Page 14 of Ruined

“But I was dragged into it,” he protests. “You left me. Don’t you think that affected me?”

“Of course it did. But you had your mother still.” If you knew the truth, I worried you might lose her, too. I seal my lips shut, not knowing how much of this story to tell, fearing again what I feared then.

His eyes glaze over with tears. “You said you’d keep in touch. Why did you lie? Why did you just cut us off?” His voice breaks, and a few tears leak out. He wipes furiously at his cheeks with the sleeves of his hoodie.

I want to hug him, even though I know I shouldn’t. Still, the desire is so strong that I open my arms, but I close them again just as quick. I reach out for his face instead, and the moment he realizes what I’m about to do, he takes a step back—rightfully so. Too close. Too soon.

I don’t deserve to touch him like that. I don’t even deserve to console him.

“Just answer the question, please,” he whimpers, and it breaks my heart.

He fights so hard against crying, to keep his voice steady, but it’s all for nothing. I want to say he doesn’t need to be strong for me, that I understand, but even saying that would be to upset him further, because I don’t understand everything. I don’t know everything he’s been through.

So I decide to tell half the truth. Half a lie.

“I couldn’t.” My stomach twists at my own cowardly words. “It was so painful to… to lose you as a son that it was easier to try to forget you. I’m so sorry.”

It doesn’t seem like the answer he wants to hear. He wipes at his tears once more and glares at me, eyes blazing. Even when he’s angry and hurt out of his mind, I can’t help but think he’s grown up to be a beautiful young man. Delicate but strong features, like the cupid’s bow at his upper lip, the long lashes around his hazel brown eyes, and the intensity in his gaze.

Beautiful—all of him is. And of course, his profile pictures on the app caught my eye. They were beautiful, too, with his lean torso, smooth skin, and dusty-pink nipples…

Don’t. I blink the images out of my head. Don’t think about him like that. Especially not now.

“How could you?” is all he gets out, teeth gritted and jaw tense. “How could you be so selfish?”

“I’m so sorry, Oliver.” I won’t dispute what he’s saying, but I’m not sure my apology was the right move either. He’s trembling harder than before, his whole little body shaking as he tries to hold back his tears.

“Did you even love me?” His whimpered words are like a stake through my heart.

“Of course I did.”

“Then how?” he whispers. “I don’t understand how.”

I don’t know what to say that won’t upset him further. I can’t tell him what really happened. Can’t tell him the truth. So what I end up saying is meant to protect him, to shut down the conversation, but I know it’s the opposite of what he wants to hear.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

His mouth drops open. “I’m already older! I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty in a few months.”

I can’t help the bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. His words do nothing but reveal how young he is. I remember what it was like to be that young—how often your mind changes, how sure and how unsure you are.

If he understood where I’m coming from, then he’d understand why I’m smiling. Instead, his face twists with rage, and he spits the three words that I deep down feared he would, full of hurt and bitterness and the impulsivity of a hurt nineteen-year-old boy.

“I hate you.”

“Oliver—”

“No.” He yanks his bike from the ditch, and before I have time to say anything else or unknowingly hurt him some other way, he pedals away furiously, leaving me alone under the bridge with all my thoughts and regrets, all my bittersweet memories, and the wish for things to be different.

At least we had the conversation that needed to be had. That’s my only solace. Now I need to wait again. Give him space. Even though I’d like to make things right as soon as I can, it’s not the right thing to do. When we meet again—if he even wants to see me again—it’ll be on his terms and his terms only.

With a heavy heart, I turn and make my way back to the car.

6. MAKING IT WEIRD

There’s a rock behind my elementary school that I used to climb as a child. Things are usually bigger when you’re young, so back then, it seemed gigantic—the largest boulder I’d ever seen. When I walked past it a few months ago, though, it looked like a regular old rock.

But he… he appeared giant when I was a kid, and he’s not any smaller now that I’m grown. Looking up at him when standing close made my neck hurt. So tall. So broad. Even though our conversation didn’t warrant such a thing at all, I couldn’t help the pull in the pit of my stomach. The forbidden need I’ve tried to suppress.