Chapter One
Now — Early September
I was not supposed to live.
Upon my birth, the doctor told my parents it was likely that I’d die, and to prepare for the worst.
Instead, I lived, much to the later consternation of my parents.
But I digress.
Throughout my life, I’ve known Heaven and Hell.
Second only to Mimi’s death, Hell, to me, is carrying a stack of collapsed moving boxes up several flights of stairs. Then, over the next couple of weeks, hauling the packed boxes one at a time to the storage unit, all while trying not to trip because I’m crying.
Hell is also staring into the depths of the storage unit before separating and organizing six years of Heaven into neatly stacked piles of boxes and furniture so I can quickly point out everything to the movers when they arrive to load my stuff into my pod. That way, I can get them out of here as fast as possible, meaning it’s less time for them to see me crying.
Hell is hating myself for not being strong enough to have it out with a guy who’s stupidly praying for something that will never happen.
For loving the big dope beyond reason.
It’s hating myself forbeinga guy who’s stupidly praying for something that will never happen.
It’s being firmly wedged between the deeply closeted vice president of the United States, and the man who loves him literally beyond all reason or sense.
Leo and I really are flip sides of the same coin. The only difference is that I sort of knew what I was getting into from the start with him, and I made the difficult choice to walk away from him when I finally realized nothing would change. Leo had no clue what he was getting into when he first met and fell in love with Elliot. Now, Leo is stuck in neutral, hoping Elliot will change when, honestly?
I don’t think Elliot’s capable of it. Leo’s lying to himself if he thinks Elliot is.
I know Leo didn’t mean to lie to me. He honestly thought Elliot would grow to love me.
Hell is knowing I’m walking away from the perfect guy for me. Because, in the long run, I’m doing what’s best for the damned country.
Because ElliotneedsLeo.
I guess, in many ways, Leo also needs Elliot.
The saddest thing about all this mess?
After six years with Leo, my life can still be compressed into…this.
Not much more in the way of tangible property than I first brought into this relationship.
Other than the boxes I packed with my books and a few miscellaneous items, I can use several large suitcases, and have nearly all of my belongings moved out of the apartment. I packed most of my suits in a couple of boxes, because not like I’ll need those in Tallahassee. It’s cheaper to ship them in the small pod with everything else, rather than paying to buy yet another suitcase and being charged an extra baggage fee by the airline.
In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t move what little furniture I have upstairs to Leo’s third-floor apartment. It would have meant needing Leo’s help to move out, or asking someone else to help, and I didn’t want any of that.
I wanted to wallow and do this alone.
Standing on my own two feet is kind of my schtick, I guess. I had to learn how to do that from an early age. Survival tactic.
It’s what chameleons do to survive. They blend in and observe.
Six years ago, when we made this “official,” Leo asked me about moving my furniture in, but we were incredibly busy then. I didn’t feel like hauling some of his stuff down from the apartment just to make room to haul my stuff up to the apartment. It felt like an exercise in futility, since what little time we were home and not working was usually spent eating, cleaning, fucking, or sleeping.
Not worrying about whether or not my Mimi’s secretary desk was sitting in the corner of the living room, instead of a cheap, albeit funky and custom-painted thrift-store bookshelf he’d picked up in Arlington.
Besides, we’d talked about moving into a larger place, at some point.
