I stare at the words—lyrics, for once—feeling the darkness coming. Clouds that were always there on the horizon, a storm I could ignore if I just turned my back and faced the other way. Faced into the sunshine.

Into the light.

Marina is that light I faced into.

I was happily blinded.

“Hey,” Scooby says from the doorway, munching on cherry tomatoes straight out of the container.

I blink, trying to dispel that horrible, aching, clawing feeling, and come back to earth, back to normal. “Let me guess, you have an interesting fact about tomatoes?”

“No, just saying hello,” he says, popping one in his mouth. “No wait, I do. Did you know that the scientific name for tomato is Lycopersicon lycopersicum which means ‘wolf peach’?”

I stare at him blankly. “How do you remember that? I swear, the more pot you smoke the smarter you get.”

“I know!” he exclaims. “That’s what I tried to tell my mother when I was in high school but she kicked me out of the house instead. So when are you going to the gay pride parade?”

That last bit would normally sound odd but the fact is, today I’m picking up Noah and taking him to the parade in West Hollywood. This year the parade has sort of morphed into a resistance march, so now Marina wants to come too.

Of course all of this will be unbeknownst to my mum and Daryl. I’m telling them I’m just taking Noah to the beach. Then we’ll swing by Marina’s and pick her up after she’s done one of her live hive removals and Noah can get ready for the parade there. He’s just a spectator but he wants to say something by dressing up, whatever that may be.

“I should probably get going anyway,” I say, getting to my feet. I’ve donned a T-shirt with a rainbow steamroller graphic on it by The Oatmeal out of support.

“So, how is it going with your giiiiiiirlfriend?” Scooby asks like he’s ten years old.

“Good,” I tell him.

Because it has been good.

It’s been better than good.

We’ve been together for a few weeks now and, honestly, it’s been the best weeks of my life. Ever since New York, I’ve been living a dream, on a high that never ends, floating over the clouds, basking in the sunshine. I’ve never, ever had this connection with anyone before, never been so infatuated, so obsessed. I just want to be with her night and day, inside her bed, inside her, finding myself, my place in this world.

Marina has become my sanctuary, a place for my heart to be at rest, sheltered from the elements.

And she loves me.

She loves me.

She hasn’t said it much since that night at the show, in the bathroom, after our fight. I know she’s shy about it, tentative, because I have yet to say it back. But it means the world to me that she’s given me her heart.

I just…I’m finding it harder and harder to not be scared by the whole thing. It’s that insidious undercurrent that lurks beneath everything bright and new and happy. I’m scared that what she feels for me, I’ll never be able to give back to her. And I’m scared that when she realizes that, she’s going to leave me.

These are probably normal fears to have. I’ve just never been so wrapped up in someone before, I wouldn’t know how normal they are. Is this what it’s like in any relationship when you really care about someone? Being friends with Marina before we got together made it so she knows me inside and out, as much as I can give, and is still there for me, by my side. I just don’t see how I can deserve someone like her.

And yet I have her.

I have her big, gorgeous, red heart.

I have her open and giving soul.

I have her mind and body and every little piece of magic that she’s put together with.

I have her and yet I feel like I’m barely holding on.

She’s slipping through my fingers like sand.

And she doesn’t even know it.

“You all right?” Scooby asks warily. “You seem more dark and moody and tortured-writer than usual.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, squeezing past him in the door way and heading down the hall, grabbing my keys from the hook.

“Maybe you need more lycopene in your diet,” he says, waving the tomatoes around.

Seriously, I’ve never met a stoner who ate so many vegetables when he got the munchies.

I get in my car and head out to the Murdock compound.

Along the way my thoughts begin to drift. I think about Marina.

I think about what's next for us.

I think about what's usually next for me at this point.

But there's never been a point like this for me before.

All those girls I've dated, none of them mattered in the end and they didn't matter because I didn't want them to matter. I just wanted the company. I wanted someone by my side, someone who was dependable. That's what my girlfriends became, someone to count on, a warm body in my bed, a presence in my life. Growing up, I never had that. With them, I did.

But I kept my heart safe, I never invested. I never opened up. I never shared the real me with them. I never even came close.

It was the only way I could not be rejected.

