Far From Home - Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Early November
Jake had never been inside Connor's room before, not even for Ricky. He had glanced into it from the doorway and seen glimpses of the life inside when it opened and closed as he passed by it in the morning, but somehow it felt entirely different than he imagined it would. Despite having a nearly identical layout, it contrasted strongly against his own dorm room... but he should have expected it to, this was Connor's space after all.
Connor lived a life of slight disorganization. It wasn't disheveled enough to call messy, but it wasn't tidy enough to call clean. It was somewhere in the middle—something Jake could only label a happy medium. Connor liked things just out of place, enough to where his mind could recall them in their unique locations. There were subtle differences in their living conditions that reminded Jake that Connor Morgan was unquestionably more human than he thought... and that he might have a bit of an unhealthy fixation with organization himself.
Where Jake carefully folded all of his laundry the second it left the sub-par dryers downstairs, Connor liked to leave his sitting in his laundry basket for a couple days until he got pissed enough that he couldn't find his favorite jeans to dump it all on his bed and sort it out. Connor didn't have a set place where his shoes sat after he got home, he just took them off wherever he remembered to and left them there until the next day when he tripped on them getting out of bed. Jake had a very strict stack of textbooks on his desk, but a few of Connor's could be found on the floor next to his backpack—assignments sticking out of them with unknown grades that might not ever see the light of day again. Jake's first thought was to chalk it all up to Connor's busy life warranting his carelessness, but he quickly came to understand everything was like this on purpose. Connor was uncomfortable with perfection. He needed spaces to feel lived in—it gave them authenticity.
It was just like his room at home.
Fitting, Jake thought. The last time we had this conversation was in a room just like this.
"You can sit." Connor motioned out to his own bed as he took up a spot on Ricky's. "We don't have to fist fight or anything."
Jake smiled as he allowed himself to sink into the bed, holding his elbows out on his knees as he kept his feet planted on the floor. "You sure you don't want to?"
Connor didn't allow himself a smile, but he moved his jaw carefully to avoid one.
"You said you didn't want to hurt me."
"I don't." Jake nodded.
"Neither do I."
"I have a feeling it's going to anyway."
With that, Connor's gaze lowered to the floor as he clasped his hands together in his lap, subtly spinning a ring over his middle finger as he tried to find words to say. Anxious was a look not typically worn on the features of Connor Morgan, but Jake knew it too well on himself to think it was anything but. In his own heart, he felt the same way, but it hadn't gotten to the point where his mind was spinning and his own heartbeat felt dizzying in his chest, so he considered himself relatively calm.
He still couldn't shake the idea that this scene felt all too familiar. Sitting here with all the words to say, but no idea how to say them... Connor trying to make sense of what it all meant... and the both of them utterly lost on how to say what they needed to without it coming out in frustration and rage they would regret later. His mind echoed visions of sunlight coming in through the blinds in Connor's room back home, his eyes shining so hopefully bright as he sat in the comfort of the sheets they'd fallen asleep in the night before, but this wasn't the same. This was a darkened evening, Connor's eyes hidden in self-preservation, awkwardly perched on his roommate's bed while neither of them knew what to do.
Jake took a deep breath as he watched Connor spiral and broke the silence between them.
"I'm sorry."
Connor inhaled like it had given him some life to hear Jake speak first.
"Don't say that." He mumbled out disappointedly.
Jake studied the defeat on his face as he swallowed down the apology.
"What would you prefer?"
"The truth?" Connor looked up.
His eyes held questions and he stared into Jake's like he could find the answers. As if anything could be that simple.
"I didn't lie to you." He shook his head gently.
"No... but half the truth is not the same."
You're right. Jake let his eyes drift away from Connor as he rubbed his thumb over his other palm for comfort.
"The truth then." He settled for.
"The whole truth?" Connor prodded him.
"What good is lying gonna do for me now?"
"I could never figure out what it did for you then."
