Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

I wasn't sure when it happened but I started to get really sweaty. Trace was still sleeping at my back and I didn't want him to get sweaty so I shuffled out of bed.
There was a sofa across the room and I slumped into it, strangely aware of how everything felt. The way I sunk into the plush material, my feet in my socks, Trace's almost imperceptible snoring and especially my heart beating as hard as thunder.
And in my mind, one word was rattling around haplessly. Love. What had he meant when he said that? Well, no, let me not be stupid for once. I knew what he meant. Trace always meant what he said.  I was supposed to be happy, but instead I felt sick. I felt like crying.
There were so many things wrong with me. And those things wouldn't go away. Maybe he was okay with it now, but there's no way he always would be. He didn't even know about my sometimes agoraphobia. He knew nothing about how I'd stayed in my apartment for months after resigning from my finance job that paid me so incredibly well. I got everything delivered, and for the first month I was so happy not to be bothered by the outside world which always judged me.
And then even the idea of even going outside turned into a terrible, crippling fear. It had taken months to even work up the courage to go beyond the lobby of my building.
And I didn't have any friends, which was weird and painful. I wasn't sure why Manny hadn't gotten rid of me years ago. And I didn't do much. My hobbies were weird.
I was weird.
No one loved weird.
My thoughts started to spiral and I couldn't breathe. I sucked in air harshly, my breaths coming shallow and fast. It was like all the air was getting sucked out of the room. I'd tried to push my examinations of what he said far away, somewhere deep in my mind, but I couldn't. The reality of Trace saying he loved me may as well have been ricocheting against the inside of my skull.
The words started to jumble in my mind, and I could feel that I was losing it. It was like a wave was heading straight for me and I was paralyzed by . The pain in my chest started to ache and spread and all I could do was attempt to ride this impossible wave.
But, my panic attack didn't feel remotely normal. It just got worse and worse, and all the stressors from the past month filtered through my mind and things I hadn't thought about in days burst into my mind. How am I going to be portrayed on TV? What's going to happen when my coworkers watch this? What if they make me the villain? How could Trace say he loved me? Why can't I be normal? Why can't I calm down? Calm down. Calm down. I can't breathe. I'm being so loud. He's going to hear. He's going to wake up. He's going to see me like this.
Whatever efforts I made to be quiet weren't helping and I felt like I was having a heart attack. I wanted to go to the bathroom but by that point even moving from where I was seemed like it would be excruciating. Was I having a heart attack?
The bedside light turned on and Trace's head shot up before he looked straight at me.
That sent me into another fit and I could hear the high scrape of my hyperventilating going up another level. Too much. This was too much. I was going to pass out. I couldn't breathe. I raised my shaking hands to cover my face because I couldn't bear to be looked at.
So. Fucking. Humiliating.
And then I blacked out.
#
The next thing I knew Trace was pacing the room in front of me. And the lights in the room were on. When had he put on his leg? And clothes? He was dressed in sweats, and the expression on his face was tired.
He was on the phone, and when he saw I was awake, the expression on his face brightened. He hurried over to me, with a hand outstretched and then he hesitated. I could tell he wanted to hug me but he settled for patting my hand. I just sat there, still feeling light headed.
"He's awake now, I'll just wait for the ambulance in the lobby. Okay, thank you." Trace clicked off and stared at me for several seconds. "If I tell you to stay here, will you stay?"
"Stay? What?" My voice was impossibly hoarse and Trace pushed a water bottle into my hand. I felt so confused. Had I actually passed out?
Trace sounded different. He spoke slowly, and as if he was expecting me to have some kind of reaction. "I called an ambulance because you passed out. I'm going to meet them downstairs and bring them up to the room."
I noticed belatedly that he didn't ask me if I was okay with that. "Why would you call an ambulance?" I asked.
"I didn't realize how bad it was until now. I know you told me about your panic disorder but...Uhm...you..." He swallowed harshly as he fixed his eyes on me. Trace's skin looked pale, making his cheekbones appear even sharper. It made his eyes seem impossibly wide as he considered me. "You lost consciousness, Darius. For minutes. You just—collapsed while sitting down. Are you okay? I want to touch you but I don't know if I should. I—" his voice cracked but Trace took a quick shuttering breath and composed himself quickly. "I'm just going to go downstairs. So stay here, please."
