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You lie down next to Robby, who was quietly crying over losing the all valley again. The tears mix with all his wounds and turn into a cry for his mother, and especially for his father, an anguished cry that suffocates the blonde.
— Why are you here? I’m annoying, weak, useless. Not even my dad likes me, so why would anyone else? — he speaks softly, his voice choked with tears almost making it hard for you to understand.
— That’s not true. I like you, and you are none of those things you said. And if your dad can’t see that, screw him. — you respond eloquently, trying to convey security as you run your fingers through the blonde’s hair, lying against your chest.
— You’re going to leave me, marry a guy who uses gel in his hair, and have kids who are allergic to gluten — The blonde continues, his face red as he pouts.
You laugh at the way he says the last part — Our kids won’t be allergic to gluten, and as far as I know, you don’t like using gel in your hair. No matter what happens, you and I are forever.
The blonde lowers his head as if digesting what you said. — You and I are forever. — he murmurs softly as if affirming it to himself while looking down, now almost hiding his face from you.
You both sit in silence for a short while until he begins to speak again.
— I like it when you do that with my hair; it helps me sleep. — he murmurs, his voice trembling from the recent tears.
— You like head pats? — you smile at this information and look at Robby; he looks completely vulnerable lying on your chest.
— Yeah. Who taught you how to do it?
— Usually, whoever takes care of us does; my (caregiver) used to do it to calm me down.
— My parents never did. — the blonde speaks quickly without thinking.
— Never what? — you ask softly, a bit apprehensive about making him shut down.
— Never calmed me down. — he replies, hugging you and snuggling even closer against your chest.
— Whenever you need me, I'm here for you, my dear. — You don’t say anything more; that’s enough.
You kiss the top of his head and continue running your fingers through his hair.
You stay there, patting him until he finally falls asleep.
Deep down, Robby still hoped that his father would come pick him up from wherever he forgot him, hoped he would show up at the school presentation, hoped he would at least make a measly phone call. But Johnny never came for him because he never tried to reach out.
Robby was 17 years old; he was a grown man, a man.
Different from his father, but seeing him with a daughter and being the father he never was to him, and before that being a father to Miguel, how could Jhonny have changed so much for them when he couldn't even hold him as a baby?
And even if Jhonny now made an effort, even in the slightest way, to be a better father, none of this change was for Robby; it was all for Miguel. Everything for Jhonny has always been Miguel. He got his life together for Miguel; he sees that being a father can be great because of Miguel; he becomes a better person because of Miguel.
If Miguel hadn't appeared in Jhonny's life, Robby wouldn't have had even the slightest bit of a father, and this realization cuts deep into Robby's heart. Even if he defeats Miguel in a battle, Miguel won the war.
If Jhonny Lawrence was truly capable of changing for real, it means he was always capable of changing; Robby just wasn’t worth it enough for him.
You had been in a relationship for over a year, and Robby gradually became comfortable talking about his childhood. You had seen many sides of Robby, but there, talking about his family, you saw him for real.
You ran your fingers through the soft blonde strands lying on your chest; he always fell asleep the moment he stopped crying. Your eyes filled with tears thinking about how many nights he spent crying alone or everything he had been through that you still didn’t know.
You looked at his red face from crying while he slept, and your only thought was how someone can live peacefully after causing so much damage to someone? You wondered how lonely Robby's life truly was.
You recalled the time you fought and broke up; how Robby seemed so shaken afterward—he looked physically ill. It was the first time you saw him drunk, and he felt so ashamed that he couldn't even look at you. The disappointment in himself was visible on his face—the fear that in the end, he would turn out just like his father and have no escape from it because some people are born with misfortune in their blood.
You remembered the time Robby stayed up until 2 AM on his own birthday waiting for a "happy birthday" that never came. He seemed so upset even while saying he was used to it; no one can truly get used to being abandoned by their own parents.
You recalled the time he cooked for hours to introduce you to his family, but they decided that anything else was more important than him. That night you stayed over at his house, and in the middle of the night when you got up to go to the bathroom, you accidentally walked into the wrong room. You bumped into an old box and out of curiosity decided to open it. The box was filled with childhood drawings—a tiny blonde child you presumed to be Robby, along with his mom and dad all smiling broadly, with "Dream House" written on top in childish handwriting.
And as you flipped through them more and more, you realized that the dream house was far from reality. Until halfway through the drawings, Jhonny appeared in most of them, all with Robby's colorful crayon handwriting above saying "Dream House," until Jhonny completely disappeared. However, his mother continued appearing in Robby's drawings—seemingly not as happy as in previous ones. The little phrase that always seemed present also disappeared as if Robby had lost hope for a happy family. Until eventually, his mother started disappearing too and appearing rarely; the drawings began to look strange—torn pages from how hard the blonde pressed down on the pencils—drawings of himself alone with scribbles everywhere except on himself who remained in the middle of this whirlwind of marks— alone.
That night you lay beside the blonde with a heavy heart, holding back tears and hugging him tightly; you wanted to hold that boy in your arms forever—just you two—and you would ensure nothing bad would happen to him.
Robby sometimes seemed too sensitive, but it wasn't that. He just spent too much time being strong which only left him more hurt. Robby grew up without affection or anything; being loved felt wrong to him, and he didn't even know how to receive all the love you had to give him.
You knew that he put too much pressure on himself and that when he woke up with puffy eyes from crying he'd feel embarrassed for not having held it together; he'd thank you a million times over for being there for him because having someone there for him was everything he'd ever wanted.
Deep down everyone needs a safe harbor, and you didn't mind being his.
Robby was a wonderful boyfriend, a wonderful friend, a wonderful brother; he was a wonderful man. You wished everyone could have a Robby, but not this one, because this one was already yours.
And you had been trying to convince him that he was good, that he was enough, that it was with him that you wanted to be, that he was the one who made you happy, that being with him was what mattered and still matters to you, that you wanted him and only him.
You wished you could take away all his trauma and just throw it away, but you can't do that. You wanted him to know that he would never have to cry alone again or deal with anything alone; that he could lay down and cry on your chest until that anguish passed, and if he needed to do that every day for the rest of your lives, it would be okay with you. One day Robby would feel deserving of all this love, but until then, you would affirm every day with your actions that said I love you.