58. Jeremy

Jeremy was reminded of the time he had fallen while mountain biking, that sense that gravity had taken over and he was unable to stop it, just prepare for the fact that he would be injured and hope it wouldn’t be fatal.

“Jeremy, I can’t have this conversation right now,” Davis said, gritting his teeth and grabbing his bag, shoving a sweatshirt into the zippered opening. “I need to focus.”

“Am I just a distraction to you?” Out of control. That’s how he felt. The same sensation that had taken over when he had heard his dad had passed, the knowledge that something had slipped through his fingers before he had a chance to appreciate it.

“No, I’m tired and I need to get back to the mountains.” He continued packing.

“You don’t even have your family down as an emergency contact.” Jeremy kept at it. Something had to make sense. He could find an explanation for this.

“What can they do? They’re in West Virginia. Gram is dead, and my aunt is in an old folk’s home.” Davis seemed frustrated, getting angry with Jeremy when it was Jeremy who was getting his heart ripped out.

“Have you told your parents about me?” Jeremy asked, his nose dripping as his eyes watered.

“No, Jeremy. I don’t tell them shit about my life because they’ve made it very clear that it doesn’t matter to them. So fuck ’em. They don’t get to know what makes me happy.”

“If I make you happy, why won’t you tell them?”

“Because they’re dead to me!”

And that, of all things in this conversation, struck a nerve. Jeremy took Davis’s duffel from his hands and began to pack his things, even opening the drawer reserved from him and shoving boxers and T-shirts in. “My parents are dead, Davis. And almost every day, I think about what it would be like to tell them that I love you. And I can’t, and you won’t even tell a fucking piece of paper what I mean to you.” He was shaking now, his fingers trembling as he packed up more of Davis’s things. “I hope to god that you’re safe out there, but I can’t sit at home like a wife waiting for a sailor. I deserve more.”

“Jeremy, can we please just have this conversation later?” Davis begged, and for the first time, Jeremy looked at Davis. Through his own tears, he saw that Davis’s eyes were red and watery. Torn between wanting to hold Davis and push him out the front door, Jeremy settled for neither.

“Davis, I don’t think you want to have this conversation ever,” Jeremy said, dropping his bag at his feet. “And I can’t wait forever.”

“Jeremy—”

“Nathaniel Davis,” Jeremy said, his voice cracking as tears flowed. “Please be safe.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this right now.” He picked up his duffel, slung his backpack over a shoulder, and headed to the front door. “You deserve someone better,” Davis whispered, opening the door.

You deserve someone who can fit around your life.

I want to be that someone, but I don’t know how.

Help me, Davis.

“Be safe, baby,” Jeremy whispered through his tears.

He stood there, in a T-shirt and shorts, for just a moment, hoping that Davis would burst back through the door.

It was just silence.

Jeremy crumpled onto the couch and cried until he fell asleep again.