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Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
My teeth begin to chatter, and it has nothing to do with the slight breeze blowing through. It’s late May, and been getting warmer by the day, but the nights are still pretty chilly. Not that I even really noticed until now.
Jeremy hunches his shoulders, and I find myself asking, “Are you cold? We should go back inside.” I go to turn away, and start heading back, already making plans to find Waylon and wrestle the flask from him if I have to—and that’s if he didn’t drink it all already—when from inside the gym, the music quiets, and the DJ, his voice clear as day, announces it’s time to grab hold of our dates and slow things down.
The swing squeaks and chains rattle from behind me. There’s a soft gust of air—a short, scornful huff. “Great.”
The song that starts playing is one I immediately recognize, as soon as the gentle, rhythmic guitar intro echoes out into the night. “Hear You Me” by Jimmy Eat World.
A quiet, bitter laugh trails from behind me. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Turning, I find Jeremy staring down at his lap, knuckles white around the chains, and a chill works down my spine. “What do you mean?
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me tonight.” He stands up suddenly, pushing away from the swing he was sitting on with such force, it goes flying out behind him, the chains getting all twisted together.
His chest rises and falls heavily, visible even under his suit jacket. Pacing, he grabs the ends of his hair hanging over his face in a familiar, anxious gesture.
“This is so stupid.”
“Jer, what?—”
He whirls toward me. “God, there’s so much worse shit going on, and here I am having a pity party because I will never have that,” he says roughly, flinging a hand in the direction of the gym. “I will never…never have that, but Izzy could have. She should be here. With you, and?—”
I’m shaking my head, but I don’t know why. Just that he’s wrong. He’s wrong.
“I’m gay.”
The words are quiet—paper thin—and yet they crawl out of him with so much force and agony, that I feel those two syllables sink like rocks from my throat to gut. Every other word uttered from his mouth just breaks off, dispersing into nothing, leaving just those two words.
“I’m gay, and it means nothing. They were all right about me, and none of it means anything now.”
Eyes burning, all I can do is stand here, frozen, staring at him.
And he stares right back, his amber eyes searing right through me. Like he’s daring me to tell him he’s wrong, or, fuck, hurt him for it.
They were all right about me.
From the gym windows, a guy’s voice fills the night, singing about not knowing anyone in town, and having a place to go, and not saying thank you because he thought he’d have more time…
Jeremy’s gaze drops, and he takes a step back, then another, wrapping his arms around himself, visibly trying to make himself smaller. “I’m gay,” he whispers, again, and there’s a thread of disbelief there, that wasn’t before. Shaking his head, he says again, “I’m gay.”
A sharp inhale spears through me when it hits me that this isn’t just him coming out for the first time…
But I’m willing to bet it’s the first time he said the words for himself.
Took ownership of them.
The music starts to pick up, and with everything he said running through my head—mostly nonsensically now, save for those two words—and the gut-punching feeling inside me…
I say, “Come here.”
He lifts his head, brows knitted with visible confusion. His eyes dart to my extended hand, and he frowns deeper.
“Come on. We’re gonna dance.”
His lips part, and he blinks up at me.
I shake my hand, and he’s shaking his head.
