They were quiet for a while, then Wyatt moved back to rest against Izzy. It felt like absolution.
“You don’t do drugs now, though, do you?”
“Just weed.” Izzy hated the way Wyatt flinched a little. “I got sober in prison. It wasn’t easy. You’d think there are no drugs inside.” Izzy huffed. “I actually knew some guys who got hooked in the prison instead of outside. Like, whatever gets you through, I guess.”
“What got you through it?” Wyatt traced patterns on Izzy’s stomach with his fingertips. Even through his hoodie he could feel them clearly and held onto the connection with everything he had.
“I worked out, I read, I kept my head down and stayed out of trouble. They let me out on good behavior after four years.”
“How much did you have left?”
“Two. But the overpopulation and all…I don’t know. I never want to go back inside and I don’t want anything to do with the guys I ran with before.” Izzy swallowed hard and blinked back some emotion that bubbled up from his chest. “I want to have a future. A good one. A family, maybe, one day.”
Suddenly a coyote bark-howled somewhere surprisingly nearby, and both of them jumped.
“Holy shit!” Izzy gasped, and they both started to laugh.
“That was close. Maybe we should go?” Wyatt sounded reluctant.
“Yeah, I think so.” As they got to their feet, Izzy asked, “Are we okay?”
Wyatt picked up the lantern while Izzy folded the blanket.
They started to walk toward the path when Wyatt finally spoke. “Yeah. I’m not going to lie and say I like that you used drugs. That’s…that’s such a big deal in my family. Like, it’s a huge thing for us. I get weed for anxiety, but anything more than that…”
“It’s a deal breaker for you,” Izzy stated, not even making it a question.
“Yes,” Wyatt replied anyway, as he reached to take Izzy’s hand.
Something that had been trying to squeeze his chest eased at the touch.
“I would never do anything to jeopardize this,” he said, squeezing Wyatt’s fingers. “Not that I’d do drugs even if you weren’t in the picture. I’m done with that life.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said quietly. “I believe you.”
It meant more than Izzy could ever express.
“I think we should find a way to figure out how to tell your family about us,” Izzy found himself saying.
Wyatt stopped walking and turned to him, watching him carefully. “Oh?” With the shadows and the light of the lantern dancing so much, Izzy couldn’t read his expression at all.
“Yes. This is real. We might be new, Wyatt, but this is real.”
The smile that lit up Wyatt’s features then couldn’t have been missed, dark woods or not. He leaned up to kiss Izzy soundly, then smiled again. “We’ll figure out how. Soon.”
“Okay. That’s a deal.”
* * * *
Couple of days later, Izzy had felt weird as he lay in bed. He didn’t have problems with falling asleep these days, but something kept him awake now.
He watched an old episode of Buffy, then tried again. This time, he woke up with a start to an old, familiar feeling. Panic was clawing at his throat, and he knew he’d had a nightmare, even though he couldn’t remember it.
He got up, trying to breathe as normally as he could while he was still in control, and went to get his old backpack from his closet. With shaking hands, he got out the tin where he had his weed and rolling papers, and his old lighter.
He pulled on a hoodie and sneaked out of the trailer, rounding the corner to sit on a nearby boulder. He could do this in his sleep, shaky as he felt. He quickly rolled a joint, wondering how much of the feeling of relief was about the routine, the feeling of the paper and the dried plant in his fingers.
He finally lit his joint and took in a deep puff, then held it in, trying his best to think past his burning lungs. The longer he went without, the more it hurt, but there was still a grounding effect in that hurt too, he supposed.