I was too exhausted to argue and in the next second Trace was gone. I knew my anxiety inside and out and the last time I'd passed out was right before I quit my finance job. I'd never told anyone about it or gone to the hospital. Dr.Google had told me losing consciousness from panic attacks was extremely rare, and required hospital intervention to determine if it was actually a panic attack or something worse. But, I wasn't comfortable going to the hospital.
Especially not now, and not with Trace.
I saw that Trace had put a shirt and pants for me on the sofa and I put everything on, not looking forward to the paramedics.
At just that second, Trace came into the room, holding the door open for two paramedics and an orange gurney. I looked way too tall for that thing. If there'd been an actual emergency, my legs would be dangling off the end. I looked around the room, wanting to escape but not knowing where to go.
I took a step back as they entered the room and I examined the pair closely. A man and woman walked into the room with their gear and the guy came up to me first.
"What's the problem, man? The call said you fainted." He went on to ask me a series of questions and my responses got shorter and shorter as he asked. No, I wasn't dehydrated. No, this wasn't normal. No, I hadn't been drinking. No, I wasn't on any medication. No, I hadn't taken any drugs. Yes, you can take my vitals.
They took my vitals and determined my heart rate was somewhat elevated but that was to be expected.
"Do you have a panic disorder?" The female paramedic eventually asked.
I visibly tensed and didn't say anything for several seconds. I cast my gaze down to my feet, noticing that my socks didn't match. Briefly, I wondered where the right socks had gone.
"I feel better now, so I'd like you to go, please," I said so quietly I had to repeat myself to be heard.
She sighed, disregarding what I was saying. "If you don't have a medical history of fainting, I recommend you go to the hospital and get checked out."
"Is there a form I have to sign?" I said, still looking at my feet. God, why did I have to be so huge? My thoughts were skittering sporadically and I didn't feel like I was in danger of having a panic attack but my body had already betrayed me once.
She blinked. "A form?"
"Yes, for you guys to leave. I don't want to go to the hospital."
I finally looked up in time to see her face fall. "Sir, what's your name? You have to understand you should go to the hospital. There is a refusal of care form but we don't have all the gear here to properly see what the problem is. Based on what you've described, it's important to be seen by a medical doctor," her voice softened, "and maybe a psychiatrist."
My hands started to shake and I pushed the heels of my palms into my thighs. "Can I sign the form?" I said tightly.
The male paramedic intervened. "I'll get the paperwork from the van. You can't force him, Sophie."
He left the room and the female paramedic, Sophie, gave me a glum look. "It could be something that never happens again. Or, maybe this is the beginning of the rest of your life. You need to get checked out."
For the first time I braved a look in Trace's direction. I was surprised he hadn't interrupted, but it seemed like he'd actually listened when I told him I wanted to fight my own battles. Even if they were hard.
He stood beside the front door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression was completely and utterly furious, brows slanted harshly, eyes narrowed to slits and his lips pressed so firmly together I couldn't even see them. My heart sunk into my stomach.
The paramedic followed my gaze to Trace, her eyes widening before she then looked away. Yeah, I was feeling a little terrified, too.
The male paramedic came back with a clipboard. "Alright, just sign the places I marked off and we can get out of here."
I signed the forms hurriedly, put incorrect contact information because I didn't want these people knowing anything about me, and held the forms back out. The male paramedic didn't even give me a glance before taking the papers. Both of them exited with their offending gurney and I relaxed significantly.
I hurried to lock the door and then sat on the bed. I exhaled deeply before squeezing my knees. I was too afraid to say anything to Trace but I didn't have to wait much longer for him to say something.
"You won't get better like that," he said dryly.
When I looked up he was still standing by the doorway, radiating palpable anger. I couldn't even tell where his anger was directed. His mood had changed so suddenly I felt like I had whiplash. If this was what Trace meant when he said he had a temper then it felt like a gross understatement. I looked anywhere but at him even though I could feel his hard gaze scrutinizing me.
"I don't think it ever gets better," I mumbled.
"Hmm," he hummed shortly. "You should have gone to the hospital."
I winced. "I can't."
"Why?" And this time his poorly restrained anger came unloosed. It pulled and strained at the syllable so much his word was a question as much as it was an accusation.
"It's— I just can't do it. I- I-" I ground my teeth together trying to push out the words. I went slower, trying to enunciate, "I'm fine. I just freaked out. I'm okay now. I can't answer their questions. I don't want to do tests."
