Page 114 of This Side of Beautiful

“My earliest memory of my mother is a happy one. I was three, and she held my hand to help me play the piano. What I first remember about my father was his slapping her when I was five. They were arguing about me. I don’t know why. I just remember that he smacked her across the face, and she picked me up and ran to my bedroom and locked us in there. He banged on the door, furious at first, and then he started apologizing. He didn’t hit her often. I can only recall three times, but there was always that threat when he started drinking. My father used to promise us that he could handle his alcohol. I didn’t allow him to hug me until I was seven. Maybe because I only trusted my mother’s touch, or maybe because I was afraid of him.” I focused on the way her fingers traced slow patterns on her knees.

“Did he hit you, too?” Janae asked quietly.

“More like slam me against the wall when I was sixteen.” The words came easier than I expected. Maybe it was this place, this moment, that made it bearable to say out loud. “I think he believed I was too fragile to hit, and my mother might have killed him if he had. I didn’t speak unless I was around the two of them, and I cried whenever my mother left me for too long. I remember crawling under the table at school when children teased me or when there was too much going on around me. My mother refused to get me any help because her son was perfect. My father was simply ashamed of me and let her deal with me.”

I spoke about my childhood like it wasn’t my own. This space in the middle of the woods in Austin had allowed me to detach from my emotions. Maybe it was the butterfly.

Janae laced our fingers together. “What happened when you were sixteen?”

I let out a slow breath. “I worked hard to finish school by my junior year to focus on my music. I never fit in at school, so prom, graduation, parties, and all the other rites of passage every teenager wanted, I didn’t. I landed an audition at Juilliard. I was proud that I was good enough to even be considered. I practiced my guitar night and day, preparing for my big moment. Two nights before my audition, my parents informed me that they’d used their connections to change up my audition to play either the piano or the trumpet.”

“Wait… you hadn’t even practiced on those instruments, and they expected you to succeed?”

“Not a brag. I’m so good with the trumpet and the piano that I didn’t need to spend hours practicing. My parents knew that.” I swallowed hard. “To spite them, I purposely missed notes on the trumpet. I didn’t know my father had access to my audition tapes. When he came home from work, he barged into my room and pinned me to the wall with his fists. He yelled how he was ashamed that I was his son, and he wanted me out of his house. My father called me a sick fuck.”

Janae let out a soft gasp and squeezed my hand. “The smell of alcohol was on his breath, and he kept knocking me against the wall as he shouted that I’d purposely ruined the audition. The walls started closing in, and I couldn’t breathe. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember is my mother crying and turning on the shower in my bathroom, telling me I needed to clean myself.”

I felt her press her face into my shoulder, breathing unsteadily.

“My father was more of an emotional abuser than a physical one, but when he lost control, he always felt guilty afterward. He’d promise me and my mother the world, swearing things would be different. That whole cycle of domestic violence is real.” I pressed the side of my head to hers, grounding myself in her presence. “After he put his hands on me that night, he stood outside my door, apologizing over and over, saying he’d make it up to me. But I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t stay.”

“So you left.” Janae’s voice was quiet, but her grip on my hand tightened.

“I packed a few clothes, grabbed my guitar, and used what little savings I had from my allowance and the music contests I’d won to survive. Cheap hotels and hostels at first, then abandoned buildings and homeless shelters when the money ran low. I played my guitar in subway stations and on the streets of Times Square for food. I recorded myself on my phone, hoping YouTube would be my way out. I told myself I’d apply to other music programs, but I had to make it through each day first.”

I exhaled, staring out at the lake. “The irony? Running away forced me to become everything my parents never thought I could be. I had to communicate more, make decisions, perform in front of strangers. I had no one but myself to rely on.”

Janae traced circles on my forearm, waiting for me to continue.

“I was on the streets for about two months before Cedrick saw my videos. He sought me out. He was the first person who only saw my talent. Nothing else. No baggage, no bullshit. Just my music. He convinced his parents to let me stay with them, and the only condition was that I had to tell my parents where I was. I did, and they were just relieved I was alive. For once, they stopped trying to mold me into something I wasn’t.”

I swallowed, finally looking back at Janae. “I never lived with my parents again. I kept in touch, visited when they asked, but I never let them into my space. Until now, I hadn’t even invited them to my brownstone. Not once.”

Her thumb brushed against my knuckles. “That’s a lot to carry on your own, baby.”

I nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Maybe I don’t have to anymore.”

A weeping Janae pulled back, studying my face through blurry eyes. “All I wanted was to meet them because I pictured them as this power couple, deeply in love, raising their immensely talented son. It was this perfect vision I had for us.”

I exhaled slowly. “You asked if my thoughts on marriage and family had changed, and I told you I didn’t know. And I didn’t. Before you, I never let myself imagine a life with someone long-term. I had one girlfriend before you, if you could even call her that. Dating was fine. Sex was easy. But letting someone all the way in?” I shook my head. “I never thought it was something I’d be capable of.”

Her fingers traced over my wrist, waiting.

“Then you came along. Relentless. Stubborn as hell. A gnat that wouldn’t leave me alone until I had no choice but to love you.”

Janae’s scowl was instant. “A gnat? Really? Of all things, you compare me to a tiny, annoying bug?”

I chuckled, pulling her against me and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I also thought you were an elusive butterfly. Too wild and free for me to ever really catch.”

Her lips curled into a slow smile. “Much better.” She cupped my face. “I want to love you through it all.”

I let out a breath, my forehead pressing against hers. “I believe you. That’s why I’m willing to risk everything for you.”

She sighed. “You don’t have to risk anything, Landon.”

Not ready to talk about The Hollow Bones, I held up a hand. “Just us, right now. While we’re here.”

She blew a raspberry. “Since we’re talking about just us, have you ever been to therapy? Ever been diagnosed?”

---