Beautiful Boy(55)

"Doctors, therapists, and the long lists of bills that come along with  those visits. I got you the best prosthetic available. You came and  lived in my house for over ten years, and I never asked you for a cent."  He stood with his nose inches away from mine, seething in anger as he  pointed out everything he'd done over the last eleven years.

"And I've thanked you for it all. I've offered to pay you back, but you  refused it. Why was that? Because if I had, you wouldn't be able to hold  it over my head anymore? Because you wouldn't be able to use it to  manipulate me?"

He took a step back, confusion and anger warring in his expression  between his tight lips and set jaw, his flaring nostrils and pinched  eyebrows.         

     



 

"You said you wanted my support and you have it. You've always had it  and you always will. I don't need to make a banner or scream it from  Times Square. I don't even have to be at your side to support you.  That's what you don't seem to understand. All I've wanted my whole life  was for you to support me."

"And I have."

My voice broke as I gave in to the waves of emotion threatening to take  me down and steal every last breath. "No. You paid doctors to take care  of me after I had my leg blown off in a war I only fought in because you  sent me off to the Army. You think that's supporting me? You're my  father!"

He stepped closer to keep our altercation quiet. "There are lots of men  in this world who don't take care of their sons, so don't even try to  use that as an excuse. I didn't have to do any of it for you."

"No, you didn't have to." I shrugged, unsure of what else to say-if  there was anything else to say. "Supporting someone doesn't always have  to be about how much money you spend or how long you let me live in your  house. It's not even about getting dressed up and playing nice with a  bunch of strangers."

"Enlighten me, son … what does it mean to support someone?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I had so much to  say-mainly about his speech inside-but his rigid posture and clenched  fists made it obvious he had no plans to even listen to me. Nothing I  had to say would've done any good; it would've only been a waste of  breath.

The valet attendant came back with my car pulled to the curb. I nodded  his way to let him know I was ready, and then I glanced back at my dad  one last time.

"Fathers are supposed to be real-life superheroes … " I took a step toward  the curb, but I stopped when he spoke up, louder than before to catch  my attention.

"Are you saying I'm the villain?"

I shook my head, and without a backward glance, I called out over my shoulder, "No … you're just not the hero."

And then I got in my car and drove off without once looking his way. My  mom had been right-I needed to stand up for myself. It might not have  done any good where he was concerned, but at least I didn't have to  worry about carrying the weight of it with me any longer.

My conscious was clear.

My chest was lighter.

If he chose to keep that torch lit, it was his prerogative. But at least  I didn't have to worry about my life turning into ashes anymore.

I'd been burned enough.

And I had the scars to prove it.





Twenty-Two





I sat in my living room with my computer in front of me. The television  playing in the background offered enough noise to keep me company, but  not enough to distract me. I already had enough distractions in my head  as it was.

Two days without Nolan was brutal. And it wasn't even the not seeing him  part that gutted me the most-I was used to going days without being  around him. It was the lack of his voice that cut me the deepest. No  nightly phone calls or texts during the middle of the day.

And I had no one to blame but myself.

I was the one who told him he needed to figure things out without using  me as a crutch, which he did, but it didn't mean his absence in my life  came easy. When I told him he needed to do this on his own, I only meant  I couldn't hold his hand. Not that I couldn't be around.

I'd thought about reaching out to him numerous times over the last two  days, but I could never find the courage to actually follow through. The  pained expression in his eyes after I left him the other night was  enough to sway me from contacting him. I wasn't sure I could've handled  hearing the pain in his voice as well.

Shari knew something was up. She'd tried to get me to talk several times  at work, but I refused to explain it all to her. She'd been at the  awkward dinner, she saw how he'd acted and witnessed his despair. I  didn't need to give her the details of what had followed.

In the midst of playing around with some photos I'd taken for work, my  phone went off, alerting me of a text. My heart skipped a beat. But as  soon as I read the name, it fell silent in my chest again. It was only  Shari, asking me about getting together sometime this week.

I gave her a robotic response. She'd been trying to make plans to hang  out for the last few days, but I'd declined them all. I guess part of me  had hoped I'd hear from Nolan, and I wanted to be available for him. I  hated how pathetic I'd become, but it couldn't be helped. I wanted him,  just one text … anything.

More messages came in from Shari. More begging and a few threats, until I  eventually ignored the alert tone. She finally got the point and left  me alone.         

     



 

It wasn't until I plugged my phone in a few hours later that I decided  to read through the messages, wanting to clear the notifications from my  phone. Amongst a handful of texts from Shari, I had one from someone  else. Someone who made my heart accelerate to erratic pounding.

Beautiful Boy: I love you.

That was it. One line. But it was all I needed to see. Those three words  sent me soaring. They gave me the strength to get through one more day.

I sent him one back, saying the same thing, but I never got a response.  And that was okay. I didn't need to have an in-depth conversation about  what he'd been up to. All I needed to know was he was all right and he  still loved me.

The following morning, I woke to another text.

Beautiful Boy: The orange glow in the sky right before the sun rises.

Me: ???

But he didn't respond. I must've checked his message a hundred times  before lunch, hoping I could decode the purpose. But I never could.

After work, I got another.

Beautiful Boy: Raindrops on a leaf.

Again, I sent him a series of question marks, and asked what he'd meant. But he still never responded.

Just before bed, another came in.

Beautiful Boy: The sound of the river at night, when everything else is silent and the sky is too dark to see.

I decided not to respond, but while staring at his words, another message came in, almost immediately following the last.

Beautiful Boy: I love you.

I replied to that one, telling him once again I loved him, too, and then  I lay in bed as my thoughts grew louder and louder in my head.

His texts confused me. I couldn't decipher if this was his way of  seeking reassurance. And I hated to think I had something to worry  about. Part of me didn't believe that was his intention for the  messages, but another part, the louder part of my brain, took me back to  the night I found him in bed. The night I found the empty pill bottle  in his bathroom.

But he'd flushed them.

I had to remind myself he hadn't done anything wrong. He'd saved  himself, and I had to trust he'd do the same thing if ever faced with  the option again. However, it was hard to have so much faith in a man  when the last time you saw him he was so broken.

Those eyes … those hazel eyes wouldn't stop haunting me no matter how hard  I tried to ignore them. No matter how much effort I put into imagining  the pair with intense green flecks, the ones alive with vibrant color.  The hazel color that would stare back at me and tell me just how much he  loved me without ever having to hear those words.

At some point, I must've fallen asleep, but I knew by the way I woke up  groggy it had been late and left me with very little sleep. The first  thing I did after opening my eyes was grab my phone from my nightstand  and read the message awaiting me.

Beautiful Boy: Random spots of blue peeking through grey rain clouds.

I jumped out of bed and pulled my blinds up so I could see the sky. Sure  enough, it was a cloudy day with sporadic blue showing through-a visual  depiction of his words.

I still had no idea what these messages meant, but I assumed they were  Nolan's way of sharing his day with me. I wanted to call him and let him  know he could still talk to me, but then I realized I'd told him he  needed to do this on his own. And if this was his way of communicating, I  was okay with it.

Late afternoon, I received another one.

Beautiful Boy: The smile on a little girl's face when she gets a balloon.

And then right after, another one.

Beautiful Boy: And her laugh.

"What are you smiling about over there?" Shari came up to me at my desk and tried to peek over my shoulder.

I locked my screen and put my phone down before she could read anything.  His messages were personal to me, and I wanted to cherish them. I  wasn't ready to share them with anyone quite yet.