Trace paused. His quiet voice carrying from across the room. "You've been to the hospital for your anxiety before?"
"Once, yeah. It didn't go well." I had been fourteen and had trouble breathing. The panic attack had hovered long enough that my mother took us to the hospital even though the idea of being exposed had terrified me. I'd barely even recognized what my anxiety was at that age.
Going to the hospital made my attack worse because a nurse had given me some kind of relaxant to calm down but my body had a negative reaction to the drug and it had only intensified my panic attack. It had been one of the worst experiences of my life. Just thinking about it when I felt so drained and exhausted brought me nearly to tears.
Even now, I hadn't expected Trace to be so...cold. Standing all the way across the room with his expression as hard as stone. Somehow, I felt really lonely.
But then Trace was walking towards me and then beside me on the bed. He took off his leg, and I heard it thump onto the plush carpet. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he started speaking. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"What?"
"I said 'I'm sorry,'" he said bluntly, but his hand was scratching at his shorter limb aggressively. He was vibrating with tension and I realized for the first time that maybe his reaction had less to do with me than I thought. "I just— don't have normal reactions to some things. I can get... aggravated around medical professionals. Those paramedics were so unprofessional. They barely even tried to convince you to go to the hospital! I explained to them that you had a panic disorder but passing out wasn't normal. The guy couldn't even be bothered. I wanted to say something but I knew you didn't want me to interfere. Even though it was killing me to stand there." He clenched his knee hard. "It's not fair that you have to suffer like this and that nothing makes it better. It makes me feel helpless when I can't do anything to help you. And being helpless makes me angry. I'm sorry for reacting like that.  And..." Trace hesitated, giving me a look of pity. "I know you don't want to hear it from me, but you need a therapist, and a psychiatrist, and maybe a neurologist, or something."
I'd had this conversation, once upon a time with Manny, with Cyrus, and to varying degrees with a few other people. It never went well.
Trace was staring hard at me, and when I didn't say anything, I expected anger. But, his response was worse. His eyes welled and he hurried to rub away the tears, but his hands weren't fast enough and one large tear careened down the contours of his face. "I'm not good at hiding how I feel about anything, I'm sorry. God, seeing you like this is heartbreaking."
"No," I said roughly, both horrified and captivated by Trace's tears. It didn't make sense. He was upbeat and blunt, sometimes crass. Confident, brash, sometimes cocky. But, not this. Never this. Never so vulnerable. Never this bare. "Please, don't cry."
A broken sound ripped from Trace's throat; something between a laugh and a cry. "You shouldn't be the one comforting me. I haven't even asked you what caused your panic attack. Was there a stressor?"
"I don't think I can talk about it," I murmured, running my hand through his hair with one hand and holding the back of his neck with the other. My thumb rubbed against the dark hickey against his throat and when Trace swallowed I could feel his throat work. His dark eyes watched me for a moment as he composed himself.
"I cancelled my flight," Trace admitted quietly, "If you want me to I'll be there for you. I'll be staying in New York for a week and I can fly back to Toronto with you after the competition."
My eyes widened. "You didn't have to do that."
He shook his head. "There's so much to talk about when you get back."
"I don't want you to say you love me," I blurted.  There was no way I could tell him that his confession was the catalyst for my attack. I couldn't tell him I didn't understand how he could love someone with so many problems. I couldn't take it if he spoke to me this tenderly. Not when I didn't deserve it. Worst of all, I had to examine what it meant when the idea of someone loving me pushed me into an attack. Maybe my self esteem was so low it was moving towards self loathing.
Trace's expression became confused. For a moment he looked pained and then blankness settled over his features. He raised his hands until he was suddenly hugging me. It almost hurt because of how tight it was. "If it makes you uncomfortable then I won't say it but it doesn't change how I feel," Trace said emotionally.
He abruptly scrambled away from me when someone knocked on the door and he got his leg on lightning fast. He got to the door quickly and opened it, getting a cart which had multiple covered platters of food from a bell boy. Trace came back inside, letting the door close and rolled the cart towards the desk in the room.
"I figured you would be hungry," he said.
Well, I was always a little bit hungry. And post-panic attacks always put me in a weird state of nervous, jittery energy. I was exhausted and yet painfully alert. Trace gestured for me to sit at the desk and he sat in the seat right next to me.
