Don't Let Me Go

by J. H. Trumble

  I huffed. “You don’t know Luke. He’s just no good at acting straight. They’ll peg him in a heartbeat. I’m so afraid they’re gonna hurt him.” I knew something about hurt, and I couldn’t bear the thought of sweet Luke going through anything like I had.

  Mom came around the counter and put her arms around me. “Then we’ll pray for him to be safe.”

  I spent the early afternoon sorting through my feelings in a blog post, the first in a long time. Adam was shopping with his mom. I was glad to be alone.

  I’m Queer. Get Over It.

  For Luke

  By Nate Schaper on Dec. 24.

  I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, Luke. I hope you do. I want to say how very sorry I am for everything that has happened. If I could take it all away and make you happy again, I’d do it. I just want you to know that I’ll think of you every day. You aren’t alone, even when you feel like you are. Call me. Write. I’ll be here. Love, Nate

  Comments:

  HappyBoy

  Dec. 24, at 2:32 P.M.

  Merry Christmas Eve! What’s going on? I just read there’s going to be some national hand-holding day or something in January. Google it.

  PakistaniPal

  Dec. 24, at 2:45 P.M.

  Answer your damn phone.

  “What?” I said when Danial picked up.

  “What are you doing?”

  I could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t asking about my current activity. It was more like an accusation. I knew he’d read the post. When I didn’t answer, he said, “You gotta let this go, Nate. You can’t help Luke anymore, but there’s somebody else who needs you right now.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me how to deal with Adam.”

  “I think maybe you do. Let him go.”

  “I can’t. Don’t you understand that? I can’t.”

  “Delete it, or I will. I know your password.”

  I knew he was right. Adam had been more patient with me than I’d ever been with him, and at a time when we were just finding each other again. I reached for my phone to call him, just to say I love you, but remembered that Luke still had his phone, and I put mine back on the bedside table. I’d go to him later, after the mall closed. Take my backpack with me. Stay the night. I’d make it up to him, every miserable moment he’d spent with me the past week or so. And we’d wake up together on Christmas morning, and Santa Nate would open his bag of goodies and ply him with gifts until he screamed in delicious agony.

  But as for the post, I couldn’t bring myself to delete it. Not yet.

  Then late afternoon Luke showed up on our doorstep. I heard the jingle bells on the door first and then my mom’s surprised voice. My immediate thought was that his dad had hit him again. But he met me halfway up the stairs, soaking wet, his hair plastered to his face and a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

  I scooped him up and almost sent both of us sprawling down the stairs. “What are you doing here? You’re sick. You should be home.” I held him back where I could size him up and squeezed his arms to prove to myself that he was really here. He was out of breath and soggy but otherwise looked okay.

  “My dad flew to Odessa this morning,” he said, still breathing hard as he peeled off his wet hoodie and damp shirt and took the dry shirt I offered him. “His plane won’t be in until about seven, and my mom had to take my little brother for a dental cleaning. So I just left. And here I am.”

  “And here you are,” I repeated. I smiled over my shoulder and tossed him a pair of flannel pants similar to the ones I was wearing, then busied myself refolding some underwear. When he’d changed, I left him to amuse himself in my room while I took his clothes downstairs and tossed them in the dryer. If possible, I’d get him back home before his mom got back and no one had to know he’d snuck out.

  It was weird, really. Unexpected. As glad as I was to see him, I was strangely disappointed too. It was kind of like finding out your dog is going to die, and you spend all this emotional energy preparing yourself, saying good-bye, and then it doesn’t, and you feel kinda like you’ve been cheated. I didn’t want to feel that way. But not wanting didn’t make the feeling go away. I turned the dryer on high heat and headed back up to my room.

  He was towel drying his hair when I came back in. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in your jammies,” he said.

  I cracked a weak grin. “I’ve never seen you in my jammies either.”

  His smile faded suddenly, and he looked like he might cry.

  “Oh, Luke,” I said. I took him in my arms and just held him, trying to memorize the feel of him, that peppermint smell that always wafted from his skin, the mop of blond hair that was always falling down in his eyes.

  He swallowed hard. “Nate.” He paused before continuing, as if trying to muster up some courage. “Will you do something for me before I go?”

  “Anything,” I said. “Just name it.”

  He tossed the towel to the side and took one of my hands in his, kissing my knuckles first, then pushed my hand beneath the waistband of his / my flannel pants.

  I stiffened and drew in a sharp breath. “Luke, not that,” I whispered, pulling my hand back out.

  “Please don’t say no,” Luke breathed. “I’m going back in the closet, Nate. I accept that. But I don’t want to go back without really knowing what this is all about.”

  “Luke—”

  “What if something happens, and I never get to experience this?”

  “Nothing is going to happen.”

  “I want this, Nate. And I want this with you. Please don’t tell me no.”

  His eyes were huge, puppy-dog eyes, pleading, begging eyes. “I can’t,” I whispered.

  “He doesn’t have to know. Nobody has to know. In two days I’ll be gone. Gone and you and Adam will have the rest of your lives together. And I’ll have no one. I’m not asking for much. We don’t have to have real sex. Just this one thing. Just this one thing, Nate. Please.”

