Chapter Text
It was always tough. Being the way we were, n’ all.
I was four years older than him and friends with his brother. He was the annoying friend’s sibling, always wanting in with the cool older kids. He was so annoying, butting in with everything we did. He annoyed the shit out of me.
Until he didn’t.
The details don’t matter, but that dumbass slowly started worming his way onto my good side. His jokes started to land with me, he was telling great stories, and he no longer started to feel like a pest his brother and I had to bring along.
My friend’s group expanded and changed, his older brother didn’t really hang out with the rest of us anymore. That didn’t stop me from inviting his younger brother out with us.
He brought along an even younger kid with us and somehow— they both clicked with everyone.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass were a riot with our crowd and they became a staple in our group.
And a staple in me.
We only hung out together with the others. I was hardly ever interested in one-on-one time with anyone unless they had something that made them disappear from my mind. But, he approached me one day. Said he snagged some beer and wanted me to join him.
He didn’t ask, “Come on, man. Let’s go empty a few out,” and without resistance, I followed him.
He didn’t need me to speak, he’s shown me plenty that he can carry a conversation. He spoke all about these artists he had just discovered as his dad was cleaning out his storage and gave him his records. His family didn’t have the most money at the time, he was usually one to bum off whatever the rest of us had. Not that we minded, we knew what was up. So it wasn’t too often that he had his own new exciting thing.
All I could do was drink and watch him go on about music until I let a comment slip out, “You ever try playing an instrument?”
His entire face lit up.
He told me about how his dad knew how to play guitar and taught him. He swore he learned to hold a guitar before he learned to walk. “ It’s so awesome, man! Making music n shit, it feels so… so freeing.” His smile was bigger than I had seen before, his full round cheeks showing a hint of dimples.
I smiled, really looking at him for a few seconds, before ultimately going back to my beer.
There was no way it was the drink that made my insides burn and clench so much that night. That night opened a door in me.
No, not opened. That night used its claws to dig into me, exposing me to something I had never thought was possible.
I wanted to avoid him, I swear on god I did.
The gash inside me leaked and ached to be filled, tearing further when I would push him away. Screams of utter disgust and confusion plagued my brain every moment I spent awake, and never went away unless enough alcohol was consumed. These desires, the fucking sickness inside of me grew and grew, it was all I ever felt— a prolonged cycle of gritting my teeth and digging my nails into my palms just to keep myself sane.
It wouldn't stay in place either.
It started in my chest. Long keen black claws of fear gorging me open at all times. My wrists had barbed shackles of hate digging down to my bone while holding me prisoner. My throat was noosed by desire, pulling, and pulling, for all to see and laugh. My feet held glass shards of shame embedded in the soles, each step I took was an agonizing reminder. Confusion raged through my brain and echoed off its walls.
This sickness would simultaneously grow and remedy itself in his presence. The hole in my chest would keep tearing and bleeding, but my shackles, my noose, the glass in my feet, and even the confusion, would all fade away. Only to come back much harder than before once we split ways for the day.
I couldn’t keep away from him even if I wanted to. He didn’t take my excuses and was very persistent with being around me. Not taking a “no” without “okay, I’ll come back later then,” . He always did come back until I either stopped answering or when I gave in.
I’m not proud to say, I stopped answering more times than not.
But we were in the same friend group. We all hung out together at least a couple of times a week. I found myself coming along despite him being there. I would always have some kind of drink in my hand during these times, especially when I indulged in him.
I would happily drink, talk, and fuck around with him, feeling on top of the world. Only to fall right on my face with even deeper wounds the next day.
I was addicted. His smile, his laugh, his stupid stories; it always seemed to be worth the pain, withdrawals, and hate. It wasn’t long until I caved and started hanging out with him alone once more. Not very often at all; just enough to keep from screaming.
The fear in my chest and the desire in my throat remained while I was with him. Fear of letting myself be known to him, and the desire of letting him know. It all left me breathless; left me bleeding; left me needing more.
I planned on keeping him at bay for the rest of time. Bile threatened to leave my throat any time I even thought about telling him, let alone anyone else. No, I wouldn’t threaten my life for this boy.