That's not saying I was always the one doing the dumping.

Two girls I dated (no, not at the same time), Carlee and Jill, they dumped me way before I had a chance to do the same to them.

I know that sounds extremely callous but it's the truth.

Only I didn't mind. I didn't mind because I didn't care. I had pushed them away from me from the start, kept my distance, and some women know when they want more and know when they won’t get more. I knew that the sex and company they provided would eventually be taken up by someone else. If you don't invest your heart in someone, you don't get hurt.

It worked well for me.

It worked well until I fell head over heels for Marina.

Now, this was someone I cared about deeply, more than anyone else in my life. This time, there was a big, terrible chance that I could get ruined by her, by us. That every fear, every scabbed over emotional wound would become raw again.

I have no playbook anymore. I have no game plan. There is no experiment. I wish I could just let us take it one day at a time and stop thinking about the future. Just enjoy the sex, the company, the intimacy that both soothes and startles me.

That's what I've been trying to do but each day I'm with her, I'm so...sunk. Just in her, underneath her, that I can't even see straight. Can't think straight.

And those words, those beautiful words.

"I love you."

The more they mean to me, the scarier it gets. The more I want to run.

But I can't. I can't do that to her. I can't do that to the person I care about most.

I won't...

Traffic is light so I get to the house a bit early, heading through the gates and parking in the guest parking spot.

I knock on the door and to my surprise it's answered by my mother, not Rosalie.

"Are you the help now?" I ask her, joking.

My mother gives me a tight smile in return. Obviously not in the mood for jokes. But when is she ever?

"Come on in," she says. "Rosalie has the day off."

"Wow, you let your help have days off? You're so generous."

"Don't be snide, Lazarus," she warns me with a sigh.

"Never. Where is Noah?"

She points above her to his room. "In the shower. I'm afraid he just stepped in so you're looking at a bit of a wait. I don't want to know why his showers are so long but I'm going to assume it's normal for a kid his age, right?"

The comment bothers me. Not because it's weird to hear her talk about Noah that way, but because she doesn't know what is normal. If she had been a regular mother and not sent me off to boarding school, then maybe she'd have some idea of what teenage boys are like.

"What?" she says to me, frowning as she closes the door behind us.

"Nothing," I tell her. "Just find it funny that you did have a fourteen-year old boy at some point, if you remember."

She exhales, almost rolling her eyes. "I don't want to hear it Laz, I've had a hell of a day. Do you want a cup of brew?"

I nod and follow her into the kitchen. The place is massive and cold and all stainless steel. I sit down at the marble bar top while she puts the kettle on and goes about getting the proper teacups, saucers, spoons.

"Seriously though, mum," I say, "Why did you send me away to boarding school?"

"Laz," she says tiredly. Her back is to me as she fishes out Orange Pekoe, so I can't read her face but I'm guessing she looks inconvenienced as always. "You always ask this."

"I have never asked this," I say, adamant. "And if I ever have, maybe because you never give me a straight answer."

"Many children go to boarding school. I went to boarding school when I was young and I loved it. You know it’s common in England."

"Mum, you told me your parents were abusive." She had never gone into details before but it certainly explained a lot, such as why she married my father to start with and why she fell in love with Daryl.

"Yes, well, that was normal too. Look, Lazarus, I don't know what you're getting at. So you went to boarding school? You had a great time, didn't you?"

I laugh, the sound sour. "Great time? Are you kidding me? I made the best out of a bad situation. Mum, I was sent away to live elsewhere for most of my teenage years. I rarely saw you, rarely even heard from you. It’s like I ceased to exist."

She hesitates as she puts the tea in the cups. "That's the time you should be sent away. That's when you need, no, want separation from your parents."

"I didn't," I tell her, my voice rising. The anger inside me is taking me by surprise. "I didn't want that at all. I wanted to be at home with you...mum I just wanted to...I just wanted to be loved. Why couldn't you just love me?"

My words have the same impact as a bomb. It's blasted away whatever pretenses we had around each other and the silence falls like ash.

My mother leans against the counter, her shoulders rise and fall, and that's when I notice how skinny she has gotten. The vertebrae on her back is practically sticking out of her back. "Please..." she says softly. "I said I had a rough day."

