A Fresh Start

England was a dream. A dream I never realized I'd been thirsting for until Jackson and I left the house that evening. And when we stepped out, I did so with fresh, well-rested eyes, and my oh my, this town was a fantasy. 

Sheffield was beautiful in a quiet, peaceful way: green hills, old brick houses, cafés that felt like they knew you before you even laid eyes on them, tall trees, and small parks filled the city. The roads were calm, and the air was cool and relaxing. The old stone walls gave the place a warm, old feel. It wasn’t loud and flashy: it was warm, soft, and filled with life. 

And it brought tears to my eyes. 

There’s a saying that a person who was born in a burning house thinks that the rest of the world was burning until they stepped out. That saying has never resonated with me until now. 

I turned to Jackson, who had been silently watching me with bright eyes and a small, intimate smile meant only for me, even though people were walking around us.

I reached out for him, and he drew me into his arms without me needing to say a word. I wrapped my arms around his waist like he was my lifetime, and for the past three months, since this man stepped into my life with all his intensity and stubbornness, that is what he's become.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice choked with tears, my face pressed into his chest. 

I was outside, in a place where at least five people passed us by every ten seconds, and I was hugging my man, with tears in my eyes, and there was no panic clawing at my chest, no stupid voice telling me to stop being ridiculous and pull away. To stop being pathetic. I was outside, and my emotions were naked for anyone to see, and I couldn't care less.

“Really, Jackson, thank you. I never would have seen any of this without you. I never would have known I've been living in a burning house if you hadn't taken my hand and dragged me out. So… thank you. Thank you for letting me see how beautiful the world can be, and that there’s so much more than ugliness and black and white.” 

I raised my eyes to his, and he was looking down at me with such tenderness that it burned right into me. The softness in his eyes, the love and absolute adoration, it was like a hand reaching out to loosen the noose around my neck, and it made me realize I wasn't acting anymore. I stopped acting since that night he said those three words to me. 

Sure, I still had my fears and panic. Sure, I knew if we went back, it would be hard to act like we didn't know each other in public when anyone with eyes could see how madly in love with each other we both were. Sure, I would finally have to face my fears and take the brunt of whatever happens, but I was… I was happy. I was content. I was… free. FREE. And I do not plan to go back to the prison I called life when we went back home. I do not plan to go back to hiding. I was done, and for real this time. 

My hands shook as they rose to cup his face, my thumbs caressing his cheekbones and his lips, and he just watched me. He waited, patient as he always was, but nervous and eager for what I was about to do next. He didn't see it coming, and neither did I.

I rose onto my tiptoes, my eyes closing, and pressed my lips to his softly. With my lips still there, I whispered, “I love you, Jackson.”

I felt every damn muscle in his body go still, and a harsh shiver shook his big body. I felt his knees shake, and his arms on me tremble. When I finally found the courage to open my eyes and look into his, the emotions there were blinding. He looked like I just gave him water when he was about to die of thirst. He looked like life had been pushed into his lungs. His mouth opened and closed, words that didn't make sense stumbling out, and I just laughed softly. 

“Two years from now we’ll graduate,” I said softly, my thumb still caressing his skin. “There would be nothing holding us in that town. We will both leave, and we can come here, or go anywhere the wind takes us. We can just… live. Together.” 

His throat worked around a hard swallow, his lips trembling. He rested his forehead on mine, his eyes never leaving mine. “Together, my love.” 

That lady’s words from Vancouver echoed in my mind, so here I was, grabbing love with both hands, letting it make me pathetic, and stupid, and bold, and happy. Love was staring at me in the face with grey eyes, whispering to me that I didn't have to do life alone. Not anymore, and I would be a damn fool if I let my fears or my past take this from me.

Tonight I was going to tell him. I would tell him everything that happened with Michael, and there would be nothing between us anymore. It would be a fresh start for us. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” I said as I pulled back, sniffling, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. 

“If you say so.” He took my hand. “Come now, my love. Let’s get to the fun part of town. The young people’s part.” 

~.~

Oh, so THIS was Steffield. 

It wasn't just old brick houses and green hills. No, no, no, this city had its own damn pulse! And ouu, what a pulse it was. 

The streets were filled with people, some just chatting, while some were so glued to each other’s sides, they needed to get a damn room. Music spilled from bars that already seemed crowded even though it wasn't eight yet. Cafés were filled to the brim, and I'm sure it would be a nightmare to work in a place like that, but it could also be a dream, meeting different people—something I have always hated, but am now eager to do. The lights from shops and clubs, the sounds, everything made this place seem alive. Like it was a living being. 

Yes, I was definitely moving here. I had to! 

“Oi, mate!” a voice called from behind us, but since the place was filled with people, they could be calling anyone, so we ignored it.

But then…

“Is that Jackson M'Call I see?!” 

Jackson froze and then turned on a whim, his eyes twice the size of saucers. 

“Well, I'll be bloody damned!”