Harden up.
Guess which parent speaks to me like that?
In moments like these, my mind imitates my bully.
“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks. “Fresh air might help you feel better.”
“Fresh air, says the city boy.” I manage a feeble smile. “I guess it’s fresher than a bathroom shared by eight dudes.”
???
Two seventeen, says the clock near the train station.
I’ve never seen the city this hushed or vacant.
It’s almost eerie.
Porter looks embarrassed.
“I'm sorry for mentioning your mum,” he says. “I shouldn't have asked…”
“It's fine, really,” I say. “I'm just not ready to talk about her.”
And I’m not ready for what happens next, even though it makes me so damn happy.
Porter reaches for my hand. In public.
“Come with me to the river,” he suggests.
“Okay.”
We stroll in silence for a while.
Pausing next to the railing, I let the water soothe me.
Then Porter leans in for a kiss.
Not just a peck.
A real kiss, with tongue and everything.
Sweet, slow and passionate.
A kiss that says: I like you a lot, even with your clothes on.
It happens in the dark, yes.
Away from prying eyes, yes.
But still, not behind closed doors.
And that matters.
For us, that matters a tonne.
???
The first twenty-four hours without him have been brutal.
