Page 247 of For the Fans

When I come back to Boston, it’ll be because I’m ready to face the world asme.

Gay. In love with my stepbrother. Sexual assault survivor. Football quarterback.Okay, that one didn’t change. But now I’ll be doing it for myself, instead of as a means to make my father less disgusted by me.

For the first few days on the road, I just drove. I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, just clearing my head and deciding on my next move. And a lot of it was intense, but also cathartic. I kept the music off and just cruised the streets with my ownthoughts. I let the stuff out that I never think about, and when things got heavy enough, I spoke the words out loud.

I cried. I laughed. I screamed. I pulled over a few times to get my bearings before I drove myself into a tree.

But as torturous as it was at times, I came out of it feeling a lot better.

It prepared me for the next part of my plan.

Two days ago, I ended up at a hotel near the Berkshires, which is a quaint and quiet place, especially in winter. I remember coming here on a camping trip when I was little. It was a lot of fun, and thinking back on the solitude of the mountains made me wish Avi was here even more.

We’ll have to go camping here in the spring.

That is, if he’s not still mad at me for leaving.

I have to assume that when Avi finds out how much good I’m doing for myself, he’ll understand. He’s always been that way, after all. He’s patient and caring, loving and supportive. Everything I need from my real family. And everything I need to understand why myactualfamily couldn’t give me that.

Settled in my room with a bag of fast food as my dinner—no more football until training camp, so I get to splurge—I allow myself to decompress from the day.

I had my first honest to God therapy session today, with a nice counselor named Anna. She’s very easy to talk to, which I appreciate. It was the first time I’ve ever opened up to someone face-to-face, regaling them with the entire story of my abuse.

I talked to someone on the phone my second night on the road, from the RAINN hotline. Honestly, I forget his name, because I was just so wound-up, almost manic, spilling my guts for the first time ever. And I’m talkingallthe details… The ones that still haunt me, coil me with nausea and anger and make me want to retreat into myself.

But I didn’t, and I’m proud of that.

It was after that conversation that I almost broke my rule and called Avi. I just want so badly to hear his voice. To tell him what good things I’m doing and hear his smile when he tells me he’s proud and he loves me.

But then I don’t want it to feel like I’m doing this stuff for his approval… Because I’m not. I’m doing it for me. So that I can have a relationship with him, and share things with him without being scared.

I’m still afraid it’ll terrify him. I know it’s dumb to think that, because of how supportive he’s been. But I just can’t help feeling like theideaof your boyfriend being sexually abused as a child and therealityof the gritty details are two very different things.

I also know that I don’thaveto tell him anything… He made that clear the night before I left. ButIwant to. I don’t want to hide or be ashamed of it.

Still, it’s like Anna said earlier… it’s a work in progress. My own acceptance comes first, and after that, I can worry about my partner’s, in however much time that takes.

Hesitantly lifting my phone from where it’s been resting on the bed, I power it back on. I’ve been keeping it off for the most part, because I don’t want to be tempted to read Avi’s gut-wrenching texts, or answer the phone when he calls. But more importantly, I’m purging myself of the desire to snap miscellaneous pics for Instagram… one of the coping mechanisms that’s kept me wrapped up snug in denial for years.

I’m not saying social media isbad… It’s just notreal. My entire account was full of pictures I posted to fit the fake image of myself. Shirtless workout pics, smiles and kisses with girls I didn’t really care about, sunsets and food… The happy, glamorous life of someone who never even existed.

I deleted them all.

I still have my account, but there are no current posts. Someday I’ll post something again… And when I do, it’ll be thetruth.

Imagining posting a picture of Avi and me kissing sends a flutter to my gut, and I bite my lip.I wonder what he’s doing right now…

Tapping on Instagram, I search for Avi’s profile. The one with only a handful of random posts, that I still believe he used mostly to cyber-stalk me. The thought has my lips curling into a smile that feelsreallyfreaking good.

I miss smiling for Avi. I miss laughing at his dumb jokes, and forcing scowls at him to cover up how truly witty and adorable I think he is.

When I pull up his profile, I find that he changed his name… FromAviVega420toBackwardz_Avi.

I purse my lips. I guess he’s just embracing it now… TheFans.

As far as I know, his Twitter is still inactive, and so is the OnlyFans. But this name change has me wondering if maybe he’ll start it up again, now that he doesn’t have school to worry about.

He wouldn’t… find a new business partner… would he?