"Well I'm sorry there isn't a good fucking time to talk about this!"

Her head snaps around and she glares at me over her shoulder. "You watch your mouth around me, young man. Do you want to know why we sent you to boarding school? Because we didn't know what to do with you. Better yet, I didn't. I was your only parent, your father never showed up. He was just furniture. Horrible, ugly furniture."

I'm having a hard time swallowing. "You didn't know what to do with me?" I repeat. "Why...I was just a kid."

"You were trouble Lazarus. If you ask me, you haven't grown out of it either."

I honestly don't know what she's talking about.

"I wasn't trouble..."

"You stole candy from the store down the street when you were eight years old. At eleven I caught you drinking your father's gin. At thirteen you were taking my razors and making marks up and down your arm."

Fuck. Jesus. She remembers that. "Every...a lot of kids do that. It’s not right but it’s common. It’s a cry for help. Maybe it's what I did in order to deal with the pain."

"What pain?"

'The pain of having a father like mine. He hit you. He hit me. He abused us. Inside and outside. You know he did."

"He never did such a thing."

"I didn't imagine it!" I yell, getting off my stool. "He did it and you know it."

"Your father was a drunk."

"I know. That was another thing. There were so many things, how could you not understand that as a young kid I didn't know how to deal with it. I still don't. Not even in the slightest."

She waves me away with her hand. "You're trying to make me feel guilty for something he did."

"I am not. I'm just telling you why these things happened. You can't pretend he didn't leave us, mum."

"He left you, Laz," she says stiffly, her jaw firm as she looks at me. "You were the reason your father left."

Cold. Inside me there is nothing but cold. A wasteland. Frozen tundra.

My heart died the day when I learned it wasn't enough.

My heart died the day when love ceased to save me.

I don't know why the words are coming in my head right now, but they are. They are and they're real.

I can't believe this is happening.

"Mum," I manage to say, my stomach churning with the poison in her words. "Why did he leave because of me?"

She looks away, walks over to the kettle which is now boiling over. "He was afraid of you."

"Why?"

"He was afraid that you would love him. I was afraid of it too. You never should have done such a thing."

I am dumbfounded by this. None of it makes any sense, it sounds like the rantings of a loon.

And yet, at the same time, they reach deep inside me. They check all the boxes.

I was always there for my father. He would be a piece of shit and I was there, playing with the Magic 8 Ball, I was there giving him fake gin, I was there cleaning up after him. I did all the things my mother didn't want to do. Good cop, bad cop. I was the good cop.

And my father didn't like that. Didn't think he deserved it. Or maybe just didn't want what I was giving.

My love was unwarranted. It was wrong.

It chased him away.

Everything inside me sinks, like the very fabric of my soul, what I knew about myself, is plummeting to its death.

My mother just told me my father left us because I loved him when I shouldn't have.

What the actual fuck?

"Lazarus," she says to me, pouring the hot water in the delicate china with so much ease it's like we're not even having this discussion at all. "You wanted the truth and there you have it. It was easier to send you away than deal with you. Of course I missed you. Any mother would. But with the way you were acting, the way you made your father feel, it was for the best that you stay far away from us."

"Then why did he leave in the end," I say quietly. "Why go when I was never even there?"

She shrugs and her expression, for once, is pained. "I honestly don't know Laz. I guess he just didn't love you like a good father should. But you know it was for the best, didn't you? It was the best for the both of us."

I don't know what to believe anymore. This has thrown me for a loop.

I feel like everything I know about myself is being rewritten, all my history, and I don't know what kind of person I'll become once it's all been processed.

"Hey," Noah says, his voice cautious.

I look up to see him hanging awkwardly by the entrance to the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his purple backpack slung over his shoulder, hair wet from the shower and now a bright purple to match the bag. It takes me a few moments to snap back to this reality, the reason I'm here to begin with.

Right. Noah. Gay pride. Marina.

Marina.

She sure picked the wrong fucking guy to fall in love with.

I clear my throat. "Hey. Ready to go?"

"I just made you tea," my mother protests.

"I lost my appetite," I tell her with barely a glance in her direction and I stride past Noah, heading for the door.