The fact that he had spent a great deal of time actually thinking about it sent a pang of anguish to Jake's heart that he hadn't expected to feel this early on. Honesty. It's all Connor wants. It's all he's ever wanted. It was the least he could do.
Jake swallowed down the first sign of his nerves bubbling in the back of his throat.
"Ask away."
Connor was quick to pick his first question—too quick, and straight to the point.
"Why'd you cut it off?"
His voice didn't waver. It didn't sound heartbroken or weak like Jake's might have. Connor was stronger than he ever could have been, and somehow it made Jake feel weaker for not being able to come to terms with it all the same way.
"To protect you." Jake mumbled, and it felt like a lie even when it wasn't.
"No." Connor shook his head defensively. "No, that's what you said. There's more to it than that, I know that that couldn't have been it–"
"It's the truth."
"That's bullshit. I was in danger just living. With you or without you, it didn't matter. I'm not that stupid to think–"
"I didn't say you were."
"You're telling me the same fucking thing like I'm some naïve kid that can't see past the ruse..."
"You're not listening." Jake shook his head. "You're not listening, Connor. It's the truth, I swear to God. I was trying to protect you... I thought I had to protect you..."
His face wrinkled in frustration. "Stop it with the fucking excuses!"
"It's not an excuse, Connor! I was fucking terrified!"
Jake hadn't meant to get that loud, but Connor's frustration turned into apprehension quicker than he had ever seen him switch over. His jaw had tightened into something strong—something naturally defiant from years putting up with Hunter Anderson. His eyes flashed a warning, and Jake saw it, he did, but he didn't know how to make it go away. He didn't want Connor to look at him like that, but even more so, he didn't want Connor to look at him with pity. He never wanted Connor to feel bad for him, and with the truth, he would. The truth was laced under the simple words 'to protect you,' but to protect him from what? From knowing exactly what Jake was scared of. From knowing exactly why he made the call he did. From knowing that the truth was more complicated than he wanted to let Connor see.
He didn't want Connor to know the truth. Even then, a part of him was ashamed of it. Now, he loathed himself for getting caught in the position he did, and he loathed himself even more for dragging Connor down with him.
I didn't need to protect him from anything. I needed to protect myself.
You were always right, Connor.
Here's to the truth... and all its consequences.
"My dad..." He started to explain, but his voice felt weak. "He, um..."
Connor had looked to him for an answer now, his eyes welcoming the explanation by lowering his confrontational glare.
"He tried to kill me once."
Jake looked down at the floor, but it didn't make it any easier because even when he diverted his own attention from Connor, Connor's never left him. Something inside him was repulsed by the memory, hoping that maybe the words were fake and that he was just telling Connor what he wanted to hear, but it was real. It was real, and it was pain, and it was the first time Jake ever felt true fear.
"I was seven..." He tried to shake the image away. "I shouldn't remember it, but I do. I–"
Deep breath, Jake.
"He–"
God, why is this so hard?
"Me and McKenna had switched clothes at recess because some boy was making fun of her shirt... and... you know, I didn't know any better... I didn't get what was so wrong about that..."
He didn't know when his hand had wandered up, but he was clutching on to his sweatshirt over his heart, trying to feel it beating through the fabric just to know he was still alive. His fingers curled deeper as he took a deep breath, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was right back in the moment with him.
Jake's eyes closed.
"His hands were on my neck, and I didn't know why. I thought I was screaming, but he didn't hear me... I couldn't breathe... I don't know. I blacked out and... I... remember waking up on the kitchen floor so fucking scared..."
"Jesus." Connor's voice was unexpected and filled with something unheard of.
Anger.
Jake didn't want to look at him—he didn't want to see that pity—but he couldn't stop himself from following the direction of his voice. Connor. He wore horror in the most controlled way. His eyes held Jake with concern, but his face twisted something closer to rage, and the sadness in his voice wavered into uncharted territory.
Don't look at me like that.
Jake almost could have pitied his father for the wrath Connor would have unveiled if he were in the room. No, he doesn't deserve my pity. He deserved anything and everything Connor would have done to him. Jake's only mistake was underestimating the rage of Connor Morgan.
