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“Then what are you implying?” I ask, feeling worry seep into me, hating this desperation clawing at my back, making me feel weak and helpless. “Honestly, I’m so confused. I used to hate Alex. He’s such a fucking asshole. He always has to be better than me at everything. And yet, I can’t get his stupid face out of my head. It’s always him and Rachel. Why? I don’t get it. I love Rachel. I want to be with Rachel. So why do I feel this way toward him? It’s so fucking annoying.”
“Seth, there is nothing wrong with feeling this way.”
“Yes, there is!” I shout while tugging at my hair. I pace back and forth, feeling energized, unable to sit, knowing the moment I do I will probably be thinking of Alex again and his stupid red hair and his fucking long fingers.
“Sexuality is not written in stone. You can like whomever you want. There’s no need for labels.”
“But I need labels,” I say, unable to hide my desperation. “Labels are the only thing I can use to make sense of the world.”
“Well, that’s your need for control coming in. But you can’t control desire and sexuality. They’re uncontrollable, just like love. You are attracted to the people you are attracted to. It’s as simple as that.”
“It’s not so simple for me.”
Dr. Forrester nods. “All right, fine. I can see you’re getting upset, so we can come back to this later.” She wrinkles her nose while pulling her sleeve up to look at her watch. “And we are just about out of time.”
“Do we have to?” I ask with a grimace, my gaze lifting to the clock on the wall and noticing we’re about two minutes past my appointment’s stop time. “Return to this… whatever this is with Alex.”
“We don’t have to, but I think it would be good if we do. This is another area in your life where you need to learn how to let go. Being attracted to the same sex is not a bad thing, no matter what society tries to push on us. And wanting to explore your sexuality should be something to be celebrated.”
I grimace. “So why don’t I feel like celebrating?”
Dr. Forrester shrugs. “Perhaps your family? The way you grew up? Is there anyone homophobic that has an impact on your life?”
With that one question, my mind flashes back to another time, when I was a boy, barely in middle school. My mom always had it tough with boyfriends. She was constantly looking for a new father figure for us, and they were always letting her down, either by cheating on her, or ditching her to the curb when they got bored. There was one man, I think his name was Joe. He was your typical white trash—wearing a dirt white tank and raggedy blue jeans. He worked as a mechanic in our neighborhood, at least until we moved. I hated him from the moment we met, and I think he hated me, too.
I can still smell the stench of grease and alcohol on his lips, still feel his hand around my throat as he slammed me against the wall. I can still hear my mother screaming,“Stop! Don’t hurt my baby!”
“What are you, a fucking pussy?”I remember Joe shouting in my face.
“Seth, are you okay?”
I flinch at Dr. Forrester’s words and smile tightly back at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. I should probably go.”
She nods, looking worried as she pulls the door open for me. “Continue with your exercise,” she says. “Stick to your three meals and try to write down anything that comes up that you can’t control, as well as why you can’t control them. And Seth—”
I stop and turn around, barely out of the room. Already, a woman about my age is edging toward the door. It’s probably time for her appointment, and here I am taking too long, as usual. I watch Dr. Forrester smile, her eyes lighting up as she says, “Embrace your feelings. Fighting them will do no one any good.”
I clench my jaw to keep myself from grimacing and give her a curt nod. “I’ll see you next week,” I mumble while turning around, walking briskly toward the door. I have no clue how I’m supposed to embrace these feelings, or how I’m supposed to talk with Alex. How would I even begin?Hey, Alex. Sorry to bother you. This might just take a minute. So I think I want to kiss you? You interested? No?
I stop walking when I make it to the sidewalk and tilt my head back, closing my eyes and relishing in the heat from the sun. Inhaling deeply, I try to calm my racing heart. There’s no way I can ever tell Alex about this. He would never let me live it down. I can hear all the mocking for the next several months, hear him singing deplorable things in my ear. I should just let it go. There’s no way I can ever let anything happen between me and Alex.
Chapter 5
LUCAS
Isitatthecafé while scanning the crowd, searching for that familiar, curly blond hair. She must be running late. Jason has been short-staffed recently, which is good business for me, given I have been taking all the shifts I possibly can. I couldn’t take tonight, though, no matter how much Jason begged and pleaded with me. Tonight is poetry night, and it’s my one evening off of the week. Not like a café stays open that late, anyway, but still. I gotta have a social life from time to time, right?
My gaze lands on a table of four girls. Their eyes focus on me, their lips parted into a smile. A redhead twiddles her fingers at me and I give them a nod, hoping that would suffice with their plans. All four quickly turn away and giggle. Sure, they like me now, but will they like me after listening to my poetry?
I grimace and turn my gaze back to the crumpled papers in my hands, my eyes retracing the words, wondering if what I have written is complete crap. Maybe this was a mistake. Rachel isn’t even here. I can cross my name off the list, go pick her up at The Café and we can get dinner together.
She’ll probably scold me for chickening out. This isn’t even my first time. I shouldn’t be this nervous, but I can’t stop my hands from shaking and I can’t stop that twisting feeling in my gut, making me want to either run or vomit. Where is Rachel? I need her here. I need to see her smile. Only then will I feel better about this whole thing.
I fold my papers and shove them into my back pocket before turning toward the door, my heart lurching with hope when I hear the bell ring, see the door open. I smile as I see a woman with blond hair enter, but she flicks the locks over her shoulder, displaying bright red lipstick and a face covered in makeup. Not my Rachel. A guy takes the woman’s hand and escorts her toward one of the tables in the front.
The lights dim and I stifle the need to groan. I’m going up soon. All the little wooden tables are nearly taken, but thankfully, I have one reserved. The small, decorative candle twinkles mockingly back at me. What if Rachel doesn’t show? What if Jason evilly keeps her there until after I’m on?
My hands fist as I watch the owner, Steve, step around the counter and walk toward the stage, a stool in hand. Steve is a tall, lanky guy, who smiles easily and listens well. I’ve barely talked with him, only to sign up for poetry nights every now and then, but he’s very passionate about creating a space for the artists of Aurora to come together. He used to be an English major at some other school outside Colorado. I can’t remember the name of it. He came here several years ago because he thought the town was quaint. I don’t think I could ever move anywhere for that reason alone. He’s definitely braver than me.
