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He was going to fucking hate it, and he would absolutely lose his shit. I wanted to witness it.
She nodded pointedly at my face. “Your eye. Dad will lose his shit if he sees you like that. At work, no less.” “He can get over it.” I sneered, a common reaction to any mention of my father. “I got it playing rugby. It wasn’t like I got busted by the cops with coke and hookers and tried to fight my way out of it.”
I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was shake my head. Because I was more myself with him than I’d ever been with anyone else.
He sighed and closed his eyes. “I can’t keep doing this.” “Doing what?” “Hiding. Lying. Lying to my team, lying to myself. Hiding who I am. I don’t want to hide in your kitchen anymore.”
“You once said what I’d lose by being true to myself doesn’t matter in the end because I’d gain me. And back then I thought that was stupid.” He shook his head, his eyes glassy. “But I’m worth that, aren’t I? I deserve that, don’t I?”