"He did shit like that a lot after that."
He somehow found himself explaining more even though it felt more like going through the motions than presenting coherent words.
"But never... that stupid." He shook his head. "Never somewhere visible."
Jake didn't know why, but he found himself pulling at the neckline of his sweatshirt, sliding it past his right shoulder to the point where his fingers grazed over a familiar scar.
"Got this one from a beer bottle... eighth grade."
He could remember how pissed his father was after fucking off at football practice tackling Hunter out of spite instead of focusing on any real plays. It was eighth grade and his father acted like it was the end of the world that his son couldn't dedicate his heart and soul to his favorite sport. The glass ran so deep into his shoulder that he couldn't lift it above his head for a week, and even then it spiked little tingles of electricity whenever he landed on it wrong.
The hand he had been clutching over his heart moved a little bit below it to pull up the hem of his sweatshirt to the lower part of his rib cage.
"Steak knife... junior year."
Connor's body ran still. It scared the shit out of Jake. He dropped his hands back down to where they had been resting in front of him and watched Connor's face for a sign. Maybe the truth had been too much. This was exactly what Jake was afraid of. He wasn't something Connor needed to handle with fragility even though he always had to some extent—he wanted Connor to understand, but even then this bordered too close to pity.
He couldn't stand the silence.
"So, yeah. I was scared."
Connor nodded but it was so untraceable Jake thought he might have imagined it.
"I was so fucking scared of him. That day, he said he would kill you if I ever saw you again, do you really blame me for believing him?"
His face tried to work words into an answer, but Jake watched him fall short.
"Yeah, it's all shit, but I couldn't see past... any of it." Jake shook his head. "All I saw was him, and you, and that I needed to push you as far away as possible as fast as I could."
Something pushed Connor out of shock and into grief. His hands scrubbed over his face like he could make it go away and the very sight of it made Jake want to die. When his hands rested on the bottom of his face, Jake watched his eyes working to put all the pieces together in the desperate way he searched the floor in front of him for the words he wanted to say. He couldn't find them. Maybe for the first time in his life, Connor didn't have a comeback. Jake had truly rendered him speechless and not in the way he wanted to. Never in this way.
"You probably thought I was a dick, but it was hard for me too."
The truth fell from his lips like water from a tap he couldn't turn off.
"I had to convince myself that in the long run you would be happier for it... I told myself that you would find someone else, and that maybe you'd forget we even happened."
Connor shook his head and finally met Jake's eyes with shock resolved into painful adoration. "God... I didn't want anyone else."
Jake wanted to cry. Connor would have wanted him—scars and all—and Jake fucked himself over by crafting a convincing nightmare that never came true. He believed so badly that his father was going to hurt him that he hadn't seen the damage he had done to himself along the way. Whether it was forgiveness or empathy, Connor saw him—truly saw him—and as terrifying as that was, it felt like freedom. He wanted me. He wasn't settling with the only option, he wasn't tolerating him until the next best thing came around, he wasn't judging him for his flaws or asking him to change. He took Jake in at face value, and despite everything that should have made him second-guess that decision, Connor wanted him.
If I didn't love you then, I do now.
Even if nothing came of it, this night had been closure. His feelings for Connor wouldn't go away, not after this, but part of him never expected them to anyway. At the end of the night when they both laid awake in their own separate beds staring at their own blank ceilings, Jake knew everything would make a little more sense. He could be at peace with it. He could understand if he hurt Connor too much to take back, but now Connor understood him too. There was nothing left lingering around to haunt him, only the future... whatever that entailed.
He looked at Connor and saw the world, but if Connor didn't see the world in him, he could live with that. Staring into those green eyes with the promise of the truth, Jake had to ask.
"What do you want, Connor?"
Connor inhaled in preparation. "That's... a big question."
Let me narrow it down for you.
"What do you want...? What are your dreams?" Jake caught his eyes. "Do you want to live here forever... or finally go to California? Do you want to be a vet your whole life... or are you just saving up to own a little coffee shop or something? Do you want domestic bliss... or to travel the world with no strings attached? What's the perfect life?"
