Page 61 of The Deviation

I’m alone still. The man beside me might have managed to wrest my heart from safety, perhaps I’ve even gained a piece of his in compensation, but that’s as far as I’ve allowed us to go.

The concerns I have about my job are real. They aren’t an exaggeration. Solving that conflict isn’t as simple as looking for a job with a new company. Without a university degree in entertainment management, I don’t exactly shine on a resume. My experience at Rush is all I have to recommend me. I need time to establish myself as a manager, and develop a track record, before I can think about applying elsewhere. Even then, Fifth Circle’s contract is with Rush. I wouldn’t be able to take them with me. The idea of anyone else managing them triggers every protective instinct I possess and a soft, growly sound rumbles out of me.

Johnny looks my way. “Everything okay?”

Clearing my throat, I tuck my legs closer to my side and further away from him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He seems unconvinced, but turns his attention back to the screen, nonetheless.

I try to do the same, but I’ve already lost the thread of the plot. My concentration is shot, and my head is all tangled up with the questions Hannah has forced me to face.

If Johnny had been exactly the person he claimed to be the night we met, a pharmacist who happened to be at a music festival, would I be here right now? With no obstacles to keep us apart, but no ties forcing us together, would I have allowed myself to fall for him? Would I have been willing to get close to him in all the ways I’ve refused to do with others? Or would I have found another excuse to keep him at a distance?

Am I using my job, a very real but ultimately temporary obstacle, to avoid having to take the scarier, more fundamentalrisk of loving him—out loud, in the world, where he could change his mind and leave me behind?

A ping sounds faintly beneath the sound of the movie and Johnny leans forwards to grab his phone from the table. Reading the incoming text, he collapses back with a sigh.

“Problem?” I ask.

“No.” A second sigh contradicts the singular word. He types out a quick reply before tossing the phone back onto the table. “Just my mum, confirming I’ll be over there for lunch on Sunday. As if I’m ever not there every other Sunday, as expected.” He goes back to watching the movie, but his arms are now crossed. His jaw clenched.

“I take it you don’t want to go?”

“I do want to go,” he says, even as he shakes his head. “They’re my parents. I love them.” He turns his body towards me, folding his legs up onto the couch. “I’m just tired of answering the same questions the same way. Yes, work is fine. No, I haven’t met any nice women. Yes, I am saving, but no, I don’t want to go into massive amounts of debt buying my own pharmacy, even if it would make me more successful in their eyes.”

He falls silent and I have no idea what to say. This is usually the part where I pull away, not wanting to get involved in anyone else’s drama when I have enough of my own to contend with. But I don’t want to pull away from Johnny. Not when he’s hurting. I sit up straighter, move a touch closer. “That sounds like a lot.”

“Yeah,” he says with a hollow laugh. “You know, they asked about the new album last time I went over.” His face twists with bitterness. “They didn’t want to know how many streams or if it was well-received. They only wanted to know if the release was interfering with my hours at the pharmacy.” There’s another laugh, and it’s so filled with sadness the sound makes my chest ache. “It’s probably for the best they’ll never listen to it,” he says, softly. “I don’t want them to hear…”

The song he wrote about them. The same one Hannah sang the day I interrupted them. It did make it onto the album, and she fell all over herself in excitement when she saw her own name listed beside his in the credit for the lyrics. What would Johnny’s parents think if they heard it? Would they recognise themselves in the words? Would they finally see how deep his guilt over letting them down runs?

“Anyway,” Johnny says, shifting in his seat, “it is, what it is. Still better to have parents than not, right?”

My gaze snaps to his. His eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, Cal,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “I know what you meant.”

We stare at each other. His throat moves as he swallows. “Do you think you might ever want to talk about what happened?” The question is hesitant, as if he’s scared I’ll be upset with him for asking me to share something so personal. Even after all the times he’s shared himself with me. His past with Ellie. The issues he had being a bisexual man in a heterosexual relationship. Now, with his parents. He has given of himself, time and again, especially in these last few months. While I’ve continued to hold back, as always.

I’m so tired of holding back. I’m tired of putting obstacles between us. I’m tired of being alone. If I’m ever going to move forwards with my life, the way Hannah has started to do with hers, I’ll have to be brave enough to risk getting hurt again.

There’s still no guarantee this will amount to anything. Johnny has never once changed his tune about there being no future for us. In this moment, though, it’s my reluctance to commit that’s in the spotlight.

How can I ever expect him to risk his future, if I’m not willing to risk mine?

Leaning over, I push mute on the TV remote before pressing myself back into the corner of the couch. I draw my legs up infront of me and wrap my arms around them. The coloured lights from the screen flicker across Johnny’s face in the otherwise darkened room. He’s still, patient, as he waits for me to crack open the parts of myself I’ve always kept hidden. My breath comes fast in my chest and my stomach is a riot of butterflies. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

Johnny moves slowly, sitting closer to me, placing a warm hand over one of mine as his brown eyes travel over me. “When was the last time you saw them?”

“The day after I graduated high school,” I say with a nod. It’s as good a place to start as any. “They told us they were going on a holiday, just for a week. A quick getaway before the rush of Christmas.” I shrug a shoulder. “It was something they would do sometimes. Take off. Hannah and I didn’t even blink. We were excited to have a week without them nagging us to do chores or turn the music down or stay in our rooms so we didn’t bother them.” Even that last part seemed normal to us growing up. “We smiled and waved as they drove away.

“When they were late getting home, we called them, but they didn’t answer. We sent a bunch of texts and finally they responded saying they’d decided to extend their trip for another week. Then another. We ran out of food and the bit of money they’d left us, so I called demanding to know when they were coming home.

“Dad answered that time. He told me to use some of the money I’d earned from part-time jobs to tide us over, and they’d pay me back when they came home.” Anger coils in my gut as I remember the exasperation in his tone, as if my complaints were an annoyance. “Christmas came and went. They’d never been gone so long. Hannah called them every day, begging them to come home. They rarely picked up, and when they did the calls never lasted long. They acted like we were a couple of toddlers throwing tantrums and why would they want to come back tothat. So, we stopped calling for a while. We thought it might help. Then the letter arrived.”

I pause to swallow. The movement hurts my throat. “It was handwritten, both his writing and hers. They said they needed a longer break. That we were old enough to take care of ourselves for a while. The letter came with a pre-paid Visa card with a couple of thousand dollars on it. A month later, the landlord called to find out why the rent was late. They’d stopped paying it.” My voice breaks on the words, and I stop to clear my throat. “The next time we called them, their numbers had been disconnected.”

Johnny’s hands are clamped around mine. “What did you do?”