Finding Home In Him

I sat alone in my dark room, which had very little light. It wasn't really a home for me. There was a poor, off-white couch in the corner with tattered edges, and the scent of yesterday night's pizza still hung in the air. I held my phone tightly in my hand, which was the only way I could communicate with the outside world. I scroll through social media over and over again. Every new post on my feed reminds me of what I've lost. Friends at family events. Smiles that I used to be a member of.

I can't stop looking at the images of my family. My mother seems so beautiful and warm in every picture, and my father looks so serious and in control. They've gone on. They've made lives without me, and I'm just not a part of it anymore.

I close my eyes and try to forget the memories, but they keep coming back. When they kicked me out, my mother had tears in her eyes and wanted to know why. Even now, I can still hear my father's icy comments.

"You are no longer welcome here. Not after this.

It hurts just as much to hear those comments now as it did then. I was only trying to be honest with myself. I wanted to be myself, but in their world, it wasn't okay. Not when it meant ruining their immaculate picture of the family.

I wipe my face with my hands to try to keep my feelings in check. This is my life now. A life lived in the dark, like this. By yourself.

I look at a few more entries and see how well everyone else is doing. They are content with who they are and are with their family and friends. The weight of it all is too much for me to handle. My fingers shake as I swipe the screen, trying to get rid of the feeling.

Then, the phone rings.

I look at the screen. A number I don't know. My heart skips a beat, and my stomach turns. I think about it for a second before answering, feeling the weight of the choice.

"Jackson?"

The voice of my father. The cold, unemotional tone that I've heard so many times in the last few months. It slices through the quiet of the room like a knife.

"Dad?" My voice breaks, but I clear my throat to attempt to keep it steady.

"You know why I'm calling."

I hold the phone tightly, trying to fight the wrath that is coming over me. "I don't need this." I don't need…

"You can't talk to me like that, Jackson." He sounds very relaxed. So uninterested. Like this is just a deal between two people. "We've talked about this previously. You aren't welcome here. You made your decision. And you'll have to deal with it.

I can feel the air leaving my lungs. "So, that's it? "You're done with me?"

There is a long break. He then says, "We're done." I can't let you put dishonor on this family. "Goodbye, Jackson."

The line goes dead, and I'm alone in the quiet room with the phone still held to my ear. The sound of the connection fades away. I don't know how long I sit there, but the ache is deep in my chest. I can't believe it's over. My head is spinning.

My eyes are burning with tears, but I won't let them fall. Not yet.

I put the phone down on the table and stand up, pacing back and forth in the cramped area. My mind is racing because my urge to survive is kicking in. Where shall I go? What the hell should I do now?

I look at my bank account on my phone. My heart drops. There is nothing there. My family didn't just stop talking to me; they've also made sure I can't get any money from them.

I bit my lip and my chest got tighter. I don't know how to live in this world without them. It feels like a punch to the belly to know how bad things really are for me. I feel the weight of my despair.

Then, I feel something shake in my hand. A notification lights up on my phone.

A tweet from me.

The words are out there, raw and unedited: "Need a place to stay." Will provide anything in return.

I can't believe how desperate I am as I stare at the television. Did I really just send that tweet?

I throw the phone down and step aside, but my fingers are already yearning to take it up again. Maybe someone will help, though. Someone might take me in.

I hang up the phone, and the silence is still there. "You are no longer welcome here," my father said.

I shut my eyes to attempt to drown out the sound of his voice, but I can't. That phrase keeps coming back to me, taking away any sense of self-worth I felt I had.

I lean against the wall and feel the ice soak into my flesh. I try to remember the good things, like how much I used to have. How I had it everything. The money my family has. What they can do. Just the name of my father should have been enough to get me through life, but it never was. Not for me. Not after the truth came out.

I blink quickly to keep the tears from falling. But that's too much.

The weight of being turned down is hard on my chest.

I breathe in and out slowly and gaze down at my phone. A wave of panic hits me out of nowhere. I tap my bank account again. Nothing.

How the heck am I expected to live like this?

I rush through my belongings, collecting anything I can. I don't even know where I'm going. I've lived in this city for a few months, yet I don't feel at home anywhere.

I start to walk toward the entrance, but I stop when I notice my phone light up again. A message.

I look at it, and there it is again. My tweet.

I put my lips together. This is how things are for me now.

I don't know what to do next.

I unlock the door and step outside into the cool night air. I could get on the bus and go somewhere. Maybe a place to stay. Maybe...

But my phone rings again, and I don't know the number.

I grasp it swiftly, and my hands shake.

"Hello?" My voice breaks again.

"Jackson?"

It's not my dad. It's a guy.

The man continues in a low, seductive voice, "You don't know me, but I saw your tweet." It draws my attention in some way.

My heart starts to race. "Who is this?"

"I'm Charles Thorne." I can provide you a place to sleep. But there will be a condition in return.

I blink, and it feels like the air is leaving my lungs. "What... what kind of condition?"

"There are rules." But it's a safe place. And I'm confident we can work something out.

I have a hard time swallowing. This feels like a lifeline being thrown to me. But is it?

I sit on the edge of my bed with the phone still close to my ear. "What do you want?"

"I just need you to stay for a bit. No strings attached. "Just for now."

I'm not sure. Someone I don't know. A person with a billion dollars. A deal. I don't know what to do, yet it feels like the only choice.

I rub my face, and I'm starting to feel tired.

"Okay," I say in a low voice.

Charles stops. "Okay. I'll provide you the information. You can see me tomorrow. "I'll handle everything."

The line goes dead, and I'm alone again.

I'm about to jump into the unknown. What else do I have left, though?