Page 36 of Heart Strain

I blink at him because I don’t think it really was that long, but as I think back, I realize he’s right. I hate that he’s right; I hate that he’s making me feel guilty; I hate that he’s so mad at me. And I don’t know what to do. Jameson has never acted like this, but it seems like now that he’s opened his mouth, things are going to keep pouring out. “What do you want me to say?”

He looks me in the eyes and all of that anger seems to drain away—but the sad look on his face doesn’t make me feel any better at all; in fact, it’s worse—as he quietly asks, “Why didn’t you come back?”

Rubbing my hand over my eyes, I murmur, “I didn’t think my brother wanted me to.”

“Why the hell would you think that?”

I blow out a breath to try and clear my thoughts and calm my ass down. The guilt and sadness I’ve felt over everything is heavy in my chest, but I push it away so I can answer him honestly. If he’s this upset, I can only imagine how my brother feels about it, but there’s this need I have to make Jameson understand. It’s important to me that this man that’s been here for me and Hendrix since I got here understands why I never came back before now. “Growing up, Hendrix always had his own set of friends, Jameson. He always had so many people to lean on, and I…” I rub my face and blow out another breath. “I didn’t.”

“You had him, didn’t you?” he whispers, and I can barely look at him because my eyes are threatening to leak.

“No, I didn’t.”

“What? Of course, you did; you still do.”

I snort, unamused.

“Talk to me, Holden. I’m trying to understand how a guy that seems as great as you turned away from his brother and left him here alone. I don’t get it. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I don’t get it. You’re here and you’re kind and you obviously love him, so… why?”

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” I ask quietly after a few seconds’ hesitation.

“Yes. Out with it, Holds.”

I nod and blow out a breath as I try to organize my thoughts. “Do you know what it was like for me growing up here? My mom always made me feel like a piece of dirt, and every time I actually hung out with my brother and his friends, she would warn me to stay back, to let him have his own friends, to ‘never hold your brother back.’ Everyone at school only knew me as the gay kid. Even before I came out, I was the weird kid with long hair that liked talking to animals more than people. I didn’t have any friends, Jameson, unless you count my dad, but it’s not like he wanted me hanging around him all the time, either; plus he was, you know, my dad. Hendrix was there, but also kinda not, because he was always off with his friends—with you and whoever—never wanting to hang out with his gay, dorky brother. So I didn’t really have anyone, not after Dad died.”

I can’t look at him because I know he probably thinks I’m being ridiculous or lying, he probably doesn’t believe me that it was that bad, but it’s the truth, so there isn’t much I can do about it. I hate talking about this shit, but now that I’ve started, I need him to understand, so I keep going, “When I went off to college, everything was different. No one knew who I was, no one knew who my parents were; I got a fresh start. Hardly anyone seemed to care I was gay. I could go out and hook up with guys without being afraid someone would see me and bully me about it. And then I met Gavin and we clicked. I hadn’t had a friend like that since Drix and I were little and he still liked hanging out with me. After I graduated, I thought about coming home, but he had this whole life without me, and…” I take a deep breath. “I was afraid of becoming that person again; the one that’s always left out or left behind. He has so many people in his life—he always has—that I didn’t think he needed me, and I kind of… I kinda needed… Gavin. Gav needed me because he was all alone, too, so I thought it was better to stay up there with him than to come home where I wasn’t needed or even wanted.”

Jameson stares at me for a few seconds, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking, which makes my stomach churn.

Clearing my throat, I whisper, “Sorry, it’s… I never felt like I had a home here, like I had a place to just be me, you know? Why would I want to come back to a place where I was bullied nearly every day? By my own mother, not that she was around anymore when I left, but it wasn’t only her. There was always another person willing to step in and bully me. Why would I want to come here and hear people say what a good mother she was when she made me feel like I was lesser every day since I was twelve? I finally found a place where I’m not made out to be a freak or just ‘the little fag.’ Where I can be myself and feel confident in who I am instead of feeling like everything I am makes me a terrible person, a terrible son.” I shrug helplessly, then look away from him to wipe my leaking eyes.

Jameson is quiet when he finally speaks. “I never knew your mom… the way Hendrix talks about her, it’s like she was the perfect mother.”

“To him, she was.”

“But… he’s never said anything about her mistreating you. He says—”

“She never really let him hear most of what she said to me. I know he heard some of the smaller comments that she’d say every day, like ‘why do you have to dress like a girl’ when I’d wear anything she didn’t think was manly enough, no matter whether I got it out of the boys section or not. Or ‘don’t act like a prissy if you don’t want them to pick on you’ when she’d see me upset about something a kid at school said to me. But she usually kept her mouth shut about other things until we were alone. I don’t think my dad even knew how bad it got with her.”

“Those… you consider those things the ‘smaller comments’?”

I shrug. “That was just considered normal in our house, I guess.”

“She blamed you for being bullied?”

I nod. “When kids started calling me Holly in middle school because of my long hair, I was really upset because they said since I looked like a girl, I needed a girl’s name. My mom told me that was true, and when I did something…” I take a deep breath and blow it out, willing my tears not to fall. “When I did something she thought was ‘girlie’ or when she’d tell me to cut my hair, she would call me Holly, too.” My lip quivers as all those feelings of shame and self-hatred rise to the surface along with a shit-ton of hurt that my own mother was so cruel to me. I now know how wrong she was, but back when I was twelve, I believed her, I believed that I’d deserved it. That’s why I never said anything to anyone about the bullying when I was growing up; she made me believe it was my fault and that I deserved the bullying and worse for being gay, for something I had zero control over.

“Holden,” Jameson whispers, then slides off his side of the couch and kneels in front of me. “I had no idea, I’m so sorry.”

I nod and look away from him, but there’s no hiding how upset I am. Jameson suddenly pulls me into his arms, and it does me in. The emotions I was trying to hold back come out forcefully at the kind gesture. I wasn’t expecting it; I wasn’t expecting him to be so understanding and sweet. I thought that no matter what I told him, he’d be on Hendrix’s side and tell me I was wrong for staying away. But all he’s doing is hugging me, and I find myself clinging to his warm embrace.

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