Page 81 of Forgiving Utah

It’s not a question. It’s a fucking fact.

Taylor doesn’t answer right away, not until the music and cheering begin to wind down. Then, softly, he asks, “Are you not?”

Anger ignites in my veins reflexively. I open my mouth to defend myself, to say that I’m trying, that I didn’t ask for this shit⁠—

But then I think about Christian paying five grand without blinking. I think about all the things I've done over the past few years to so many people—Logan, Xed, Salem. How I caught them each at their lowest and manipulated the situation to include myself just because I… I wanted to be included.

And I don’t have an answer that doesn’t taste like bullshit, because even though I told myself I was giving them all what they wanted, the truth is that I was only enabling their self-destruction.

Maybe that's my level of self-destruction as well: hurting those who ask for it and then licking my wounds when they hurt me back. A vicious, twisted cycle of give and take where everyone drains themselves dry. Everyone bleeds out.

And then there's nothing left to save.

My eyes find Christian again as the dance comes to an end. He whispers something to Marisol that makes her laugh through her tears, and when he smiles proudly, it pierces me right through the ribs.

“I don’t want to be that person,” I finally rasp, throat clogged with too much emotion.

Taylor's quiet for a long time while we watch everyone shift onto the dance floor. Carlos has someone on his arm, as well as Sofia. Even Christian's mother joins in.

When a loud techno song starts up, Tay nudges me on the shoulder and gestures toward the house. “Wanna go inside for a bit? Get away from all the noise?”

Unable to speak yet, I let him lead the way, still feeling… uncertain. I would say not like myself, but I'd have to know what it felt like to be myself in the first place. Truth is, I've been struggling to figure that out for nearly ten years. Probably longer.

Maybe since fifteen, when I was alone and scared while the stars watched my innocence be ripped away from me.

The music and chatter fade once we step inside Christian’s childhood home. Huckslee slides the glass door shut behind us as I take in the small but cozy space. It's clean and tidy, the living room right on the edge of an L-shaped kitchen.

Knit blankets cover the sofa, family pictures line the walls. There’s no dining table, probably for lack of room, but from the patio furniture outside, I assume many meals were spent in the backyard.

“Christian’s mom used to sleep here,” Taylor says, flopping onto the couch. “There's a pullout bed beneath the cushions. The girls shared one room, and the boys shared the other. I used to crawl in through the window at night and either sleep on the floor or next to Christian. His mom wouldn't even question it when I came out for breakfast in the morning.”

I can imagine it: Christian’s poor mother with five kids to feed. One of them wasn’t even hers, but she treated him like a son anyway. “Sounds nice.”

Huck snorts. “Sounds chaotic, honestly. Especially knowing what Tay and Christian are like.”

“We were absolute terrors,” he chuckles, getting to his feet. “Our stunt name didn't come from nothing.”

Shrugging, I lean against the counter and study the worn linoleum. “Meals in my family consisted of me, my grandparents and utter silence. Unless they had some shit to say. If they did, it was only prayer or politics.”

Taylor frowns. “Well, that must have sucked.”

“It was all I knew.”

Honestly, I grew to prefer the silence. It meant that I wouldn't have to listen to them bitch about all the things I was doing wrong.

“Hey.” Huck moves closer with his dark eyes on my face. “Look, Logan's told me a lot about what his… what your parents did. If you ever need someone to talk to⁠—”

“No thanks,” I cut him off, hackles raising out of habit. “I'm over it.”

Something about the side-eye he shares with his boyfriend tells me they don't believe a word I say, but neither of them brings it up again. Thankfully. Instead, Taylor begins opening wooden cabinets like he lives here.

“I'm starving,” he mutters, causing Huckslee to bark out a laugh.

“You just ate like four enchiladas.”

“And I'd eat four more, but those were the last of them.”

“Guess I'm bottoming tonight,” Huck sighs heavily.