Page 84 of Every November

Someone who isn’t drowning.

That’s probably the best way I can describe it. It feels like I’m just below the surface, looking up at him, lungs already full of water, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t break through to breathe. I’m just screaming and no one pulls me up. Not even myself.

But I’m not going to hurt myself. I promised Evan I wouldn’t and it’s the one promise I’ve managed to keep to him. I don’t want to die. I just want to stop feeling like this.

I wish I could get myself to reach out, but what would I even say?

Sorry I’ve been distant. The day I dropped you off my life changed and I’ve been spiraling ever since. My depression is back. I haven’t had an episode like this in years, since before I met you. The only reason I get out of bed is to go to work so I don’t lose my job and have to go back to my parents’. I think about you constantly but I’m too fucked up to reach out because I’m terrified that if you really knew me, if you really saw how broken I am, you’d realize I’m not worth the effort.

I can’t say that, so instead, I don’t text him. I just lie here and think about him until the thoughts become their own kind of torture. They’re the only thing I have to keep me company.

My phone rings and it’s Josh. I groan, but answer since knowing him, he’ll show up at my apartment and I can’t take another person banging on my door. “Hey.”

“Dude.” Josh’s voice is laced with concern. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“In Chicago.”

“Don’t be a smartass. I’ve texted you like fifteen times and you haven’t responded to me. What’s going on?”

Has he? I haven’t even checked. When I look, I only look for one name and one name only, and it’s Evan’s.

“Sorry. I’ve been busy,” I lie. Well aware he’s going to call me out on it.

“Busy?” He scoffs, not believing me. “Marcus, you’ve been MIA for months. I’ve tried to give you space but something is obviously going on.”

I close my eyes because this conversation is exhausting me already. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re not fine. You seem to forget I know you. Talk to me,” he pleads and it only makes the self-loathing dig into my chest deeper. Such a letdown.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit. Is this about your family? Did they do something else?”

My throat tightens because I haven’t talked to them since Christmas. My mom has called me all of two times, one of those was my birthday. I don’t even think she wants to talk to me. I think she wants to fix it just to fix it, but it’s not like she’s suddenly going to accept me or the fact that I’m in love with a man. So I don’t see a point, and I’m not going to get a lecture about my sexuality again.

“No.”

“Well, what is it then? You’re scaring me, dude. I want to be there for you. Can you please just talk to me? I hate watching you disappear into yourself.”

Guilt slams into me at his words. It’s just, I don’t know how to explain that I feel like my life is falling apart. That I’m so unhappy, so alone, so down that everything I do feels wrong.

“Is it Evan? Did something happen with him?”

“I don’t know.” I press my palm against my forehead. “I fucked it up, okay? I pulled away and now he probably hates me and I don’t blame him.”

“Why did you pull away?” His tone isn’t judging, it’s curious, and while I appreciate it, I hate that he’s asking me questions I don’t want to talk through. This is why I’ve been avoiding Dr. Patel.

“Because I’m a fucking mess, Josh. Because my family made it clear at Christmas that I’m never going to be good enough for them. And if my own family can’t love me, I can’t—I can’t drag Evan into that. I can’t let him see how fucked up I am. I’m fucking spiraling, dude. He deserves better.”

“Marcus—”

“He lives in Seattle. I live here. We were never going to work anyway. There’s no point in trying to force it. It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

I don't answer because I don’t know.

“Marcus, listen to me.” Josh’s voice is firm now. “Whatever happened with your family, that’s not your fault. You know that, right?”