I physically cringed briefly at the word “friend”. But I shook it off; she really had no idea what was happening. “I got a call from him saying he wanted me to come back here.” Suddenly his words made sense. “He didn’t want me to come home. He wanted me to come back.” I stopped and looked to Alyssa, who was clearly holding back tears. “But…what’s Alyssa doing here?”

“She came home a few weeks ago. I assumed Dad had something to do with it.”

“He did.”

We both glanced down at Alyssa, who was now shaking. A quiet, muffled sound caught in her throat, which tensed several times while she continued to cry. “What did he do?” I asked nervously.

“I didn’t want you to – t - ” Alyssa gasped, putting her hand to her face. She was unable to speak anymore.

“Hello, Adrian,” called my dad from the stairs.

“What did you do to Alyssa?!” shouted my stepmom.

“You wanted her back, right?” he asked, almost like he didn’t see the young girl crying right in front of him.

“Not like this, Dan.”

“Why did you do this, Dad?” I asked, pointing to the albums. I wanted him to prove me wrong. I so desperately wanted him to prove me wrong. But I knew in my gut that my answer was going to hurt. And he did answer me. It just wasn’t what I was thinking. Though you should’ve expected it, you idiot.

He walked straight passed me, around the table, and into the butler’s pantry. He disappeared for a few moments, then came back with a large box. Looking at him, I opened it, and every single photo of me was in there. Every school document, every doctor’s document, every letter I ever wrote to him when I was at camp was in there.

I swallowed hard. “Well, it was nice while it lasted, Mr. Murphy.” I stuck my hand out, but he didn’t take it. I dropped it. “Can I keep the last name?”

He turned and walked back into the butler’s pantry and produced a small, neatly stack set of papers, clamped together, which he placed in the box face down.

I took out a silver framed picture of me and Alyssa, and handed it to her. My dad took the photo, and placed it back into the box. I took the picture again. Dad reached out to take it, and I grabbed his wrist. “Whether you like it or not, she’s keeping this picture.” I twisted his wrist; a contorted pained look encompassed his face. “If you throw it out, I will come back, and break it.” I released his wrist. I took the box, and headed back to the front hall.

“Get out of my house,” he whispered, turning and heading towards the back of the house.

“Leaving so soon, fag?” Sam asked from family room.

I stopped. I needed to show them that I wasn’t in pain, even though I clearly was. I wanted to show them that I could live without them in my life at all. If this was the last time I’d see them, I wanted some form of resolution for the people I liked.

I walked back to my stepmom, who looked absolutely distraught at what just occurred, and held out my hand. “Thanks for everything.” She took my hand, held it for a moment, and hugged me. I went to Alyssa, who I hugged. “I’ll be here for your birthday, okay?” She smiled, despite the tears still running down her face. We hugged again. Sam and Dad both absent from the front hall, I picked up my bag and walked out of that house for the last time.

Ryan was pacing outside the car, fiddling with his phone in his hands. He didn’t react to seeing me carry my bag and the box as I walked back to Ryan’s car, my Dad’s car having been returned months ago. I tossed my bag into the back seat, and hopped into the front passenger seat with the box.

Ryan opened the front seat door, got in, but didn’t close it. “It went that badly, huh?”

I shook my head slowly, frowning. “You have no idea.” I gritted my teeth together. “No fucking idea at all.”

Apparently, I was crying. I didn’t feel the tears, though. I just felt numb all over.

“What happened?” he asked cautiously.

I handed him the box, refusing to look at him. He flipped through the stack of papers, frowned, and turned to me. I didn’t need to know what they said; his expression said everything.

Ryan hastily drove down the street, away from the home I had known for six years, and parked the car as I began to feel my mental collapse coming. He threw the box into the back seat, where it toppled and spilled its contents all over the floor, walked around the car, and pulled me into a tight hug while I felt limp as a wet noodle. “I’m so sorry, Adrian,” I remember hearing him whisper. He kissed the side of my head and continued to whisper, “I’m so, so sorry…”

Time apparently passed. I was numb, so I don’t remember what happened when we got back to Ryan’s house. If I cried after we got back to his house, I didn’t remember. That whole day turned into a blur.