When he took the lids off the platters I was overcome by a series of heaping plates of breakfast foods. Sausages, scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, chocolate chip waffles, blue berry pancakes, French toast dusted with icing sugar, two omelettes, a bowl of fresh cut fruit, croissants, cinnamon rolls, muffins, a bowl of syrup, and then there were a few packets of ketchup and butter. There were two smoothies and two bottles of water as well and Trace organized everything neatly on the desk. There were even empty plates for us to serve ourselves.
"Wow," I exclaimed, "when did—"
"When I was waiting for the ambulance. I cancelled my flight and bribed a bell hop to get me something fresh from the kitchens. I want you to eat."
I'd complained before that I didn't need anyone to take care of me, but I could see that maybe there were times Trace needed someone to take care of. In the same way there was a part of me that liked to relinquish control there was a part of him that liked to exert it. He probably felt helpless after my attack and if this was what he needed to feel normal again then I didn't mind.
But, I was surprised as we started to eat when Trace would feed me instead of himself every few bites. He'd hold out a spear of sausage, or the cheesiest part of his omelette, or a strawberry and I ate whatever he offered me. It was oddly intimate to let Trace feed me. But, the tension in his body gradually eased as we ate and every time I ate something he offered he relaxed even more.
I hadn't slept all night and by the time we finished eating it was pushing 5AM and neither of us saw the point in trying to get any meaningful amount of sleep.
The rest of the morning was somewhat somber as I packed my things and Trace called his colleagues to inform then he was taking an impromptu vacation. Most of his work could be done remotely for the time being and he made arrangements to stay at another hotel for a week, and then contacted a car rental service. He was strangely efficient at just handling things and it was mind boggling to watch him do it with such ease.
"I'll drive you to the house," he said after all his phone calls. "Do you have to tell anyone?"
"Oh," I said absently, "probably Richard." I fumbled with the phone Baking Beasts had given all contestants and sent Richard a text, will get to the house on time. No need to send driver.
Richard promptly sent a thumbs up and I felt exhausted from even that small amount of communication.
We showered separately, and checked out of the hotel. Then, we took a taxi to the car rental place where Trace was given an SUV. They spent a long time examining Trace's passport, license and documentation, before directing him to sign a series of documents. I learned then that Trace was a permanent resident of Canada but not a citizen.
That's when it hit me he had dropped everything so easily just for me to feel like I had someone to go to should I need it.
"I'll reimburse you," I said quietly in the rented car after Trace had checked into his new hotel, "for the hotel and your plane ticket and this rental."
Trace snorted as he merged onto the highway, following the automatic voice's directions to the Baking Beast's house. "That won't be necessary."
"I mean you're doing all this for me—"
"I am."
"So, I should re-pay you somehow," I said stubbornly.
Irritation flickered across Trace's features and he made a noise that sounded something like, tch. His voice was soft, but it didn't leave any room for persuasion, "No. How about this: you let me give you a massage next week when you come over for our big date?"
"That doesn't sound like a compromise," I said.
"That'll be enough. Your company is just fine, Darius. And you haven't even been working, it would be wrong of me to ask you to pay for anything."
I slumped in my seat. "You're too nice to me."
Trace sighed at that. "Except I'm not. You deserve for good things to happen to you and to be treated well. It shouldn't be radical for your boyfriend to be nice to you."
I didn't know what to say to that and eventually Trace started to hum softly in a voice that miraculously zipped up and down the scale. It was hypnotizing and I didn't know the song but it sounded like another lullaby.
I leaned against the side of the car door and closed my eyes for just a second.
#
"Wake up, Darius, we're here."
"Mmmmmmn," I moaned softly, pushing my hands at whoever was waking me up.
"I'm loving these sounds, really, but I don't want anyone to misunderstand what's happening here."
My eyes snapped open and I breathed harshly, waking up properly. I got out of the car and stretched, feeling like I needed to get out all the tense muscles.
That's when I realized it was time to say goodbye and I looked mournfully at Trace. He was wearing another outfit that was mostly black and a baseball cap that hid most of his luxurious wavy hair. I moved over to him and nudged off the cap before pushing my fingers through his hair and giving Trace a chaste kiss. I wasn't as touchy-feely as the average person but even I had my moments.
Trace turned the kiss into something indecent, opening his mouth and making the kiss wet, and messy. It was amazing.
But then it was over and Trace leaned over to pick up his baseball cap I'd dropped at some point when Trace had plunged his tongue into my mouth.