  “You have lots of time for this, Luke.” I was the one pleading now. Don’t make me hurt you. Don’t make me hurt him.

  “I don’t have any time.” He hiccupped it out, like he was going to cry, then eased the waistband of his pants over his hips. The flannel puddled on the floor. I looked away, at the wall, at Adam’s lava lamp sitting next to my phone on the bedside table, at the bed we’d made love in so many times. I knew I was being manipulated; I could feel it as surely as I could feel the prod of his penis as he stepped closer.

  “No one has to know,” he said again softly, taking my hand and wrapping it around him. No one has to know, I repeated to myself. Just this, and then, I swore to myself, I would let him go. I pulled my hand away and locked the door.

  I felt Adam coming up the stairs two at a time seconds before I heard him. He tried the doorknob. “Nate? Your door’s locked.”

  “Don’t open it,” Luke whispered desperately. He gripped my arm.

  I closed my eyes. There’d be no hiding what we’d done. Even if we straightened the rumpled bed and got rid of the wet washcloth on the bedside table, there was still the locked door and the two of us, flushed and disheveled.

  “I have to open the door, Luke,” I said, pulling on my clothes. It was like we were in a full-out skid on a wet road taking dead aim at a massive tree, and I was helpless to stop the collision. I only prayed we’d survive.

  “Nate?” Adam’s voiced sounded worried. He knocked again. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m coming.”

  Luke looked at me, dressed now too, begging for forgiveness with his eyes. “It’s okay,” I mouthed and opened the door.

  “Hey, why’s the—” Adam stopped. He looked slowly from me to Luke to the bed, and back to me, the truth lining up like the tumblers on a combination lock. I stared at my feet. Adam stared at me until I looked up at him. I could see his jaw tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing. His face screwed up as he struggled with his emotions. I bit my lip in sham
e.

  He drew in a ragged breath, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.

  I felt like time had come to a standstill, like we were waiting, bloodied and broken, for the emergency crew to get there and pull the bodies from the wreckage.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered when I couldn’t stand it any longer. I reached for his hand, but he flinched and took a step back. “Adam.”

  I took a step toward him, desperate to make this right, somehow, desperate to keep him here long enough for me to fix this. “I love you.” I reached for him again.

  “Don’t,” he said coldly.

  Luke took a small step forward, looking scared. “It was my fault, Adam. I begged him. Don’t be mad at him.”

  Adam looked over at him then. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. “We’re going to miss you, Luke,” he choked out, and with one last wounded look at me, he turned to leave. I grabbed for his arm, but he whipped around and held his hands up in a don’t-touch-me gesture, took two steps backward, then turned for the last time and hurried down the stairs.

  Luke urged me to go after him, but I couldn’t run out on him. I had a lifetime to make things up to Adam. He’d forgive me. Because that’s what Adam did.

  Up and down Luke’s street, inflatable Santas and igloos and snowmen waited slumped over until timers released the juice and the motors brought them to life once again. It looked like the neighbors had made a run on the tacky Christmas display section at Walmart. The only decoration in Luke’s yard was a piece of tinsel tied around the new For Sale sign near the curb. We sat in my car several houses down from his and waited for his mom to get home. The plan was for Luke to walk the few houses home after his mom got there and make it look like he’d just stepped out of the house for a minute. We didn’t have to wait long.

  She pulled into the drive just moments after we arrived. We watched her get out. Luke chewed on his bottom lip. “You won’t forget me, will you?”

  I squinched up my face and promised him I wouldn’t.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out Adam’s phone, and handed it to me, but I shook my head and told him to keep it. “I can’t keep it,” he said. “Not now.” He held it out until I finally took it. It was warm from being nestled in his pocket.

  He got out and headed back up the street to his house, his head down and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Halfway there, he turned around and walked backward for a few steps. I got out of the car and leaned on the roof and watched him go.

  Chapter 51

  Mrs. Jensen opened the door as I bounded onto the porch. “He’s in his room,” she said. I searched her face for a moment and knew it was bad. “Nate,” she said, catching my arm as I passed her. I stopped. She pursed her lips but said nothing more. I squeezed her hand and headed for the stairs.

  His door was closed but unlocked. I eased it open. The negative space caught me off guard. The lava lamps that lined the high shelf on the far side of his room were gone, the shelf an empty slab of painted wood. It was the first thing I noticed, then the box below the shelf, one of those document boxes with holes punched out of the sides for handholds. The lamps were there, piled high, upside down, willy-nilly, cords hanging over the sides like so much trash. A dark stain anchored the bottom of the box to the carpet, and I knew at least one of the lamps had cracked when he’d dumped them. A faucet opened up in the bathroom as I shifted my gaze around the room. A small Christmas tree rested on its side under the window, small gold stars still clinging to some of the branches, others scattered about. His drawers were open, all of them. On the table next to his bed, a flat box, maybe three inches by four, wrapped in shiny red paper, a silver bow secured to the top. I sat on the bed and picked through one of the two duffel bags lying there. T-shirts, underwear, jeans, shorts, crammed into the unstructured space like stuffing in a pillow. I pulled a shirt out and held it to my face. In the bathroom, the water shut off. I lay the shirt in my lap and picked up the gift and turned it over.

