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After our Forward scores and the ref blows the whistle, we head toward the sidelines. Richards slams his heavy hand against my back. “Fuck yeah, Pax. That was a killer hit, man. You probably scared that Forward shitless.”
Another player, Benson, laughs. “Big ugly monster running toward him like that. I’m surprised he didn’t just hand us the ball.”
I punch Benson in the shoulder. “Speaking of ugly,” I reply. “Tell your mom she left her panties in my car.”
“Ohhhh,” Richards bellows from next to me, and the team breaks out in laughter.
Benson has an ear-to-ear grin and it’s fine. It’s fine like this, laughing along with them rather than letting them laughatme. I learned years ago that this is how you avoid the pain. Keep up the joke, let them have their fun, and don’t take it personally.
My eyes glance in the direction of the stands, and I spot Thomas immediately. He’s sitting next to Everly, and although she’s watching with interest, he couldn’t look more out of place. His eyes are fixated on his phone, and I know the only reason he’s here is for me. At least I think it is.
I haven’t spoken to him since after class. He invited me over again, and I’m telling myself I’m going there for sex, not because I literally have nowhere else to go.
As it turns out, beating the shit out of opponents on the field is excellent stress relief because by the end of the game, which we win by a long shot, I’m in a great fucking mood. I spot Thomas still sitting by Everly when I head toward the locker room. He gives me a very subtle head nod and I return the gesture. I find myself hoping he’ll wait around for me while I shower, which is very unlike me.
On the walk toward the locker room, the opposing team passes us on their way to the bus. We don’t say anything to them, but you can tell by the sour looks on their faces that they have some bitter resentment and hurt feelings. And I almost think we’re going to get by unscathed when the guy I hit pretty hard in the first half turns around and calls toward us.
“Hey, number twenty-three, how long you been sucking the ref’s dick?”
It’s Mason Richards who spins around and grabs the player by the shirt. “What the fuck did you say to him?”
“I figured he must be smoking someone’s pole since he never seems to get fouls called on him.”
Mason only grips him tighter, and the guy looks ready to blow. His face is beet red, and he has such a deep scowl on his face, I know it means he’s ready to throw down right here.
“Richards, stop!” I yell, grabbing my friend by the arm.
“You heard the faggot,” the guy spits back in Mason’s face, and I know shit is about to get ugly. I don’t know why, at that moment, my eyes cast upward toward the stands and my gaze locks with Thomas’s.
“Is he as fucking stupid as he is ugly?” the asshole in a vise grip asks, and I don’t know why I snap this time. I’ve put up with all the names, all the insults, and I don’t care what this ignorant piece of shit thinks about me, and I never take this stuff personally, but this time, itispersonal. I see Thomas’s face in my mind when I start swinging. There must still be a lot of pent-up rage coursing through my veins because my fist clobbers his jaw so hard, I feel a crack.
Then everything erupts into chaos. Both teams rally for their respective player and punches start flying. There’s not a single person in this tornado of fists and elbows trying to stop it, and I lose sight of anything outside of this brawl.
I have the idiot who called me the f-word by the collar of his jersey, and I’m pummeling his face, when I feel a hand wrap around my arm, pulling me backward. I don’t know how, but I register something familiar about the touch that’s trying to hold me back, and while I could easily brush it off and continue breaking this guy's nose even worse, I let the hand stop me.
When I turn around and see Thomas standing next to me, wild fear and shock in his eyes, I immediately let go of the punk who started all this shit. Most of the guys are still amped up and fists are still flying, and Thomas sure as shit shouldnotbe here, least of all for me.
Suddenly, Benson comes flying backward, crashing into Thomas and landing an elbow right into his nose. I act on instinct, crowding Thomas and wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him out of the squall.
The coaches and security have finally broken up the fight, leaving the field in a strange aftershock of adrenaline and chaos. I pull Thomas away from the crowd and into the locker room. It’s empty in here, so I drag him to the sink when I notice his nose is bleeding.
“Fuck. Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles. I grab a handful of paper towels and press them against his nose, tilting his head back to stop the bleeding.
“You took a punch too, you know,” he says, nodding up toward my eyebrow. A quick glance in the mirror and I see the blood trickling from a gash above my eye.
“I’m used to taking punches,” I say.
My hands are wrapped around his face, holding him closer than a straight man would hold another man. Then it finally registers that anyone could walk in here at any moment, and I truly don’t know if I care. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or maybe I’m just tired of hiding something I shouldn’t be ashamed of.
“What made you snap like that?” he asks.
I take a minute before answering, thinking back to that moment when I lost control and decked the guy in the face. I know I hit him hard, probably harder than I’ve ever punched anyone, and I know it must have hurt like a bitch, but it couldn’t possibly hurt as bad as being called ugly and stupid your entire life. And I can now add faggot to the list.
That one shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It hurts because I don’t feel shame for being gay. It hurts because out of all the shit I’ve put up with in my life, I’m looking into the eyes of the first guy who makes me feel good, and I hate the idea that someone could make that a bad thing.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, and it’s true. I don’t know why all of a sudden I’m triggered by the shitty things people say to me. I think Thomas has gotten into my head, made me realize I don’t deserve it or something. Like maybe if a guy like him likes a guy like me, I’m not such a piece of shit after all.