"The only thing you have to do is your best," Trace said softly before pulling on my collar to urge my head down so he could kiss me on the forehead. He gave me one last hug before I made my way towards the house with all my things and went inside.
#
"Fuck, it's good to have you back. It's been like a nightmare. Mel's been in a pissy mood since Trace set him straight and Mary Lou cries every morning. The only that's been keeping me and Alex sane is each other," Ai said after I'd settled in at the house and put all my dirty clothes in the washing machine.
"It's only been a couple days," I said after I added detergent, fabric softener and turned the machine on.
"Yeah, well not all of us got to cuddle up and sleep with our partners, so you gotta understand we're in a different state of mind. I'm thinking you and me can make dinner. A little comfort food will get Mary Lou back to her Southern Belle self."
"Yeah, of course I'll help," I said even though I felt like what I needed was a nap. "Are we doing mashed potatoes, fried chicken, shrimp and grits, Mac and Cheese, and biscuits?"
Mary Lou had cooked those foods on occasion when she was feeling especially home sick.
"Yeah, I'll meet you in the kitchen in half an hour? Just so you can get settled."
I changed into something more comfortable and tried not to be offended that no one came out to greet me aside from Ai. I'd be feeling sour too if I lost all that time with people I cared about. But, I hadn't. Since I won the challenge I'd gotten my unrestricted weekend with Trace.
Later on me and Ai met in the kitchen, and spent the next hour and a half cooking some of Mary Lou's favourite foods. It had gone fine except for when Ai asked me if I was okay because I seemed off balance. She didn't know about my anxiety so I just said I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. Which was true but I didn't correct Ai when she thought that meant I was fooling around with Trace.
As we were wrapping up and setting up the table, Mary Lou finally came out and it looked like she'd just woken up even though it was the middle of the day. She rubbed her eyes and I tried not to be surprised at how exhausted she looked when she wasn't putting on a happy face.
"Oh," she said with a yawn, "you're back, sugar. Have fun with your...ah, boyfriend?"
God, back to the judgement. But, the weekend had been mostly amazing and none of what she said could phase me. "The best," I said softly, "we made some food. Should I fix you a plate?"
She inhaled tentatively and walked around me and gasped at the spread on the dining table. "You didn't!"
Ai laughed. "We did, we know you've had s rough time of things lately. And we just wanted to help."
Mary Lou promptly dissolved into tears, thanked us and then ran off to 'put her face on' as she called it. Mel and Alex came out as well and for the first time in a while we had a group dinner. We reminisced over what we'd all done so far and the sense of camaraderie was real. I knew it would only last for the evening but it was still nice.
#
The next few days were some of the most difficult in the competition. The finale would consist of the top three and I was devastated when both Alex and Ai were sent home in the next two challenges.
Ai's exit was especially hard for me to take. I hugged her as hard as I possibly could as soon as Aditya announced she'd be leaving. I'd been choked up at the reality that Ai only made it to the top four.
"It's okay," she'd said softly, running soothing circles over my back, "you gotta win this thing now. Do it for us gays."
I choked on a wet laugh and hugged her tighter, almost lifting her off the ground because of how I had to bend just to fit her properly. "I'm going to stay in contact with you," I promised quietly, telling her that as much as telling myself. I needed more friends and getting to know Ai had been one of the best parts of the entire competition.
"Okay, you two have to break it up," a producer said, "we gotta get some different shots."
I sniffled when we broke apart and subtly turned away from the cameras so no one could see the anguish on my face.
Ai had her grande exit and Aditya told us to get a good night's rest because as the three finalists it would be a roller coaster to get to the end.
Whatever tentative truce me, Mel, and Mary Lou had was gone the moment Ai left. She was the one who I wanted to be in the finale with. She'd been a friend and a great support until she was eliminated and someone who I knew I'd continue to be friends with even outside the competition. Her, Alex, and even Brian were people I'd make an effort to stay connected to.
The night before the beginning of the finale was tense.
I still had to pack a few more things but my flight was the day after tomorrow and I was most looking forward to seeing Trace. We'd had one video call, and Trace announced he would pick me up from the house. It was still pure craziness to me that he'd put so much on hold for me.
And it was all because he wanted to stay close to me in case I felt like I needed him. It was surreal to have someone who was willing to be that supportive and just there for me. At the same time it didn't make any sense it was such a relief. Trace didn't mind being the one to take care of things and as much as I talked up my independence it was nice for someone to hold my hand once in a while.
