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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Scarlet F - 16. Chapter 16 - Two Roads Diverged in a Wood

"My mom's gone again." I simply yelled out walking into Matt's living room.

He got up and wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me close to him. I returned wrapping my arms his neck.

"I'm so sorry Jamie." He started slightly rocking me.

I grabbed on tight and sniffed into his shoulder. I'm not going to go all cheesy and say "all problems vanished away", because they didn't...but Matt holding me gave me a feeling of great warmth. I could even describe it as a feeling of ecstasy. I was so caught up in that feeling that I didn't notice that Alfreda had been standing behind me the whole time.

Matt released me. Then Alfreda gave me another however not as warm of a hug.

"I'm sorry." she said, "Do you want to talk to Matthew about it?" she shifted her eyes, "You want me to leave?"

I shook my head, "No. You don't do have to leave Alfreda."

I sat down on the couch.

"Everything was going just fine and then..."

I took a look at Matt and Alfreda were sitting on either side of me. I made the decision that it would be better to leave some of the information out. I was wrong about my mom having unconditional love for me. I didn't want to take that chance with Matt and Alfreda.

"I woke up this morning and she was gone."

They both nodded.

"So would you like to spend the night here?" Matt asked.

"Yea, sure." I nodded.


***

Mrs. Edwards ordered pizza in an attempt to make it "fun night", I appreciated her for trying. Mary talked the most at dinner. Matt and I couldn't help laughing at how little girls could go on a rant.

I couldn't sleep that night. Matt and I were lying in his bed talking. We chatted about my mother and our memories of her.

I told him how my mom and I watched soap operas. How we gave each other fashion advice. How we gossiped about the women in our building.

I thought to myself, OH MY GOD! HOW COULD WE HAVE NOT SEEN THAT I WAS SO GAY BACK THEN?

"I guess in some ways we were in our little world," I told Matt.

"Yea," he yawned.

It was easy to see that Matt was tried, but he was trying to keep wake for me.

"You want to go to sleep?"

He blinked and yawned again, "No. No, you need to talk so I'll stay up with you."

I looked at him sweetly. "It's okay Mac. We can go to sleep now."

And just like that, he fell asleep. Dead sleep. I watched him for a minute. That weird little snore had really grown on me.

I just looked at him whispering to myself, "I wish we could land in some magical world where things could be simpler."

***
For the rest of the summer. I applied for a few writing scholarships that Tony told me about. It was now going to be my senior year. About a week after school started, I was walking into the lobby of our building, what I found was...shocking.

I recognized him from pictures. His dark thick hair...and his Esposito blue eyes. Part of me wanted to be excited and curious. Part of me was angry and confused. But all of me was shocked.

I mustered up my breath to run into his face and yelled, "What are you doing here?"

And Brian just stared at me.

Copyright © 2019 Another Gay Writer; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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