“Never,” Xavi gritted against his neck, his grip tightening. “Not a chance.”
“But you have to,” Lulu sniffled, his eyes burning, his throat raw like it had been torn to shreds by sandpaper. “I can’t… I can’t… Breathe. There’s no air.”
“I know, but there is. Just breathe, baby. Don’t run.”
Lulu continued to struggle in Xavi’s arms as tears cascaded down his cheeks and further down his chin and neck, painting his light blue T-shirt with darker dots ofblue. Then, eventually, a tiredness—decades of tiredness, really—overcame Lulu, and all the fight went out of him. His legs gave way beneath him, but Xavi held him up, strong and steadfast, like an anchor, ever-present and unmoving.
“You’re good,mano. You’re good,” Xavi cooed against his neck. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be angry with her. It’s okay.”
“I hate her!” Lulu cried out into the desert, which lay just beyond the line of brush behind the Mesquite. “I hate her!” he yelled to everyone who’d listen and to no one in particular.
“I know, baby, but you don’t. You don’t. There’s not a hateful bone in your body, baby. There’s not. But you’re hurtin’, and that’s okay.”
“I do,” Lulu insisted with everything he had. “Idohate her,” he repeated because the alternative—that he still loved her—would just mean more pain, more hurt, more disappointment, when she eventually relapsed or disappeared again.
They both dropped to their knees, Xavi folded around him, speaking quiet words of comfort against Lulu’s temple. The hot wind blew in from the desert, drying Lulu’s tears, leaving his skin tight and itchy. The swing moved with the wind, lonely and worn from years of the unforgiving New Mexican sun beating down on it.Unforgiving.His therapist’s words rang through Lulu’s head.
‘It is not up to you, Mr. Cisnero, to offer your mother forgiveness or understanding. It is not up to you to be the bigger person. No one in their right mind would expect that from you. You are a victim of severe neglect and unfathomable abuse. No one should expect that from you.’
Victim.It had taken Lulu hours and hours of therapy to accept that word. He’d always hated the idea of being a victim. It meant that you were weak and that someone else held the power over you. Or at least, so he’d thought until his therapist had put it into perspective.
‘Being a victim, Mr. Cisnero, means that things were done to you that were not okay. Things that should never have been done. It doesn’t make you weak. You are a strong young man. It’s clear to anyone who knows you. You are a survivor. But you are also a victim.Victimoriginates from Latin and means a sacrificial animal. Your well-being, your safety, and your childhood innocence were sacrificed because your parents were neglectful and abusive. But that’s on them, not on you, Mr. Cisnero.’
“I thought I was ready. I thought I was ready to see her. But I can’t forgive her. I won’t.” Lulu spat the words against Xavi’s neck.
“You don’t have to. No one expects you to. I don’t even think she does.”
“But… but Manu will,” Lulu sniffled.
“Perhaps. But maybe he needs it. And that’s okay. He’s going to be a father. Perhaps he needs to.” Xavi sighed, then eased Lulu away from his shoulder gently. “But you, baby, you don’t have to.” His eyes were so warm, so bright, like twin flames burning with such eternal strength. “But please,cisne, try to make peace withyour past. Peace with her. It’s not the same as forgiving or forgetting, even. It just means that you finally allow yourself to rest. Let yourself rest, baby. You deserve it.”
Rest. Lulu had never thought of it like that.
“It’s hard,” he admitted, resting his forehead against Xavi’s. “I thought I wanted her to be better, to be happy, to be clean… But now I just wonder why she couldn’t be all those things for me and Manu. Why we weren’t enough.”
“It’s not about you, baby. It never was.”
“I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
“I know. I think it’s fucking hard, too. But we can’t keep holding our breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Lulu nodded, his mouth twisting into a weak smile as the desert wind caressed his neck, coaxing the small hairs to rise. The mesquite rustled above their heads, almost like it was making it known that it agreed.Rest, my friend.
“I love you,” Lulu whispered against Xavi’s lips.
“I love you, too,cisne.” And Lulu felt Xavi’s smile in every word. “So much.”
“I know.” Hedidknow. Now he knew. It had taken Lulu decades to see it, to understand how someone as perfect as Xavi could love someone like him. But he did understand it now. Because Xavi wasn’t perfect. No one was. But they were perfect for each other, evening out each other’s scars, righting each other’s wrongs, just like the mesquite was perfect for the harsh, dry New Mexican soil.
“You ready to go back inside, baby?” Xavi hummed, then pressed a dry kiss against Lulu’s mouth.
“A few more minutes. Just hold me for a few more minutes.” He kissed Xavi back, deepening the kiss as he coaxed Xavi’s lips to separate for his tongue.
“Okay,” Xavi spoke, inviting Lulu in. “Okay,” he drawled as his fingers dug into Lulu’s shoulders, his tongue dipping out to meet Lulu’s. Lulu sighed as he closed his eyes, surrendering to the one man who would always mean safety and love and home. Even miles away from their real home, under a honey mesquite, next to a worn swing in the vast New Mexican desert, Lulu was home.
Epilogue
Xavi