I knew especially that my panic attack had terrified Trace in a very real way. He didn't like seeing me helpless because it made him feel helpless, too. After the competition I would definitely start therapy with Dr. Yaya again. I wouldn't be able to function if my panic attacks made me pass out. I was at a stage where I just couldn't do things on my own anymore. I realized that now more than ever.
To calm down before the big finale I went to my room and got out some of my craft materials. So far, I'd crocheted some socks for myself, socks for Trace, an ultra soft blanket for CJ since he'd always liked soft things even as an infant, and now I was going to make a scarf.
Scarves were basic but I needed to make this one both plush and large so that me and Trace could share it. Him rattling off all the things he wanted us to do together spun my romantic heart into a tizzy.
So, I settled on my bed and took out a spool of yarn to start a new scarf. Time passed in a blurry haze and hunger started to gnaw at my belly.
I got up from my position and set my work down. I'd made some food earlier in the day and decided I would just heat up some left overs.
But as soon as I left the room I could hear Mary Lou and Mel gossiping. I was immediately reminded of the last time I'd overheard them and my stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch that had nothing to do with hunger.
I had no idea what it was about the acoustics but it was so easy for the sound to carry up the staircase.
"Do you think they just wanted to include a minority in the final three? I definitely feel like he doesn't deserve to be in the top three," Mel said in a hard voice.
My heart sunk like a stone into my stomach.
"At this point I'm starting to feel like you've got something against him," Mary Lou said warily. She sounded about as tired as I felt. Mary Lou was an acquired taste in a lot of ways. I still didn't trust her but she was nowhere near as petty as Mel.
"I don't," Mel said sharply, "he's just so I don't know. He reminds me of my ex's husband."
Woah, I knew Mel was divorced but I didn't know anything about his ex wife having remarried.
"I mean," Mel continued and the slurring of his words convinced me he was at least a little tipsy if not outright drunk, "she just had to get re-married like a year after the divorce was finalized. Our son was still a kid but he calls both of us dad. I hate that. The guy is like a former model turned tech genius. He worked in Silicon Valley and what am I? Just some public school teacher. And he's always so nice... so fucking nice all the time. Mr. Perfect. Some black guy took my wife, plays football with my kid and it just boils my blood that Darius is exactly like that. They even look alike. The first time I saw him I thought I was seeing a ghost. I just want to see him lose it for a second. Maybe that makes me shitty but I just can't stand him."
I was filled with shock and somewhere there was anger. Quickly, I stomped down the steps so Mary Lou and Mel would know I was there.
Once I got to the dining area, Mary Lou looked embarrassed but Mel was glaring at his beer bottle.
"So, you don't like me...because I'm nice?" I said with an incredulous laugh. It was so ridiculous I didn't even know how to feel.
Mel moved his dark expression from his bottle to my face. "It doesn't matter how I feel because it's not like I'm gonna see you again after this anyways. But, you're just phoney as fuck."
"I'm glad I'm never going to have to see you again," I said hotly, feeling my temper rise to the bait.
"Boys," Mary Lou said softly, "It's the night before the finale. I think we should all just calm down." But she was looking at me when she said it, as if I was the instigator.
Mel arched a brow and stood up. He chugged his beer and slammed the bottle back onto the table so hard I thought it would break. "Finally. a normal reaction for once. You can hit me if you want. Act like a real fucking man for once. I hate this stupid forced composure act."
My temper fell as quickly as it had risen. "You know what, Mel? You're not worth it."
Mel got a mean look in his eye. "Just because you're gay doesn't mean you have to act like a—" He stopped abruptly but all of us knew what he wanted to say.
"Finish that sentence, Mel," I yelled. If he wanted to see me lose it then I was losing it. Any kind of anger I ever exhibited always preceded a torrent of tears and I hated how soon my voice caught. I hated this. I hated this so much but I couldn't just stand there and take it anymore. "I dare you! Call me whatever you want to call me. Treat me like shit. Be racist. Be homophobic. You think you're the first person to act like this? You think you'll be the last? This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to see me react. Well, congratulations."
I rubbed at my eyes and turned away, going back towards the staircase and taking the steps three at a time. Just one more day. One more day and I could escape from this suffocating place. I kept telling myself that even if it wasn't making me feel any better.