Page 65 of Most Valuable Player
Look at him. Look at what your “best friend” ’s son has done to our child.
There was ravenous fury in his eyes, like he wanted to hunt the man with his bare hands.
And now he’s sitting among the shadows and claiming things will be fine, dandy, if I put that lavish ring back on my finger. “I don’t understand,” I breathe. “You said you hated him.”
Dad massages his middle knuckle into his forehead. “How many people out there will accept you for who you are?” he asks softly. “You’re shy and struggle to form connections. You’ve never made any long-lasting friends. I see too much of myself in you, Mason. When I look at your future, all I see is loneliness. This man is kinder, more loving, more personable than anything you’ve seen here. He’s not nearly as reactionary as your mother. He has wealth we’ve only dreamed of having. He’s put in the work to become a better man, and things can only improve without college as a stressor in his life. I’m just thinking”—he clenches his teeth together—“long-term.”
My hand breaks into a tremble around the doorknob. So, he’s determined that it’s forgiveness or it’s nobody, and being with someone who’s continually battered me down is better than not being with anyone.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He chose Mom.
I storm into the night. It’s frigid enough that the subdivision’s tented rooftops are glazed with frost. A swirl of nippy wind swathes me in greeting, causing goose bumps to erupt along my skin. But I can’t be in that house.
So I start down the sidewalks, wiping the moist crooks of my eyes. I fumble for my phone, only to realize I left it charging on my nightstand.
I’ll just wander, then.
I hug my flannel sleeves and don’t realize I’m crying until another breeze licks my face, nearly icing my tears against my skin. “Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing them away as I take a random turn onto a main road. The trees overhead whisper and swish as I travel the shoulder,leaves cascading over the darkened pavement and dashed lines. The stars and moon are ablaze, shedding a silvery path for me to follow.
As I walk, though, and my insides accumulate frost, movement becomes more difficult. I stagger to a stop and clench my teeth, tears thickening on my cheeks.
How many people out there will accept you for who you are?
My father’s voice, tinged with pity, spears my chest. I crouch on the edge of the road in a pile of dead, crunchy leaves. Is there nothing about me worthwhile? The only acquaintances I have are the guys on the football team, and I know their fondness for me is pity. The reason they give me company is because they feel awkward seeing me by myself. The reason they call me their “rock” is because they want me to feel included.
But there’s another voice fighting for dominance in my head. Warming my pulse.
If bewitching is a real power that exists in this world, the way you smile and laugh would probably be proof of it.
My tears intensify, and I’m quivering violently enough to disturb the leaves I’m crouched in. How can he say something with such intensity when we’ve only just started to get to know each other? Was he lying because he felt bad?
No…Cameron Morelli may wear a fake persona, like when he pretends he’s a doofus (he only sometimes is), but his heart is genuine. And if he was telling the truth, doesn’t that imply my father is wrong? My fiancé?Me?Maybe people see me as more than an “aesthetic”—the cute, delicate, well-behaved queer boy who lacks real substance and only exists as people’s fantasy.
I’m not sure where the strength comes from, but I manage to hoist myself to my wobbly feet. He’s probably asleep.
I head in that direction anyway.
Journal #9—December 27
Hello journal I keep forgetting about. This is an update. Though I don’t really need this thing anymore. I’m nearly seventeen so what am I even doing.
I’m just frustrated and not sure who to talk to, so I’m talking to myself. It’s not some fling. He’s my fiancé. He’s the only person who’s seen me. The real me. He gives me structure. He saves me from my house when my parents are being obnoxious. He makes decisions for me when I can’t make them myself. He’s a mature, wealthy, talented, attractive man who chose my loser ass.
I love him. I’m going to marry him.
I’M GOING TO MARRY MY FIANCÉ.
Okay, future me, that sentence only looks shaky because I’m on my fifth cup of coffee. And the page is wet because I just washed my hands. Remember that when you look back. Remember things are always better more often than they’re worse.
Obviously our relationship will have flaws. I just wish he wasn’t always so frustrated. I’ve never lied to him, so why doesn’t he believe me when I tell him what I’m doing? I feel awful for him. I can tell he’s under a lot of pressure from his parents.
Things should get better after we graduate. Once all of this life movement is out of the way, things will go back to how they used to be.
I want to make things easier for him by not complaining. But he’s been so stressed that lately,when he’s with me, he’s been accidentally taking it out on me. Luckily it’s winter so I can wear turtlenecks and jeans, but there comes a point where it’s like, Do you have to grab me like that in bed? Why are you treating me like you just caught me with another man and you’re getting revenge?
Things are going great otherwise! I might get the ring resized. I’ve lost some weight.
Chapter Twenty
