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That Thursday seemed to have lasted forever. Skipping the last two classes hadn't been the smartest decision he could've made in order keep his mind from the incessant, angsty rambling, but there was no way he could focus on learning anything that day, not whilst having such an amount confusing thoughts racing through his mind. After a whole hour of driving aimessly around the city, he decided to take a road to the south for a few more miles, until a white sign on the right side brought his attention.
Blue Hills Reservation.
Richie didn't know what time it was exactly then, as per usual, he wasn't wearing the wrist watch he had gotten from his parents in occasion of his eighteenth birthday, but he guessed he still had at least a couple hours left until sundown. After a brief hesitation, he slowed down and took the exit to the right, following the greener, narrower road that opened in front of him. Five minutes later, after driving past a beautiful lake, he reached an empty parking area, where he finally stopped and got out of the car, eager for a breath of fresh air but also a drag of the slightly squished cigarette he'd been carrying in his pocket. He hiked all the way up into the trees for about ten minutes, feeling smaller as the trees around seemed to become taller and taller with every step. His feet itched and ached as if he had just walked all the way there from campus, even while wearing the most comfortable pair of shoes he owned. At certain point, he reached what it seemed to be a clear peak, looking around raptly. It was the kind of peaceful, objectively beautiful natural sight he longed for whenever he sneaked out of his house, overwhelmed by feelings he couldn't quite decipher, or whenever he had to drift away from the usual path he would walk through to get home to escape from the school bullies. Letting out a deep sigh before holding the unsuccessfully straightened cigarette in between his lips, Richie sat on a flat rock and lit it up, hoping that the first drag would help him to clarify his thoughts and put them in order. Could it be possible that everything that guy David had told him was actually true? It was sick, twisted, in a soap opera-like way, but he would be able to get to the heart of it in a couple of hours. Usually patient in matters he deemed of importance, that day, for a change, he needed to solve all of his doubts about Connor as soon as he could. That way, he presumed, a potential wound to his trust would be less painful.
The very last time he got beaten up by four of his classmates still lingered vividly in his memory, as well as the first he managed to scare them away by wielding the pocket knife he'd had spent all of his savings, giving himself an accidental cut in the process. Paradoxically enough, it took the self inflicted wound on his thigh longer to heal than any bruise he could have gotten if the beat up took place. Hidden underneath his clothes most of the times, it was easier for him to keep those marks out of his parents' sight and mind; he didn't want them to know that he was being bullied, nor that he had found no other way to fight back but by aiming to cause physical damage in return. It was not like he could figure many other ways to do so at the ripe age of thirteen, but he knew something felt off, far below that adrenalinic sense of empowerment. Right before heading to Boston, he got rid of the knife by throwing it into the pond at the quarry, partially because he had been finding it rather useless for a while at that point, but mostly because it reminded him of that frightening time when he still didn't know how to reconcile his actions and his thoughts, let alone his actions and his feelings. That day, much to his dismay, he realized that knowing who he was or what he wanted, even though he wasn't particularly sure about that last part, wasn't enough to make all of his old fears disappear in the same pond his knife would probably rest until the world had stopped turning.
The end of his cigarette still fumed in his fingers, and his eyes fixed on the vanishing point as the sun started to fall. Placing all of his expectations in one single person, what good was that for? Connor was nothing like the few guys he'd hooked up with in Waterville, let alone the girls who would clumsily and blindly seek his attention as he got older and better looking, thrilled by the chase but not exactly putting their hearts in the search for a suitable option to satisfy their demands. Sufficient for him was to take a look back at his last relationship with someone who was fun and pretty enough for his personal liking, yet unsure and suspicious of him to the point of making the whole dynamic insufferable. But that was in the past now. He couldn't word up what he was expecting from Connor at that point, but whatever it was, it for sure did not match well with the rumors that were delivered to him the previous day, in case they were actually true.
The clock at the entrance announced it was almost 6:25 pm by the time he got back to campus. After walking out of the parking lot he almost trotted to the meeting point: the old green benches behind the dining hall, a relatively private spot, half hidden from the sight of the very few students that were still out roaming around at such an hour. Connor was nowhere to be seen, so Richie had no option but to sit on the last bench in line and wait for him to show up, bouncing his leg in anticipated anxiety.
It was true that he never had an actual, "serious" relationship with another man before; all Richie could do in the past without leaving the safety of the structures he'd been raised into his whole life was to engage in occasional hook-ups, merely aimed to satisfy his needs, and brief enough for him to not to get too invested on an emotional level with anyone who could possibly try to take advantage of him. From all the people, he feared the most for his parents to eventually know about his mild debauchery: he knew more than well that guys having sex with other guys was something still looked down upon, especially in his hometown, where most of the people were conservative and overall quite prudish. It was a rather simple mission; his hook-ups, girls or boys, were bound to remain in complete secrecy. It all seemed to have worked out well for a couple of years until his parents, worried about his increasing mood swings and frequent absences from home, convinced him to see a shrink. He ditched after only four sessions.
"Good evening, masterpiece".
Connor's buttery voice and his warm hands sneaking under the collar of his shirt suddenly snapped Richie out of his revery. Instead of receiving his attentions with the usual bubbly excitement he would experience whenever they were together, Richie winced and shifted away with discomfort. Aware of the abrupt change in his attitude, Connor held his hands up in the air, raising both eyebrows.
"Woah, not in the mood today, I see..."
"Not really, not today - Richie spat dryly, tapping his thigh, nervous - Look, I... We need to talk".
"Sounds serious, Tozier. Should I be scared? Anyway, I got something that might cheer this conversation up a little bit - Connor teased, pulling out a tiny plastic bag with two pills from his chest pocket, sitting beside him and causing Richie to automatically recoil, sliding to the opposite side of the bench - Alright, what the hell is going on with you today? Why are you being weird?"
