I've always been a morning person. Today is no exception. I wander to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I go back to the room and find Hart still sleeping on the couch.

"Hey," I shake him by the shoulder. Hart wakes up reluctantly. He doesn't even try to smooth his disheveled hair and goes to the bathroom. Mom calls for breakfast. Hart seems to want to refuse, but I leave him no escape route.

"Dad talked to Mr. Murray. He brought his pickup truck here early this morning. You can take the bike away. And don't forget to return the car today." From her look, I know that I have to go with Hart. I don't really like this idea, but I don't show it.

We get the motorcycle in the back of the pickup truck and drive away. Hart is behind the wheel, naturally. His hand is bandaged but seems ok. We turn on a deserted street, and Hart slows down and stops. He gets out of the car. I watch him in silence. I never know what can get into his head!.. Hart opens the door from my side.

"Move," he says.

"What?" I do not understand.

"You drive from here," he looks at me stubbornly.

"Why all of a sudden?"

"Move," repeats Hart. "My arm hurts," he says softer.

What is he up to?!

I will not move. No force in the world will make me drive. Moreover, Hart. No. No. No!

"I don't think your arm hurts so badly," I say, not taking my eyes off him.

"How would you know? You weren't trying to hold the bike."

"I was actually on it too!"

"And you don't have a scratch!"

"So, it's your fault that you do!"

"And you've been saved by an angel."

The mockery in Hart's voice strikes down to the core. I silently push him away and get out of the car. For a long time, I hear his voice as I'm walking back home. But I don't turn around. It hurts.

It took me half an hour to get home. Mom was not happy that I let Hart take the car of our wonderful neighbor. I didn't have the strength to convince her of Hart's integrity, I just wanted to be alone.

I go outside. The sky is clear, and the sunlight floods the mowed lawns and paved paths. I slowly walk along the sidewalk to the forged gates of the cemetery.

I find the right place without difficulty. I think I would have found it with my eyes closed.

Here is the name, and the lifetime, very short, on a stone slab. I lay the flowers and sit on the grass. This is how I spent the first three months after your death. I was here every day. And I spoke to you, and cried, and waited for something. I begged you to return, asked for forgiveness, and then accused you of betrayal. I whispered to you how much I loved you and how much I needed you. It seemed to me that I could not live on, that it shouldn't be so. But I didn't die. I stayed here.

I wish I was dead instead of you. I was behind the wheel. I wasn't fast enough, wasn't careful enough. That crash was because of me. Your death is on me. No one can prove me otherwise. Nor the police report, nor my parents, nor even your parents... I just should have hit the brake.

For a long time, my parents were afraid that I would not be able to stand it and follow you. And I'm not saying that I didn't want to. But somehow it seemed to me that death would not reunite us.

And there was something else... I was ashamed to admit it, but... at times, I wanted to live... I desperately wanted my life back...

Despite this tremendous feeling of guilt, like a granite tombstone, I wanted to live. I just didn't know how to live with this guilt. And how to live without you.

Three months later, the melancholy became unbearable, and I ran away. I wanted to keep all the memories of you. I wanted to live in them, but I couldn't even be in my room. I couldn't look at your photos. I just shut it all down and began to return to myself. I found a compromise between my guilt and my desire to live. I thought I would just love you forever. This way I could let myself live. Live for you.

But the compromise didn't last... I went on dates only to prove myself that you are still my one and only. I turned everyone down and felt that I was doing the right thing. That I was still loyal. That was until I met Hart... And could I pick a more wrong guy?! I feel so ashamed.

I think I can hide here. And yet I question myself...

Should I live while I live? Will you forgive me for not keeping my promise to love you alone for the rest of my days?.. Even if it's Hart who made me break my vow?

I did not notice the dusk fell.

"Have you staked out a place for yourself?"

At first, I can't believe my ears. Is it a ghost?..

Hart walks between the gravestones. And here he invaded too. I get to my feet as if I'm about to defend myself.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Your mother said where to find you."

"This is not the answer to my question."

"I returned the car." Hart stops not far away from me and glances at your tombstone.

"Again, this is not the answer to my question."

But Hart is silent.

"Could it be that you suddenly wanted to apologize to me?" Maybe I should not talk to him like that, but he is in my territory now.

"I thought you'd wanna thank me," he says without batting an eye.

Is he serious? Hart got some guts, that's for sure.

"For the shock therapy when you tried to make me drive?! You'd make a lousy psychologist," I say.

"And you are a perfect whiner."

This hurts. I try to leave, but Hart stops me in the aisle.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" He asks more calmly.

"It's none of your business."

"You think the dead man care for you mourning?" Hart continues.

"Are you going to teach me how to live now?" I ask in disbelief. "Maybe you need to sort your shit out first?!"

"Well, I'm at least honest. I'm not playing a good boy with high morals while drooling over a man walking out of the shower."

Air gets stuck in my throat.

"It's not your damn business. I moved out! You don't have to worry about my drooling anymore!" I make another attempt to leave, but Hart grabs my arm.

"You think you're better than me, right? You have this pity in your eyes every time you look at me, and I hate it!" he says harshly. I look at him silently. "Or... it's not pity?" he tilts his head. I still don't answer. His grip on my arm tightens. "I think I was wrong about yesterday. About your wish." Hart pauses and moves closer. "You're right. I owed you thanks for everything you did for me." His tone is mocking. Hart grabs my neck. I don't have time to do anything, I don't even have time to understand anything as Hart kisses me.

His kiss is persistent, rough. Again, nothing like you. I try to push him away, but he doesn't release me for a few more seconds. Hope you haven't seen this...

Finally, I break free and punch Hart in the face.

"Your mother was right," I say angrily. "You're a damn faggot."

When I find myself in my room, I hate myself for saying that. I am hurt and ashamed and God knows what other feelings are raging inside me. I can't figure them out. I can't understand myself.

For the first time since the day you died, I feel such pain. And I'll be damned... but this pain is not for you.