Jake expected him to think about it. He expected Connor to calculate it like he did everything else until he crafted the perfect fantasy that he could explain in a few cutesy sentences, but he didn't. He shrugged it off.
"I don't care."
Jake might have called him out on it, but he knew it was the truth. Their honesty ran both ways and Connor wouldn't dare lie about something so big.
"I just want to live somewhere with running water, where I can afford to eat more than one meal a day. Some shitty flat in the city... a cookie-cutter house in suburbia... I don't care..."
His lips formed half of a frown.
"I want simple. I want something that's boring... I'm tired of moving, and making do, and scraping by... I just want secure and still."
Something so modest had never made so much sense. Connor's life had been a jumbled mess of being passed around from adult to adult, fending for himself since he was old enough to realize he was the only constant in his own life. It was sobering in a sense for Jake to see his own privilege. He never had to think about where he was coming home to, having food on the table, or being alone. Connor was always alone, and yet never at peace.
"Once all your basic needs are met, then what?" Jake pondered.
"Then..." Connor smiled—hopeful, yet sad. "A dog... a new car, maybe. Saving up for a house with a backyard for the dog to play in. Maybe finally learning how to play piano, or speak German... you know... the little things."
The little things.
I think I can do that.
Connor didn't care. He didn't have a plan. He didn't have some fantasy dreamhouse life planned out since he was a kid, because what good was a future if he didn't know he could have one? Jake had spent every agonizing year of his life looking forward to the next one, where Connor was living one day at a time just trying to make ends meet. What would it mean to not care about the future? Was Jake even capable of enjoying the little things without inspecting them for impending doom or meticulously planning the next move? He didn't know, and he didn't know that he could figure it out quickly enough to give Connor an answer.
"That sounds nice" was all the answer he could afford.
Connor nodded, but he seemed to be caught up somewhere else, not thinking about what that future happiness could feel like in the world he just created for Jake.
"What do you want, Jake?"
Jake shook his head because he truly couldn't find the answer.
Connor didn't want some half-assed 'I want you' proposition, he wanted the full answer. It wasn't a matter of whether Jake wanted him, it was a matter of what kind of life he wanted, and what kind of life he could have. Jake hadn't thought about it the first time they were together and then he realized too late what he wanted and what he could have were two different things.
"I don't know." He looked to Connor like he held the answer, but he didn't. "I think I need to think about it."
While Connor was looking out at the floor in thought, he gave a small nod that Jake took as agreement.
"Let me know when you find the answer." He mumbled.
Jake thought it sounded too much like disappointment. He swallowed down the fear of Connor settling for rejection that easily and replaced it with the brutally honest truth that Connor was just giving him the space he needed to think. He had asked for time, and Connor was willing to give him that, regardless of if that meant it would give Jake time to talk himself out of another shot at a relationship. Is that what we had... a relationship? Is that what he wants?
Is that what I want?
He thought it was, but then again, he thought he could have had it before and he was wrong, what made it any better this time? What made now any different than four months ago?
"Jake?"
Jake hadn't realized he had also been staring at the floor until Connor's voice stole his attention back up to in front of him.
"Hm?"
"I know... um..." Connor looked at something past Jake on the bed. "I know it's hard to tell people about that kind of shit... so um... thank you for trusting me."
Trust.
Something about the word made Jake's heart smile, but just because Connor felt like he had been entrusted with something, didn't mean that Connor trusted him.
"Do you trust me?"
It was impulsive, and Jake hadn't meant to let it slip out, but he needed to know more than anything if any kind of relationship between them could be salvageable—friends or something more. If trust was out the window, Connor would always hold back, and Jake didn't know if he could handle only getting a piece of him back knowing he fucked up his only chance with the complete version of Connor that once loved him.
Connor's gaze was contemplative. "For the most part."
"Why not completely?"
