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When Echo and I met my senior year it was like something clicked into place. Like, ah yes, this is where I’m supposed to be. Next to this guy.
He was charming and funny and though I barely recognized it at the time, so, so, beautiful. Everything built slowly, but there was always something there, simmering under the surface.
When I realized my feelings for him were more than platonic I panicked. I prayed I wouldn’t be led to temptation. It didn’t matter though. Echo and I were inevitable.
The second he said hi to me in band class, our fates were sealed. Inexplicably intertwined.
I never was a believer in things like that. Fate, soulmates, despite Kellen’s trying to convert us all. But I can’t deny that the way I feel with and about Echo is different. I can’t find any other explanation for why my heart only sings for him.
“Are you sure you’re ready to come out? It’s a grand gesture sure, but it needs to be something done for you. When you’re ready.”
I sit with Kellen’s words for a moment. I do think I’m ready. Ready to be free, ready to have Echo where everyone can see. If he’ll have me. And I know there’s a chance anything I do will be for naught. That I’ll try for however long and he’ll still say no.
But I think it’ll be worth it. I’ll accept just being bandmates. It will hurt worse than a prick from a burning cactus, but at least he’ll be around.
And shit, maybe he’ll still want to hookup so as sad as I’ll be at least I’d still get to touch him. The only thing is—
“I’m just worried about my family. The things they said when I was growing up…” I sigh again, “I don’t want to lose them.”
“Well, you have to decide. Is he worth the risk? Are you?”
Am I? I don’t know. But I’d be stupid to say Echo isn’t worth everything to me.
Echo
You know what they say: Get over someone by getting under someone else.
That’s a wonderful saying, one of my favorites. And definitely hopefully very true. I need to get Callum out of my head.
Somehow. Maybe I’m too late. He’s been there a while now.
I just need someone so completely unlike him he won’t enter my mind even accidentally. What was I thinking? Not only hooking up with him a year ago, but continuing to do so??
Have I lost my fucking mind? It’s like even when I fucking hate him I have this gravitational pull toward him. No where to run or hide to escape from it. Not even the burning fire of hatred can fizzle out the way our waters flow together. Like two rivers flowing toward the sea, we’ll always meet again.
He misses me. Ha! That’s a fucking riot. He didn’t miss me when he started fucking Cozi Adair without so much of a: “Hey we can’t hookup anymore, all those promises? Lies.” Heads up.
Still would have hurt, but at least I wouldn’t have seen the guy I genuinely thought I’d spend my life with, wrapped around a socialite aspiring singer to find out we were through.
I realize now how much Cozi was a buffer. Callum is too good a man to cheat, and I… Well, luckily the opportunity didn’t arise. I’m a person, not a saint.
Cozi’s presence was my reason for breaking and my reason to stay away. I’m not fixed by any means, clearly— I’m going somewhere other than my house for once to be internally petty— but I just can’t stay away from Callum.
I can’t deny how my heart yearns for his. It’s simply frozen in time, suspended from the second he left me there without another word. How could I forgive that?
The bar that Nathan, my driver, found is dimly lit. It’s not packed, but there’s a decent crowd. Options. Thank the Bisexual Gods on this day that there’s a mix of beautiful people. I’m a hot rockstar, and at least a few of these people have to be single.
Statistically, I’d say the odds are in my favor.
I head to the bar to get a drink, some liquid courage. For some reason I feel dirty, sick like I’m somehow betraying Callum. And isn’t that ironic?
“What do you want?” The bartender, a cute twink dressed like he was spawned from 2008 MySpace, asks rudely. He has longer blond hair in a swooped bang style, decorated with cute hairclips. A black, cropped graphic tee, and low rise black jeans, exposing his colorful boxers and a bellybutton piercing. I can’t see his shoes, but I’m sure they’re just as cool as the rest of his accessories, layered necklaces, colorful earrings in multiple piercings, and what looks like dozens of beaded bracelets down his arms. He’s so fucking cool.
“Are you going to keep ogling me or can I make you a drink?” His voice isn’t expected, he has some kind of Brooklyn accent or something. Not deep, but deeper than you’d expect from someone so… tiny. And colorful. I think he’s shorter than Oliver even.
“Um yeah,” I say, blinking from my creepy daze. Have you ever desperately wanted to be friends with someone? I’m feeling a lot of that right now. A friend crush. Whatever you’d call that. “Just a vodka cran is fine.”
“No shit, it’s fine.” he grumbles, almost under his breath, rolling his eyes as he turns to assemble the simple beverage.