Richie could sense his sparkly blue eyes piercing right through his skull. Connor could deny everything. But what would he do if he confirmed that everything was true? Was he ready to put an end to their relationship, there and then? Was he even capable of doing so in the state he was at that point?
"Listen - Richie finally held eye contact, feeling his mouth dry - I need to get this off my chest, and I need you to tell me the truth".
"Just say what you want to say, Richard, stop beating around the bush and get to the fucking point".
"Someone told me... - he took a deep breath, instantly regretting having started the sentence that way - Is it true... Do you... Do you have a girlfriend at home in Ohio? Her name is April?"
Connor paled abruptly and opened his eyes wide for a second, before furrowing his brow with obvious discomfort. He mouthed a couple of times before actually addressing the question, and Richie felt his guts crashing like broken glass.
"Who the fuck...? Where did you get that shit from? It was my roommate, right? That nosy son of a bitch? I'll fucking kill him".
"No, it doesn't matter who it was - Richie shook his head and swallowed - Now tell me, is it true?"
"Rich, this is absolutely pointless".
"I saw the fucking picture in your drawer".
"You did what!? Did you... Did you go through my stuff? - Connor almost shouted - What the fuck are you on, dude? That's some psycho shit, I didn't know you were that kind of guy".
"Just fucking answer my question, for fuck's sake! Cut the bullshit for once, if you actually give an actual shit about all this".
"Fine! Fine, alright - he suddenly stood up and paced nervously in front of the bench - Yes. Yes, it is true. I have a girlfriend, and yes, she's the girl you saw in that picture. April. Are you happy now? I can't understand why it is that important, Richie, I mean, it's not like you and I were going to get married or something".
"I just - Richie stuttered, attempting his best not to hyperventilate - I can't understand why the fuck would you do something like that".
"Why do you even care? She's living in a different city, she's happy with what she gets from me, and so are you. You guys will never see each other, so I don't see where's the problem. I mean, take a look around - Connor opened his arms and shrugged - this is the real world, this is how things go. You're a smart boy, I think it's not that hard for you to grasp, is it?"
This is how things go. He knew it. Some of those things entailed being made fun of at school because of his physical appearance and his glasses, or being beaten up because of his "faggy" mannerisms, maybe. Perhaps even things like detaching himself from any emotion in regards to the people he slept with, because no matter how hard he longed for it, he, a proudly deviated little fuck, would never be good enough to love and be loved by anyone. Or like Anna would say to him the day they broke up: 'you'll have to get your shit together someday, or else'.
"It's not just about her, you've been... fucking other people behind my back all this time too - Richie choked on his own words, as if verbalizing had somehow gotten him to envision the whole sequence in front of his eyes - I thought that we..."
"You thought that we what? That we were exclusive? Rich, you can't blame me for that, that was just you and your fantasy. I mean, what do you even expect from me? Be for real. Did you think that we would be a couple or something? Are you out of your mind?"
The sudden realization struck him like lightning. Was it shame? Was it a sense of guilt for not toning down his expectations, like he would usually do, for the first time in a long while? Was he really out of his mind, just upset now that a made up illusion had just shattered in a million pieces in front of his eyes? What else could it be?
"We've been having a good time. We've been art, Rich. Crazy, fun times - Connor continued, softening his voice and sitting by Richie's side again, resting a hand on his thigh - That's because I really like you, and I like you a lot, actually. I know that you enjoy being with me too... We get each other. But that's it. That's how it is going to be. Don't make things harder for us so unnecessarily, and stop being a nosy, whiny bitch. It's no good".
The way it was going to be wouldn't have sounded bad at all years prior, months, even. The beginning was bright, unhinged, a promised perpetual honeymoon split in multiple brief moments of shared abandon and pretentious, intellectual banter. While still in Waterville and as he grew older, whenever his fleeting intimate encounters came to an end, the desperate urge to leave whatever location they occurred at would usually take over him, like a suffocating feeling, pushing him either to get lost in the woods for a while or to seek for shelter under the pristine sheets in his old bedroom only to stare at the sky for hours through the window placed right above his bed, wondering if things would always be like that for him. How much he missed that comforting sight, that window, whenever he found himself with his eyes fixed on the cold, grey ceiling in his college room! The thought of Connor sleeping with other people, let alone the fact that he held a formal relationship with an oblivious girl (poor, poor oblivious girl), for some reason, was far more than what he was willing and mentally prepared to tolerate. Perhaps this time, for a change, he did want everything to be different.
"No - Richie finally stood up and straightened his shirt with unease, feeling a burning lump constricting his throat but fully aware that for no reason in the world he would allow Connor to see him cry there and then - No. I'm not going to take shit like this from you for nothing. You can shove that shit up your asshole, I don't need any of it at all. I never did. And I am no 'bitch', don't get it fucking twisted. I'm out".
It took Connor a few seconds to react, reaching out to uselessly try and stop Richie from walking away.
"Please, don't... Come on, dude! I didn't mean to call you a 'bitch', I'm sorry... Richard! Come on now!"
He liked Connor, he truly did. It didn't have to do with the fact that he provided him free drugs whenever they slept together, or that the sex was closer to an out-worldly religious experience rather than a vulgar release of the flesh, nor completely with the fact that he had made him feel more accepted, desired and wanted than he'd ever felt in his life before. Connor appeared to him like a tangible opportunity to twist his ways for better, a smart, fun, good looking classmate with a similar taste for art who could also be his first "adult" relationship, a relationship he could feel comfortable and truly like himself in, a partner to flaunt around and feel proud of.
Unfortunately, being smart, fun and good looking didn't make up for the fact that he was, as Richie had just confirmed, a complete piece of shit.