Courage. The word was my motto for a reason. It was what I've needed all my life. It is also what I never had.
My dad was the first person to call me a coward. He yelled it at me constantly. I'm a coward for running, a coward for going to Dalton, a coward for everything I did. The bullies said the same thing. But both my dad and them said it so much it eventually made me numb to the word.
I still don't know why we fought, but I have no doubt it was my jealously. Kurt had been working on a project for school with a guy, can't, and don't care about his name. We fought hard, till that one word. Coward. Kurt called me a coward. I just froze and sank to the ground. Next time I looked up he was gone. It had to be true, I realized then. All I am is a coward.
For days I just sat there, thinking. Burt came by the 2nd day (or was it the 3rd?) and yelled at me some more. He also called me that word, multiple times. I was mostly unresponsive so he left eventually. I was confused. Why did it hurt me so much? My own father said it more times than I can count. Why now was this feeling of such great hurt showing itself? It was because it came from people I truly loved.
I startle awake, not remembering when I had fallen asleep, or passed out. The floor has been my companion the past couple of days and I was shocked to find myself on the bed. I was even more shocked to find I was cuddled into a certain boy who left me not a week ago. But that did not matter, not anymore. He came back, despite the fact his boyfriend is a coward. Courage, huh? Maybe it is about time I took my own advice to heart this time.