I found a little notebook, but it isn't the address book I was looking for. It's a. it's a journal. I kept a journal! I begin to read, and the first date goes back to less than three years ago-I read things that don't make sense.

I love him so much! I don't think I could've survived what I did to my mom if it wasn't for him. He is always there for me and thank God for that.

I move a few pages down to a later date's entry and find more comments about a man. A man I supposedly love.

The therapist wants me to tell him about my past, but how exactly do you tell the man you love that your mother is dead because of you? How do I tell the man I love that the reason I refuse to call my dad is because of the shame and guilt I've been carrying around?

I stop reading. So many questions are making my head hurt. What did I do that killed my mom? Who the hell is he? Could it be Scotland? He often acts as if he loves me, but I still think he's keeping secrets from me.

Who can I trust after the accident that took my memory away?

Is he really just my roommate?

Meant to Be Gay is a gay story with mature content intended for 18+

TW:
This story mentions mental illness and suicide.