Chapter Eleven

JULIAN

June 9, 1990

It's so early in the morning and I can't sleep because I'm so nervous. Well, and anxious. Grayson and I are about to leave our families and run away to New York City. I'm scared of leaving my mamá and Amelia behind. And papá is never here, so it's not like I ever get to see him anyway. But I'm even more scared to stick around Felton, ever since last month when Clint punched me and threatened to kill me if I ever looked or spoke to Grayson again. He's so violent, I wouldn't put it past him.

At school on the Monday after Grayson's birthday, he slid a note under my history textbook, telling me to meet him out under the bleachers at lunch. That morning lingered like a terrible case of the flu. I wanted so badly to just talk to him and apologize for what happened. I still feel like that night was all my fault. I could have waited to experience sex for the first time. In fact, the voice inside me told me that it was a bad idea. But my urges got the best of me.

It didn't surprise me when I saw his beaten-up face, because I knew Clint was going to punish him severely. His nose looked broken, and I could see him wince in pain every few seconds as his hand tried to rest against the side of his head. I felt lucky enough that I only suffered a bruise and raised welts on my face. My heart broke just knowing he had to go through that, and from his own dad no less.

Lunch finally arrived and I headed out to the football field as he instructed me to. At first, I couldn't see Grayson anywhere. Like I might have been the first one to arrive. Once I reached the base of the stands, I heard a short whistle from the hole in the side of the bleachers.

He held out his arms while I quickly ran towards him. When I met his embrace, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. Our lips rested against each other's. We kissed for a minute in the silence, while the wind blew into the side of my battered face. I felt his arms tighten around me while my cheek sensed a wet trail of tears falling between our faces.

"Don't cry Grayson," I told him. "I'm so sorry that happened," I added while my hands held his face out in front of mine.

He sighed. "You're sorry?" He questioned with a puzzled look. "I'm the one that should be apologizing to you."

"Shhh," I whispered. "We can't see each other again?"

Every inch of me wanted to bend over to pick up the largest rock I could find and chuck it out over the chain-link fence behind us. Facing the fact that I was forbidden to see him again hurt like hell.

Grayson huffed. "No!" He yelled. "Fuck him, Julian," he said, looking red in the face. "He doesn't get to tell us what to do."

"But he's your dad, Saccharo Ferre," I replied. "You live in his house."

He shook his head confidently. "Not for much longer, I won't be."

"What does that mean?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I wanna go as far as I can from this fucking place to New York City," he replied. "And I want you to come with me," he added. "I—need—you to come with me."

The first notion of leaving my family didn't settle very well. I love my parents. But then I thought about the consequences I might face, should papá ever find out I was exactly the opposite of his expectations. He would likely force me out of the house because I wasn't living the lifestyle accepted by the Catholic church.

"And what, we just up and move?" I asked curiously.

He nodded his head in agreement. "Exactly," he confirmed. "We'd live our lives on our own terms and leave the disapproval of our families behind."

I reeled him in for another giant hug, while I stared out at the passing cars on Boudin Road. I was hung up on what it would feel like to cut off all communication with the people who brought me into this world. Or from my dear sister who looks up to me.

I gently stroked the back of his head. "Never talk to my family again?"

"Julian, if my parents ever talk to yours after we've left, and you've told your mom where we went—" Grayson paused for a moment. "My dad will find us," he said quickly as began huffing.

He had a good point. And in that moment, I feared seeing Clint Welles' evil eyes even once more. They've haunted me enough this whole last month as it is.

"So, whatcha say, Cutie?" He asked while he continued his embrace. "We graduate here in a few weeks, then make a clean break."

There was no doubt in my mind about following him wherever he went. I wouldn't be able to live with myself being even one town apart, let alone thousands.

"Okay—" I mumbled with a small bit of uncertainty. "I trust you completely," I replied. "Wherever and whenever you go, I'll be there by your side."

"Oh, Julian," Grayson started crying, but I could tell in a happy way. "I love you so much," he replied. "I will always take care of you and protect you, even if it's the last thing I do."

Hearing those words brought me so much comfort. He's stood up for me every step of the way since the first day we met. I knew I could expect nothing less of him in the future. Our future was a month away. Yet in that very moment, with his arms wrapped around my waist, I could feel it. I could taste it. I knew I'd feel awful about running away from home, and that part tasted sour. We stood there for several minutes. The lunch bell hadn't rung yet, so I could tell it hadn't been a full hour.

Grayson held my hand as we walked the length of the bleachers' underbelly. Once we reached a group of trees off to the side of the field, we found a shaded area away from the sun. He sat Indian style across from me in a patch of grass. He reached up to the beaten side of my face while letting out a scowl.

"He really did a number on you, didn't he," he said as a statement more than a question.

"You're in worse shape," I admitted. "Your poor nose, can you even breathe?"

He shrugged with a sparkle in his eye. "Don't you worry about me," he insisted. "I can hold my own."

The thought that he might have retaliated to defend himself crossed my mind immediately after him reassuring me. "O Deus meus, Grayson," I gasped. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," he assured me with a quick glance through the trees. "But if my mom wasn't standing in the doorway watching," he paused for a breath. "I probably would've clocked him right back after the first shot."

Seeing the tough side of Grayson is just as much of an experience as witnessing his soft and tender side. He might display tough skin, but after the past few months of getting closer to him, I know deep inside that shell is a heart so pure and gentle. But then I wondered what kind of a mother would stand idly by. How could she watch one of her kids get abused so violently by anyone—let alone his own father—without breaking it up?

"Your mom saw him hit you and she didn't do anything to stop him?" I asked.

Grayson shook his head. "No," he replied. "She's a coward," he added with a bit of an upset look. "Does everything he says," he waved his arms around for emphasis. "She matches his thoughts and opinions, but I also know that if she did, she would've gotten hurt in the process."

We sat there under the shade for the rest of our lunch period holding each other's hands. Hearing him talk about how he had to learn how to defend himself in any given situation was more confirmation that leaving town is the best decision he could possibly make.

Now a few weeks later, here I am at my desk next to a packed suitcase and a box of my most important belongings. I'm staring at my blue graduation cap sticking out from the top of the box and it's finally hitting me that this is the ending of a chapter. I've written a long note to mamá apologizing for leaving. And I confessed to her why. It's probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to do in my life so far. But Grayson made a valid point, and I can't risk Clint finding us—just as much as I'd never be able to breathe without him. If true love is the game of chance everyone says it is, then I've won the lottery on my first time playing.

It's still only about two in the morning and I'm in knots waiting for him to park his truck across the street. Grayson said he would toss a pebble at my bedroom window to let me know he's here. He told me to be awake and ready to go closer to four, since it would be easier to make our escape while it's still dark out. All I need to do is stick my letter under a magnet on the fridge. Then I can turn a fresh new page with my very own Sugar Bear. So, my next journal entry will be from the big city.