Chapter Text
The words hang in the room like dark clouds, electricity crackling in their gray folds. A concoction of emotions courses through him, a punch of terror, a puff of relief, all underlined by anxiety, thick and heavy.
Victor’s stomach turns when he sees his parents’ expressions. His confession echoes around the room. They’d already been upset—maybe it wasn’t a good time, but if the world is ending as the Salazar family knows it, Victor couldn’t live with himself if the secret stayed buried. The weight on his shoulders slips away, replaced by an odd, hollow pit.
Still, he finds himself fighting a smile. The words were so foreign in his mouth, even though they’ve been ricocheting around his head since they came to Atlanta, since Texas. He’d actually said it, out loud.
“I’m gay.”
“Victor,” his father groans, head in his hands.
His mother’s lips are pursed, eyes brimming with shock, with fear. “I—I don’t understand,” she says and fidgets on the couch.
Pilar looks scared, breath held. She stares up at Victor, concerned but still angry.
“What about Mia? She’s… I don’t understand,” his mother repeats, light glinting against the tears welling up in her lids.
Victor shakes his head and looks down. “That’s…it’s complicated. I thought I liked her—I mean, I do like her. Just not like that.”
“What is this about?” his father says. His face shifts, juggling confusion, incredulous anger, despair. The world is caving in. “Is this because of what your mother and I just told you?”
Victor narrows his eyes. “Are you kidding?” he says as Pilar scoffs and glares at their father. “You think I’m making this up?”
“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about. Those boys, the ones who came to the party, they’ve put these—these ideas in your head.” The pitch and volume of his voice are on a steady incline.
Victor’s mother lays a tentative hand on his knee. “Mando, breathe,” she says, then looks back to Victor. “This…was a bad time to tell us this, mi amor,” she says. The words sting, almost as much as the guilt in her voice.
Victor shrugs and does a half turn toward his room. He’s crying now, tears dripping from his chin and onto his suit. “I was sick of hiding.” Victor brings his hand to his face and swipes at tears with his knuckles, but they won’t stop flowing. A reservoir has opened, long sealed shut, furious water racing through and out.
To his surprise, Pilar jumps from her seat and crosses the room. She grabs his arm and pulls him down the hallway. Their mother calls after them, “Wait!” but Victor doesn’t acknowledge the sound. Quick footsteps, door slam; before he knows it he’s on his bed, sobbing into Pilar’s shoulder. He trembles as it all breaks, poison siphoned from the wound. Pilar rubs circles on Victor’s back.
Stupid, stupid mistake. He berates himself, over and over, until he can’t take it anymore. He takes a tear-soaked fist and pounds it against his chest.
Pilar gasps and grabs his arm. “Victor, stop that,” she says, and the fact that she’s also crying is enough to force him back into his body.
Victor hiccups and gives her a concerned look, to which she responds with a watery laugh. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll be fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.”
Remorse washes over him, a high tide of regret. He’s not the only one hurting, after all, not after the bombshell news they’ve just received.
“What’s gonna happen?” Victor asks with a sniffle.
Pilar looks to the door, then down at the chipped nail polish on her fingers. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think I’m a horrible person?” he says, and with the question emerges another bout of tears.
Pilar scoots closer. “Victor, stop. Listen. You really screwed up, obviously. But it doesn’t make you a bad person. People make big mistakes when they’re scared.”
She’s blurry through tears; Victor ducks his chin.
“You were afraid to tell Mia, right? Or you weren’t ready, and you didn’t want to hurt her. I get that. But just because you’re…just because you’re gay doesn’t mean what you did is okay. It’s still cheating.”
Another sob hits him. He pictures his parents on the couch, another argument, this time born out of his own fucked up choices, he thinks of Mia alone in that enormous house, swallowed by betrayal and sadness, thinks of Benji, none the wiser.
“You’re not a bad person,” Pilar repeats. “But you do have to apologize. And you’ll have to face Mom and Dad eventually.”
“I don’t know if I can. You saw the way they reacted.”
Pilar moves to the edge of the mattress. “I understand that you didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore, but you gotta admit the timing wasn’t great. They probably just need some time to get used to it. Vic, they love you so much,” she says, and there’s something in her voice: resignation, envy. She wrings her hands in her lap and ignores her phone, buzzing beside her on the comforter.
