Page 60 of Sorry, We're Closed

“You need to go.”

I begin to walk him to fire exit door, and he follows, desperately throwing out any ideas that he thinks I can use to get out of this situation. None of them will work. I open the door, the one she slammed minutes ago, and I prop it open with my foot. My eyes remain on the ground in the exact same manner that they did when we first met, and as he steps outside, his hand cups my chin, pulling my eyeline to meet those goddamn ocean eyes of his.

He begins to pull me closer, and it takes every aspect of my body to fight his request. I place two fingers between our lips, refusing his touch, and Avory’s eyes widen in surprise which slowly blends into confusion. As his lips part to speak. I interrupt his chain of thought before it can be voiced.

“I don’t want my last memory of you to be a parting kiss after she ruined the remaining amazing thing in my life. I want to remember us. Us on that counter. Us on our café visits, the first time I saw you across the marble.”

His icy eyes begin to melt, forming tears which trickles down his face, and Avory even makes crying seem gorgeous. Like the most gorgeous thing anyone can do. His hand slowly pulls away from my face, and my chest aches for him. My heart pounds so hard I believe it may burst through my chest as I stop myself from calling out to him.

I have too much to sort out now, and I cannot continue to take refuge in someone who I believe I could fall in love with. Someone who I may have already fallen in love with. He can’t be the reason the worst happens to me, because he will always be the best thing to ever enter my life.

“Good luck with everything, Avory. The world needs to know who you are.”

I couldn’t move my body for hours after he left. My mind continuing to replay his footsteps as the familiar twinkling of buckles and chains turned from distant to missing. I return to my mother’s house hours past my set time, but I could not give a single fuck about it. Not right now.

I ignore her as I enter, running as fast as my feet will allow me up the stairs, eventually tripping over myself and falling forward. I lie on the stairs momentarily before rising again and resuming my fast pace. My bedroom door flings open, the handle wedging itself into the hole which I created. She created.

My cupboard doors creak as I rip them open, and I’m surprised the hinges survive my current force. I pull two straps which dangle from the top shelf of the cupboard, leading to my messenger bag amongst multiple pairs of cotton trousers and knitted sweaters. The mess I’m causing is the last thing on my mind. I begin to stuff my bags with whatever I can get my hands to reach first; shirts, trousers, boxers, jumpers, cardigans, a framed photo of myself and Gwen, socks, chargers, and his poster.

It’s the first time I stop since arriving at the house as my fingers trace his outline. He hasn’t left my mind as I wonder where he is, what he’s doing. It takes everything in my power not to message him, to take everything that I said back, to throw myself into his reassuring arms and to plant my lips on his once more.

“Do you realise how late home you are?”

I spin myself around to face my mother who is leaning on the doorway with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes staring at my being. Her voice is low, and her words hit at a slow pace. I scoff at her words – home. I continue to throw items in my bags, filling them to the brim and forcing the zips to travel around their openings. I’m lucky that I had quietly stuffed the bag full of the tips I had collected over the years into the bottom of the bag for her not to notice.

“Sawyer, I am talking to you!”

“And I amnottalking toyou!”

I rise to my feet from crouching over my bags, and my eyes meet hers; smeared in black eyeliner with a muted blue eyeshadow. Her face gives me nothing to judge from the way my words slip out of my mouth, but a part of me burns bright for saying it. For standing up for myself for once in my life. She has pushed me too far and now, into two messenger bags.

I turn away from her, my eyes staying on her for as long as my neck will allow, and silence rings loud throughout my bedroom. I sling both bags over my shoulder, struggling with the weight falling on one shoulder, and I move to my door where she remains standing.

“Can you please move? I have somewhere to be.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave your mother behind because you can’t face your problems?”

A small laugh escapes my lips. This is her desperate attempt to keep me here.

“My problems? Please, tell me about my problems.”

I cross my arms over my chest as my foot rapidly taps against the floor, waiting for her answer.

“Sawyer, if you could just get past this whole being gay thing, then we could rebuild what we have.”

My hand moves my glasses to my forehead as I rub my eyes, shocked that everything that has happened is still my fault.

“Please, there’s nothing to rebuild. Why is being who I am a problem? Why is being gay a problem? Why is loving the only person who has ever been willing to accept me as I am a problem?”

Her lips part as I say the words out loud.

Love.

“Face it, you cannot fathom the idea that Father was a bad man, who hid parts of himself for years from you, from us. Now, once those horrid parts of him came to light, you continue to forbid me from being my true self, demanding that I hide myself away, all because you can’t face him andhistruth.”

My heart is in my throat as I speak, and if I continue, I can’t guarantee that my food from throughout the day will remain down. My mind begins to race with what could happen from my decision, but as I brush past her frail frame, she grabs my wrist tightly, her nails digging into my skin.

“Why won’t you ever take the blame for what you caused?”

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