One hundred percent.
But I can’t read into it. Clearly, he doesn’t want to address it and as much as I want to devour every inch of him with my tongue and teeth, I’d rather have him in my life in some capacity than scare him away with my stupid crush. That’s what this is, right? The nightly fantasies of his sunny smile pressing against my lips and daydreams of his honey-smooth voice whispering my name while his body rolls into mine—
“Win?"
I blink back to earth.
“Not yet,” I sigh.
The look on her face twists my insides. It’s hopeful. She believes I’m happy here. And maybe I am, but not for the reasons she thinks. It has nothing to do with the change of scenery, the new school or even the violin tutor she hired.
She doesn’t know I’m bullied relentlessly for the way I dress. For being too quiet. For not fucking my way through every girl in the sophomore class since they haven’t figured out I’m gay… Yet.
But they’re picking up on it. Yesterday, a senior named Grant Larson pinned me to the lockers and smashed my face into the metal as he taunted, “You’re such a fucking faggot. Bet you love cock deep up your ass, huh? You’d let your buddy Remy fuck your hole, wouldn’t you?”
I don’t think he would have appreciated me saying, “In a heartbeat.”
As much as I want Remy like that, I refuse to let Grant and all his homophobic douche-canoe friends know it. It may hurt me, but I’m used to it. I mean, I came out in eighth grade and lost all my so-called friends since they didn’t want me to, “fall in love with them.”
Remy isn’t me. He hasn’t been stripped of all good qualities and reduced to a sexual preference as a means to justify violent hatred. His self-esteem isn’t beaten to a pulp from years of tauntsand jeers. No, Remy is sunshine in a bottle. If he gets more tangled up with me, those bastards will drain him of all his beautiful brightness.
Granted, that would imply he wants me in the same way.
He doesn’t. He’s your friend, that's it.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Is something bothering you, hon?”
I shake my head. “Just stressed about exams,” I lie.
The hope in her eyes deteriorates. I hate that my existence constantly brings people down. I haven’t forgotten overhearing Dad, the week before shipping me off, whisper into the phone, “I don't know what to do.He won’t talk to me. Now he's got cuts on his wrists, Marcy. I'm out of my depth here.”
After the divorce, I was given the option to either move with Mom or stay with Dad. I didn't want to impose on Mom's new life, nor did I want to leave Dad all alone. He seemed thrilled with my choice for a while, but I guess I became more of a burden than a comfort.
Mom and Richard were more than happy for me to move to Florida with them and accepted reassurances from Kingsbury High that I’d be required to attend weekly check-ins. Fifteen minutes of small talk in a stuffy room during lunch period with my overworked and underpaid school counselor, Danny, isn’t going to radically transform my mental state, but I don’t dare bring that up to Mom. It’s easier if my parents believe I’m getting better.
“Headed to Remy’s?” Mom asks.
A flush creeps up my neck at the thought of him. I ache for the freedom to touch him— show him just how insane he drives me. It takes incredible restraint not to throw myself at him. If I didn’t value his friendship so damn much, I would’ve already.
Apparently, I enjoy torturing myself because I nod at Mom as I grab my backpack off the counter.
“Have fun!” she calls at my back. I wave her off and begin the mile walk to Remy’s house, taking a shortcut through a few neighboring properties. I pop my headphones in, ambling beneath ancient trees dripping Spanish moss while the sting of my newest cut chafes against the seam of my jeans. (Ever since Dad found the one on my wrist, I steer clear of visible areas.) Physical pain distracts me from the shame and misery stewing inside me.
Kicking sand spurs and dirt from my sneakers, I ascend the wooden stairs to Remy’s front door and knock.
Will he act differently? Should I stay off his bed?
I rub my sweaty palms on my thighs.
Panicked thoughts take off their marks, speeding around the track as the door opens—
Outlined in golden light, he glows like an angel.
“You take the long way?” Remy teases. The tension in my muscles melts. I roll my eyes dramatically, grinning as I shoulder past him. He cuts in front of me, leading the way to the living room.
Not his room.