Simon’s advice replays in Victor’s head, his assurance that life is more than what happens behind closed doors, so much better than the juvenile drama, the daily war of high school hallways. But what if Victor never makes it beyond any of that? What if he’s finally damaged things beyond repair?
“We’re going to figure it out,” Pilar says. Victor forces a smile; nausea bubbles in his gut when a tear falls past his lips and into his mouth, staining taste buds salty. He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken to Pilar for longer than five minutes, let alone about something this serious. And they haven’t seen each other cry—really cry—for years.
“Thank you,” he says.
Pilar stands and smooths down her dress. “For the record, I’m proud of you. And I love you. But if you tell anybody at school that I said that, I’ll have to kill you.”
Victor laughs and the rope around his lungs unwinds enough that he can breathe again. “Love you too.”
Pilar moves to the door and presses an ear against it.
“Are they still out there?”
“I can’t tell. If they are, they’re not talking.” She slowly pulls the door open and peeks her head out. “They must have gone to bed. You should do the same,” she says, craning over her shoulder. “Things will feel better after a night of sleep.”
Victor rather likes this version of Pilar, the careful sister beneath the caustic shell. “Thanks, I’ll try.”
She departs and pushes the door shut behind her.
The urge to cry wells up in his throat again but he swallows it down. He removes his suit jacket, then curls his knees up to his chest and collapses onto his side. In his pocket, his phone vibrates once, twice, keeps going. Someone’s calling him. When he checks and sees it’s an unknown number, he declines the call, slamming his phone down on his bedside table.
Then, his walkie talkie spurts to life and Felix’s voice emits through the static. “Felix to Victor, over.”
Victor heaves a sigh, his mouth still salty, throat sore from crying. He props himself up and reaches for the device. He presses the button. “Hey,” he says, voice wobbling.
There’s a pause. “Whoah, buddy, you good?”
“Not really. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Right, no, of course,” Felix says quickly. “I just, uh. You sort of disappeared tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” Victor whispers. Just another person he’s hurt, another crack in the flimsy foundation he’s built here. “Can we talk tomorrow? I think I need to be alone right now.”
“Sure. Victor, whatever it is, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
“Thanks, Felix,” he breathes, and the line goes quiet. The walkie talkie rolls out of his hand and he rests his head on his knees.
Before he can stop himself, he retrieves his phone and sends a message with quaking fingers.
Victor: I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. Please let me explain and apologize. I’ll understand if you hate me forever, but I have to at least apologize [11:46 PM]
Send. His ribcage is a blender, whirling his heart around, shredding it to ribbons. It occurs to him that maybe he doesn’t have to do this alone. Simon had called Victor “one of us,” he’d said they were family. And family is always there for you, aren’t they? Victor is less and less sure of that; regardless, he types out another message, his screen hard to see through tears. They squeeze out the corners of his eyes, wetting his cheeks, shining in the glow of the device.
Simon,
I think I really fucked up. So much has happened since my last message, but long story short, Benji broke up with his boyfriend. I didn’t ask him to, he said he realized that he wasn’t happy with him. But we kissed, and it was really great, but Mia saw it happen and now she probably hates me, and I freaked out and came out to my parents after they told me they’re separating and I think they might hate me too. I’m sorry this is all so much, but I don’t know who else to tell. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt this alone.
The whoosh of the message sending is a minuscule comfort. Victor falls backward, head bouncing on his pillow, and drills his eyes into the ceiling. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to sleep after all of this, knowing his parents are down the hall talking about him, about how to clean up this mess he’s wrought. The good news is he’s all cried out. He’s sure his eyes are glowing red, puffy as anything. His chest hurts, his stomach twists, like some horrible depression flu has overtaken his immune system.
His phone buzzes next to him and his heart drops when he sees a message from Mia.
Mia: Tomorrow. You’ll know where to find me. [12:03 AM]
It’s more civil than Victor was expecting. What does she mean, though? You’ll know where to find me. Victor mulls it over, hopes he doesn’t guess wrong, and it’s only minutes before his eyelids are closing. His body—still clothed—decides it’s had enough for one day and sinks into sleep, his light still on, blanketed by the ceiling of his life that’s caved in on him.