Page 104 of One More Time


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Jude says he deserves it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve this. He was cruel to me in high school, calling me gay when I didn’t even know if I was. And all of his comments back then made me insecure, made me question who I was. Made me hate myself, really.

And when reality hit, when I realized that what Jude said was true, it was too much to bear. I had to leave. I had to go to another school so I could have some peace. Not that I really found it. I had the same issues at the new school. In fact, it waseven worse, with some of them resorting to physical violence. It seems the world is filled with bullies.

It wasn’t until college, when I met Killian that I really came out of my shell. He helped me change the way I looked at myself, mainly by helping me learn how to dress and how to work out to build my self-esteem. He was my first gay friend and my first gay fuck.

He knew all about my past, about Jude, my mind hyper-focusing on him for years. Perhaps it’s because I wanted him, even back then.

But now that I know him, I understand him, and why he was so mean to those who were different. It was how he was raised. And based on what I’ve seen, I realize that he’s been struggling with his own sexuality just as much as I did all those years ago.

And the hardest realization to come to was that I wasn’t a hobby for him. That this revenge plot was just as cruel as the things he did to me. Maybe even worse because I’m an adult and chose to do this. I made him like me, made him admit he was gay, only to turn it around and make him feel like this was all a game.

But it wasn’t.

It stopped being a game long ago.

God, I suck. I’m the worst fucking person, and if Jude never forgives me and I have to live with this the rest of my life, I deserve it.

I really do.

I just hope he calls me, hope he doessomethingbecause I’m this close to heading over to his place and making him listen to me.

Not that it would be productive, but I just want to see him, to touch him, to kiss him again.

Anything.

I’d take anything at this point.

The doorbell rings, jolting me from my thoughts, and I nearly trip trying to answer it. Perhaps he saw my messages, maybe he heard what I have to say. I wanted to tell him everything at the club, but he ran away and hid. I couldn’t find him.

With desperation, I swing the door open and my face falls when I see that it’s just the poor delivery man, startled by my aggression.

Fuck. Me.

“Sorry, man,” I say and he just lifts a hand as he jogs off. I rest my forehead against the doorjamb and let out a shaky breath. I’m losing my mind. How am I gonna make it weeks without him? It’s only been several days and I’m going crazy.

Fuck, what if he really avoids me for weeks? Months? Years?

That…I would probably die. I wouldn’t make it.

Oh, fuck it. Fuck this. I can’t wait another minute. I know I seem insane, but the longer I’m away from him the worse I become. And he hasn’t responded to my messages despite me begging him to, which makes me nervous.

What if he’s not okay? I know what bullying is like, know how it feels to be brought down so low by another.

What if he’s hurt himself?

The thought propels me to his place. And as soon as I arrive, my feet hitting the pavement of the driveway, I see Ollie peering through the window.

I don’t even get to knock on the door before it swings open and something pelts me in the face.

I gasp and swipe at my cheeks.

“Did you…” I ask just as another hits my chest. “Stop throwing tomatoes at me, Ollie. I’m here for Jude.”

Ollie has a basket around his forearm and is digging inside of it, grabbing a head of lettuce, and lobbing it at me. It hits me right in the groin, and I bend over with a gasp.

“Well, you can’t have him! You hurt him, you big boob!” he shouts and then lobs a small potato at my head. It bounces off my temple and rolls to my feet. I mean, I’m not even mad. I deserve it. I deserve to be pelted with old veggies like I’m a stage performer in Medieval times. The neighbors should come out here and shout insults at me too. Just really bring it on.

“You can’t…you can’t do this to me!” I gasp, cupping my junk as a piece of celery flies past my head. How do they have so many vegetables on hand? Do they stock up for occasions such as this?

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