A Year Without Johnny

Harry Mitchell is a young boy whos best friend commited suicide. Since the event, even more terrible situations have come to pass and Harry is left making heart wrenching decisions. This is his letter that lets you into his life, his thoughts and feelings, as he lives a year without Johnny.

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11. Ten months without Johnny

“Harry?” Johnny whispered against my ear and I softly stirred in my sleep. “Harry, wake up.” His fingertips grazed my cheek, caressing me slowly. I fluttered my eyes open to see him leaning over me, a dazzling smile spread across his face.

“Morning,” I muttered, letting out a tiny yawn. “What time is it?”

“It’s 8 o’clock,” he replied before he gently lowered himself to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I have to go. Your parents will be home soon.” He sat up swiftly, kicking his feet off my bed. Only then did I remember, seeing him in nothing but his boxers, the amazing night we had previously shared.

“We can tell them you stayed the night, can’t we?” I suggested. I really didn’t want him to leave me, not when I only just awoke. “Friends do stay over at each other’s houses.” I sat up, pulling the sheets with me, and crossed my legs.

“Not for three nights,” he laughed and turned to look at me. When we caught eyes, I couldn’t help but smile. His eyes and his lip so enticing. Everything about him, bewitching. “Besides, I told my dad I was staying at a hotel in Manchester. If your parents told him I were here-”

“I know.” I cut him off before he could finish, knowing that I would not like the end of that sentence, no matter how he choose to conclude it. “Can we meet up later though?” Johnny was quick to nod and followed it up with his perfect smile. He swiped his jeans from the floor, slipping into them one leg at a time.

“I miss you when you’re gone, Johnny.” I said softly, scanning his toned body. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He lifted his head so his gaze met mine and before I knew it he was back beside the bed, his hand cupping my face and his thumb brushing against my lower lip.

“Hey,” he cooed, “you’re Harry Mitchell. You don’t need anybody else.”

“That’s not true,” I told him truthfully. “I need you.” His lips smashed against mine, abruptly, and I was pushed back, my head touching the wall. His tongue rolled blissfully around my mouth and I shuddered at his touch. When he pulled back, he pressed he forehead lightly on mine.

“I love you, Harry.”

I woke with a sodden pillow that morning. Tears streaming down my face as I remembered him and all those times he told me he loved me. Where did they all go? Why did I ever let them slip through my fingers?

As you may be able to tell, it was this month that I started to cope less and less with the fact that Lizzie and Johnny weren’t here anymore.

I went to Lizzie’s funeral, you know, and did something that, despite how inappropriate and unexpected it may have been, I do not regret. Lizzie and Johnny’s father stood, mourning the loss of his daughter, yet was without a single tear. It burned me to see him. I barely even recall walking up to him, the words slipping from my mouth.

“You didn’t even care about her, but I did. I was your daughter’s friend, Mr. Warren.” I paused and, for some unknown reason, that was when bravery struck. “And I was your son’s boyfriend.” His eyes turned cold and his face burned hot. “That’s right. B. O. Y. F. R. I. E. N. D. Boyfriend.”

“You were what?” He screamed.

“I was your son’s partner,” I stated, “and we were in love.”

“Are you telling me that you have come to my daughter’s funeral to stand here and accuse my deceased son of being a homosexual?” He whispered in a harsh tone. “I don’t know what kind of a sick joke this is but you better get out of my sight, right now!”

I don’t understand why he shouted at me. I thought he knew Johnny was gay. Johnny said that he had told his father, so either his father was a complete self-righteous man, which I wouldn’t put past him, or Johnny was lying.

I tried to stop myself from crying that night, it did not work. My heart was such a stubborn thing when it ached.

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