  I felt him in the bathroom doorway. “What do you want?” he said coldly.

  I looked at him. The hair around his face was damp. In one hand he gripped a leather toiletry bag.

  “Is this for me?” I asked quietly.

  He stalked toward me, zipping the small bag closed, and snatched the package from my hands.

  “What are you doing, Adam?” I said as he shoved the gift and the toiletry bag into one of the duffel bags.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” he muttered, then turned to the closet and viciously yanked the hangers across the rod. I took the package out again and released the tape on the back and sides, allowing the paper to drop to the floor. Inside was a DVD—Family Affair, Season 1, a handwritten note taped to the front: Episode 12, so I never forget. Love, Adam.

  I stared at it. “It didn’t mean anything,” I said quietly.

  In the closet the assault stilled. I turned my eyes to him. He was holding on to the rod with both fists, his head bowed down between his arms. “It meant something to me,” he said angrily. “It meant everything to me.”

  “They were taking him away, Adam.”

  “So you fucked him. A little parting gift?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “That was mine and you just gave it away like it was nothing.” He grabbed an armload of clothes, stalked back to the bed, then crammed the clothes, hangers and all, into the empty bag. “Did he suck you off? Or did you suck him off?” He leaned on the bag and looked at me with hard eyes. “Did he come in your mouth?”

  “Don’t.”

  “Did you fucking swallow it?”

  I winced at the fury in his voice. I didn’t know this Adam. “You’re making me sick.”

  “Yeah?” He scoffed and zipped up one of the bags and flung it at the door. It bounced off and landed with a thud on the carpet. “Well, now you know how I feel.” Those were almost the exact words my dad and I had exchanged standing outside the restaurant the night he stood me up. The irony of that wasn’t lost on me.

  He jerked the other bag toward him, but I grabbed his arm and stopped him from zipping it. “It didn’t have anything to do with us,” I said.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in heavy, uneven breaths. “It had everything to do with us.”

  “It doesn’t change the way I feel about y—”

  He jerked his arm out of my grasp. “It changes the way I feel about you,” he said, looking at me. The words had been slow and measured, as if we wanted to make sure I heard them loud and clear.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “How many times do you think you can drag my heart through the mud? I can’t do this anymore, Nate. You don’t deserve me.”

  “I know that.”

  He zipped up the bag and shouldered it, and it hit me that he was really going to leave. That this wasn’t one of those hang-up-before-we-say-something-we’re-going-to-regret leaving. The regret was already piled ankle deep. Forever regret. This was good-bye. “I love you,” I said desperately.

  He looked at the ceiling and blinked, his face a battleground of emotion, then swallowed hard and leveled his gaze at me, softer now. “I know you do, Nate,” he said quietly. “That’s the thing that really gets me, you know. The thing that hurts the most. I know you love me. But that wasn’t enough, was it? To keep you loyal to me? It didn’t seem to matter to you. But everything you did mattered to me. Who you kissed mattered to me. Who you touched mattered to me.” He hitched in a breath. “It mattered to me,” he said, slamming his chest.

  He was speaking in the past tense, like we were already over, and I didn’t know how to respond, what words would get through to him.

  “This has always been about you,” he continued. “About what you needed. Well, what about me, Nate? I needed you too. Did you ever for one minute think about me?”

  There’s somebody else who needs you right now. Danial’s words came back to me as clearly as if he’d been standing right there. It had never occurred to me that Adam tr
uly needed me. I was the one who always needed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” I said, struggling to draw in a deep breath.

  His face hardened again. He scoffed and turned toward the door.

  I was up, the shirt sliding to the floor. I stepped in front of him and gripped his shoulders. “Don’t walk away from me.” I was finding it hard to catch my breath. “Yell at me, cuss me out, hit me, but don’t walk away from me.”

  “I’m not playing these sick games with you anymore.” He took the DVD from me and held it to my face. “You’re not a little boy, Nate. And I’m not your Uncle Bill.” He put his face close to mine. “And I don’t want to be.”

  He flicked the DVD to the side and pushed past me, but I grabbed his arm. He tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip because now I was pissed. “You never would fight for me. Maybe you just never loved me enough.” I was starting to twitch with the effort of not crying.

  “Don’t you dare. I loved you with everything I had. You made me leave. And then you just threw what we had away. You just threw it away, Nate. Like it was NOTHING. Well, it wasn’t nothing to me. IT WASN’T NOTHING. I would have done anything for you.”

  “Anything but forgive me,” I whispered.

  His features contorted. “I can forgive you. I just can’t ... I can’t ...” He didn’t finish.

  In one step I closed the distance between us and grabbed his face in my hands. I pressed my mouth to his. I’d make him remember what we had, what we still had. He resisted at first, but then his lips softened. “Make love to me,” I whispered.

  He stiffened and grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands from his face.

  He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “You can’t make all the bad things go away with sex, Nate.” He was hurting my wrists. “Not with Luke. And not with me. I don’t even know who you are.” He let go and reached for his other bag.