Once outside I have this urge to run. Just start running and don't stop until I'm on the ground, panting, wheezing, completely spent.

But I don't. Noah holds me back.

"What did I just interrupt?" he asks, trailing after me as we head to the car. "Or do I want to know?"

"You don't want to know," I tell him. And now, more than ever, I'm acutely sorry for Noah. Not only does he have to have Daryl as a father, he has to have my mother as his stepmother. If she's like that with me, her own flesh and blood, I can't imagine what it feels like to not be related.

“Are we going to your girlfriend’s first? I need to get ready,” he says.

“Yeah.” My voice sounds distant, even in my own head.

“Are you sure you’re okay, dude?” Noah asks. “You’re vampire pale right now.”

I manage to swallow. I need to snap out of it. I’m doing this to support Noah. It’s supposed to be a fun day as well as an important one. It means something to him.

But I’m not sure this is something I can sweep under the rug. The scars are too deep now. It’s a feeling, a sharp pain, that I can’t quite escape.

My father didn’t love me.

My father was afraid of my love.

My love scared him.

My love wasn’t good enough.

I’m not good enough.

When I pull up outside of Marina’s, I barely even remember driving. One minute I was at Noah’s, the next I’m parking outside of Havisham’s.

Speaking of, she’s peering through her blinds at me. You’d think after all this time with Marina, nearly every day, she would be used to me.

Does it matter? The thought comes into my head. You won’t be here long.

And then the thought leaves, leaving me rattled.

“Hey guys,” Marina’s clear, beautiful voice comes ringing out and I look to see her on the other side of the gate, poking her head over and grinning. “Come on in. Hey Noah,” she says to him. “Love your hair.”

“Thanks!” he says brightly.

We walk through the gate and instinctively I bend over and kiss Marina on the cheek.

“You okay?” she asks me, hand on my chest, peering at me intently. “You look ill.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her, not meeting her eyes. This is not the time for the discussion. Perhaps there will never be a good time for it. Probably for the best. She doesn’t have to know that I am, deep down, inherently unlovable. I’m sure she’ll figure that out for herself soon enough.

“He’s being a weirdo,” Noah says.

“Well he’s my weirdo,” Marina tells him with a proud smile. “That’s why we work so well together. If I have a bit of advice for you Noah, it’s you need to find your weirdo. Once you do, everything else falls into place.”

“I’m not actually on the market for a weirdo,” Noah says smartly. “But I do want to find my own brand of weird.”

“Find your weirdo, embrace your weird,” Marina says. “It’s all good. Now let’s get you inside and have a little fashion show. How many outfits did you pack?”

Noah rolls his eyes. “Only one. I’m not interested in wearing feather boas. I just want to feel a part of something bigger than me.”

“You have a smart brother, Laz,” Marina says to me but her smile is starting to falter, just a bit. I know it’s because she’s picking up on what I’m putting out there. It takes a lot of strength to return the smile and pretend that everything’s fine.

But I try. I try for her sake, I try for Noah’s. I tell myself that the conversation I just had with my mother didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t anything that I didn’t know deep down. It was just out in the open and I should be glad, happy even, that the elephant in the room was finally dealt with.

It was dealt with by a shotgun blast to the heart.

Noah was right when he said he wasn’t wearing feather boas. He’s wearing a shirt that says “Save a gay, punch a Nazi” and has tried to fix his purple hair into a Mohawk. Without Knox gelatin though, it’s more like floppy spikes. But hey, it’s cool.

Marina has made rainbow streaks in her hair by dusting different colored eyeshadows in sections and is wearing a shirt with Rosie the Riveter on it and jeans.

“Let’s go show some love,” she says excitedly but there’s something off about her tone. Noah wouldn’t pick up on it, but I do.

I know her so well.

My sweet girl.

Far too good and sweet for the likes of me.

She needs someone who can match her heart, can give back what she gives. Who can love without limits, love without conditions. Someone who loves her the very way she deserves to be loved.

Because Marina, of all people, is deserving of the biggest love possible. She’s deserving of someone who deserves her mind, body, heart and soul.

What I’m realizing today, with horrible clarity, is that someone is probably not me.