"Because you hurt me." He shrugged his shoulders. "You didn't mean to, but you did, and it'll take me some time to know you're not going to do it again."
"I'm sor–" Jake caught himself. "I understand."
"I've got a history with people leaving... it makes it kinda hard to trust the ones that want to stick around not to leave too."
I'm sorry that I proved a point.
"I didn't want to leave... I promise I didn't."
"I'm not blaming you anymore." Connor's head shook with understanding. "No, I get it... I'm sorry that I didn't get it before."
"It wasn't your fault. I didn't want you to see that part of me..."
"Why not?"
"Because I was ashamed of myself for being weak. And I hated that I wasn't strong enough to be honest with you."
Connor's eyes would have looked mad if the words he said would have matched them.
"You are not weak." His voice didn't falter. "Do not let him convince you that you are the fucking problem. You were fucking abused, Jake. That doesn't make you weak, that makes him a piece of shit. Don't confuse how he taught you to think with reality."
"I was a coward, Connor."
"You were surviving, Jake."
Surviving.
Jake hadn't brought himself to think about any part of his upbringing as 'survival.' Surviving was eating so he didn't starve to death. Surviving was drinking water so he didn't pass out. Surviving was going inside when it was too cold, or staying in the shade on hot days. Surviving wasn't... this. Surviving wasn't listening to footsteps and keeping an eye on doorways. It wasn't finding his back against the wall so no one could hurt it. It wasn't calculating responses so he didn't say the wrong word. It wasn't staying gone all day and trying his best not to be caught alone even when all he wanted was peace and quiet in the safety of his own bedroom. That was life, that wasn't survival, was it?
Jake's hand squeezed onto his own wrist too tightly. He forced a deep breath of air down into his lungs as he loosened his grip.
I'm not a survivor of anything. There are people who had it worse.
"Sorry." Connor interrupted his thoughts. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Jake hadn't felt his heel tapping on the ground until Connor put a hand out on his knee to stop his leg from bouncing. His eyes darted up to Connor as he rubbed the skin around his arm to fade the sensation the tight grip of his fingers had left behind, but to no avail with the red lines forming on the inside of his own wrist. He swallowed down the lump in the back of his throat as Connor retracted his hand—not wanting to overstep any boundaries for the sake of helping distract from panic he caused.
"No, sorry." Jake tried to shake the feeling away. "I'm fine."
Connor didn't call him out for lying, he nodded his head and gave a sympathetic glance that might have been followed by a smile in the right circumstances.
"Okay."
"Um... I need to... think about things still." Jake redirected his attention back to their initial conversation with a look at Connor's eyes.
He met him with understanding. "I know."
"What are you feeling?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
Jake's hand trailed over the back of his neck as he contemplated how Connor was feeling. It could go one of two ways, and Jake didn't know which way he preferred yet. Knowing where Connor stood might help him make things clearer, or it might make him feel guilty to choose one answer over another. However he always managed to figure it out, Connor seemed to know this already. He knew Jake would think too hard if he gave him more food for thought and was giving him the chance to retract the question before it was too late.
"Yes."
Connor looked passive, but his answer was anything but.
"Fuck you for making me feel things... but I still do." He nearly looked angry with himself as he said it. "If you wanted to give it another shot, I would too. But if you just want to be friends, I can do that... I hate the words that are about to come out of my mouth, but... I just want to have you around again."
Jake smiled when he knew he should have been serious. "Awe, you miss me don't you?"
"I will cut your fucking tongue out." Connor pointed to him as a warning, but his lips wore a smile he failed to hide.
"Sorry, couldn't help it."
"No, I don't miss you. You're giving yourself too much credit. It would just be nice to have you around again."
"Mhm, okay." Jake nodded, trying to tone down his smile.
"I knew you couldn't last this long in a serious conversation." Connor sighed, bored by Jake's sudden outburst in teasing.
"I thought I did pretty good."
"It wasn't bad."
"Wasn't bad."
