“So, we should probably quit this, right?” He licks his bottom lip, glancing at me. Quit what? Our friendship? This night? It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about.
“Is that what you want?”
He scoffs. “I don’t want you to pity-fuck me, Kaden.”
“Is that what we do?” I frown. “Pity-fucking? Is that how you see me? You’re just fucking me ‘cause I’m such a paranoid idiot who can’t get it elsewhere?”
“No, but you’ll see me as this fucking loser from now on. And I don’t want you to fuck me out of pity ‘cause I’m a weak little bitch-boy who cries after sex.”
I walk up and drop down on the coffee table in front of him, making him look at me.
“I fuck you ‘cause I like it. ‘Cause it feels good. ‘Cause you turn me the fuck on, Seth. And because I trust you. So, no, I wouldn’t fuck you out of pity. Nothing’s changed. I fucking hate what they did to you, and I could fucking kill them for doing that, and for making you think that you were anything but fucking perfect. But I can’t change that. So, if you’re still in, I’m in. But I need you to trust me, too, Seth. And if you don’t wanna keep doing this—”
“I do. I just—”
“Then don’t hide from me. I can take it. You want me to hold you after sex, I’ll fucking hold you.” I shrug. “We’re in this together, man. It’s a give and take. And if that’s what you need, then I’ll do it. And if you wanna wear skinny jeans, or a crop-top, or whatever it’s called—”
“Or laced panties?” he says, giving me a challenging look. “You’d still fuck me then? If I wore laced panties? Or a jock-strap?”
“Do you wanna wear that?”
“No,” he states. “I don’t.” He shakes his head, sighing. “I just—”
“Yeah. I’d still fuck you. You’re still you, Seth. I don’t give a fuck about how you dress.”
He looks up at me, biting his bottom lip, wringing his hands together.
“As long as you don’t change what’s in here—” I say, tapping his temple. “—or here,” I tap his chest, right over his heart. “Then we’re good. You and I are good. It’s you and me, Seth. Okay? ‘Cause I need you. You’re my person. My best friend. Okay?” I sound desperate. And I am.
He closes his eyes, drops his head and scratches his eyebrow.
And then he nods, whispering, “Okay.”
58
Seth
Itwasgradual.First,it was the looks, the sneers, and the whispers when I walked past in the hallways. About my clothes, my black nail polish, my hair. I kept my light brown curls at shoulder-length back then. Lou said I looked like the American version of Jon Snow.
One time, someone followed me after class, bending their wrist like some stupid stereotype, and strutted down the hallway, swinging their hips. And when I turned around, they rushed back to their friends, laughing.
Then came the slurs. People starting calling me faggot, and queer even before I was out. I heard Trey Jackson calling me an ass bandit behind my back. I didn’t even know what that meant.
I was a late bloomer, and my voice didn’t drop until Sophomore year. That was apparently hilarious. And when it finally did drop, I didn’t get the low, manly voice like all the rest of my peers. No, I was left with a permanently hoarse voice that breaks whenever I raise it.
And that was even worse.
I came out some time shortly after that. I wasn’t planning on it, it just slipped out of my mouth, and everything got so much worse. Someone wrote GAY POWER on my locker with a permanent marker.
I got my first F on a test during that time, and River Ramon snatched it from me, and scribbled something before he crumbled it and threw it at me. I never showed my parents that. I refused to come home with a wrinkled paper that said FAGGOT in big, red letters.
Sometimes when Lou did her makeup, I borrowed her highlighter and some lip gloss. I wore it one night when Lou and I were going to the movies, matching it with a silver chain choker, a black satin jacket, and black, tight jeans. I felt so good about myself.
Until Trey and his minions showed up.
“Well, if it isn’t Nancy and her girlfriend,”Trey laughed.“Sup, Lou?”He’d nodded at her and then came up to me, pulling on my choker. His breath smelled of cigarettes when he’d said,“Wow, you girls look pretty tonight.”
And then he’d turned around, laughing. Lou told them to fuck off, like she often did. She always stood up for me, even when I tried to laugh it off. Like what they said didn’t matter to me, or that it was just a joke I was in on.
