aches, every part of me is devastated.

I stifle my sobs down to weird snorts and grunts, apologizing for crying, for showing weakness as I hide my face from Grace. My shoulders shake and my breathing is uneven, my nose stuffy and my eyes burn. And I'm not sure I'm ever going to make it out of this.

"Oh honey." Grace says softly, her hand landing gently on my back.

There's no words that I can come up with. I'm not numb like people say happens after they go through something life altering. I stopped feeling numb at some point on my walk to Wes'. Reality started to hit as the cold wind tore through my sweatshirt and my fingers got chilled to the bone as I tried to ease some of the weight of my backpack from off my shoulders.

I started to think about the few pieces of clothing I managed to fit in my bag, my books taking up most of the room. How I no longer had a car. I couldn't call anyone to come get me because I also didn't have a phone. I literally had been stripped of everything but the clothes I had on and the things in my bag.

I was homeless.

But worse, I was family-less.

"Come here Brett." Grace coaxes me to her gently, arms pulling me close, hands tangling in my curls as she rubs my back like a mother does.

It only makes me cry harder.

Grace is warm, kind, soothing and I let her hold me. She's quiet, not trying to get me to end my what seems like relentless tears. There's no telling me to stop crying, to be strong, to not show weakness.

And not hearing those things, at this moment, when I'm falling apart and broken pushes me to tell Grace the truth.

"I hate myself." I whisper, voice shaking.

Fear starts to creep back in as soon as the last word leaves my mouth and I wish I could take it back. My dad would lose his mind if he saw me right now. If he heard me.

But Grace tightens her arms around me, squeezing me closer to her.

"No Brett, don't say that." Warmth breath spreads across my scalp as she kisses my hair. "You are perfect, just as you are. There's nothing to hate."

But I'm not convinced.

"Yes there is." I sob, a whole new round of more aggressive grief hits me, shuddering through my entire body with force.

Grace doesn't let go.

She doesn't let go until I've run out of tears and even then she stays.  At some point she suggests the couch for comfort and I move expecting her to excuse herself back to her room because it's the middle of the night. In fact it's creeping it's way toward morning and I'm betting she has to work. I'm keeping her from sleep and I wouldn't blame her if she just wanted to go to bed. But she sits down with me, asking me questions.

I'm reluctant to answer, guarded. I feel too exposed, vulnerable, I'm waiting for the hate to come. It's starting with my parents and it'll end up being everyone, they'll all slowly learn that I'm gay.

That I'm unworthy. That I'm wrong, I'm a sinner, I'm immoral.

I'm all the ugly things they say I am.

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Number 5