Jake didn't bother to listen for Connor's next snarky response because Connor was already climbing off of Ricky's bed like he had decided for himself that he was done with the conversation. Watching him with a faded smile, Jake found himself getting up from Connor's bed too, slowly following him over to where he was grabbing his phone from his desk—checking the screen with a disinterested glare.
Jake raised his eyebrows as he came up behind Connor. "You late for a date?"
"You're an asshole." He slid the phone into his pocket. "Kris is meeting me to study."
"Have fun, she's been on a caffeine kick this week. She bounces off the fucking walls at dinner."
"Oh, I know."
Connor sighed, but turned around to face Jake—his eyes watching Jake's expression like he didn't know what to make of it. Is this the first time you haven't been able to read me? He looked defeated as his gaze fell over Jake in such a familiar way it felt like being back in the truck again on one of those summer days where Jake pretended not to notice Connor studying him with a smile from the passenger seat. Connor seemed to get lost in it too, moving just a little too close as his arms instinctively reached out to Jake's. For the first time, Jake thought he wasn't going to ask. He thought Connor might have just wrapped his arms under his own and held onto him like they used to hold each other at night. It had been a comfort then, and maybe it was instinctual now, but there weren't lines to cross then, and now the lines they did have were unclear.
He caught himself the moment before they touched.
"Sorry." He mumbled. "Can– no, nevermind."
Jake pulled Connor back in slowly in case he had regretted it, but when his arms fell over Connor's shoulders, he seemed to melt into him like he had been waiting patiently for this moment the entire night. He let Jake pull him down, nestling his face into the hood of the sweatshirt that fell below Jake's neck, breathing in a small relief as his hands found their way up Jake's back, so comfortably nestling into the space under his shoulder blades like he was afraid to let go. This is what I denied you that day. I should have given you goodbye.
Jake allowed himself to close his eyes thinking about the way Connor buried himself into his neck. Something about it felt like home to feel the soft brush of flannel under his fingertips and the pull of Connor's hands on his back, but he wouldn't let himself get caught in what he wanted without knowing what he could handle. Each breath they took seemed to fall together as one, but even then Jake couldn't tell if he was breathing at all or just trying to memorize the way Connor's chest rose and fell slowly against his own.
Fuck, I missed this.
I miss you.
He didn't let go. Connor fell completely still and Jake couldn't dare find it in himself to take something so comforting from him. It was comfort, but it was also vulnerability. It was something so simple that meant so much because Connor was willing to admit he needed something even when he didn't have the words to say it. This was 'I miss you' without saying 'I miss you.' This was letting Jake in without giving him too much. Jake felt some strange feeling that maybe this was trust. Trust that maybe he wouldn't use his body against him. That Jake wouldn't turn around and flaunt the fact that he missed his touch right back in his face.
Thank you.
"Did you get a new laundry detergent?" Connor mumbled through his sweatshirt.
Jake laughed as he opened his eyes to the sound of Connor's voice. "I did."
"I liked the lavender better."
Noted.
"Kenna picked it out at Target, she was very excited."
Connor hummed his disapproval, but Jake had to admit that he liked Connor noticing a change so subtle. It meant he was paying attention, which made Jake feel a little less guilty for paying attention too. He wondered what else he had been paying attention to and if maybe he had caught changes that Jake hadn't been able to catch himself.
With a deep breath, Connor found it in himself to let go. Jake allowed himself only a moment of disappointment before he backed away towards the door, letting Connor settle into the new-found chill that the lack of contact left behind just as he was. It was over too soon, but it had lasted too long. They both knew it because Connor failed to meet his eyes, and Jake's body felt hot as his face flushed red from the situation.
"Um..." He cleared his throat as his hand landed on the door handle. "I'll let you know, okay?"
Connor nodded, but didn't look up. "Yeah. Okay."
'Bye, Connor' felt too final. It felt like an answer in and of itself, one that Jake wasn't willing to settle with just yet. He thought about it for a moment before finding the next best alternative: the last text on their feed that somehow both was the end and wasn't. The last thing he said before the world turned upside down at their feet.
"Goodnight, Connor."