.
.
…That plan only lasted three months…
It was his 18th birthday party at his parent’s house. It was a cool fall night, the leaves were changing color and starting to trickle off. His parents had a fairly small home, as they were worse off than the rest of our parents. But, they had a pretty nice backyard; perfect for our pre-party fuckery. The first couple of hours consisted of lots of drinking, storytelling, and roughhousing with our extended friends. Once nightfall really hit, the party moved into the basement where only his closest friends were allowed in for heavier drinks and weed.
By then, there were only eight of us, half of them were smoked out, two of them were passed out, and the two of us— he and I were out of the den and hiding out in his bedroom with a bottle of tequila and mickeys.
We sat on his bed, our backs against the wall, we were close; maybe too close. Everything we said seemed to be the funniest things imaginable, our stomachs heaved with laughter, and we’d jab each other’s sides once in a while. His cheeks showed dimples and were highlighted in a drunken blush, and his hair was disheveled, having long since ditched his snapback.
His mood suddenly shifted, a pout forming on his lips and his eyes turning softer. “Ya know,” he started, eyes switching from the mattress up to me then back down to the mattress, “you can tell me you don’t like me. I know you only put up with me for the others.” I hated how sad he looked, it pulled at the gash in me.
“I don’t like you. Wait— I mean,” I waved my hand and shook my head, “I don’t don’t like you. You’re my favorite out of all those fuckers.”
He had his hands together, nails picking at one another, “But… you barely hang out with me alone anymore. My brother said you only did that to be nice.”
I scoffed out a chuckle, “You know I don’t do shit ‘just to be nice’,” My smile faded. I could feel my fear tear me open. “I just can’t… can’t… can’t…” My mouth trembled and my throat shut. I grit my teeth and tried to swallow, but everything was too dry. I set my bottle down to the side and brought my hands up to scrub my eyes harshly, before rubbing my forehead in pain; I was already feeling a headache coming on.
“It’s not— it isn’t you , it’s…” fuck, I can’t .
I wanted so badly to free myself of my constraints; the noose, the barbed shackles, the shards buried so deeply in me, the hate, the shame, the fucking confusion, all of it! I wanted to get rid of the beast in my chest killing me from the inside.
But I was too weak and couldn’t bring myself to say anything more.
I kept my hand in place to hide my eyes from him. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t let him know.
Shame had its grip on my throat, silencing me.
“Oh. Sorry.”
He let out a shaky breath and it was quiet between us for what felt like forever.
.
.
He shifted and the mattress dipped next to me. I looked up and was met with scared blue eyes that darted all around. He cautiously raised his right hand and placed it on top of my knee. His hand had a nervous grip and I could feel its dampness. The hair on the back of my neck rose as our eyes finally met.
“George…” he breathed out, bottom lip trembling, “I-I…” his baby blues teared up, and he took a deep breath, “I like you… like, ‘like’, like you,” he confessed. Jordon was shaking like a leaf.
I could feel my eyes widen, and I choked for a second. My insides flared up and I became hot all over, a shudder washed over my entire body. I almost forgot to breathe.
We silently stared at each other for another second, then tears began leaking down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry! I couldn’t— I just—“ Jordon sobbed out, his hands coming up to cover his face.
I took a sharp inhale, the beast had stabbed me again, but not for the usual reasons. Help him. He needs you. He wants you. My mouth opened to speak but the noose tightened. Not with your words, coward.
My chest squeezed and ached as I watched him cry on his birthday.
I sat up, before standing on my knees to face Jordon. I could tell he was doing his best to keep his sniffles and cries down by the way his body quietly heaved at each sob. I reached out and took his shoulders into my hands. My hard grip made Jordon flinch and stare at me with terror written all over his face. He tensed under my strength and tried to fight me off by yanking at my wrists, but I refused to budge. Instead, I forced Jordon onto his back and into the mattress.
“George?!” he nearly shouted. Eyes so wide and searching around the room for an exit.
“Shut up,” I rasped out, my features hard while my drunken mind came up with what to do.
I heard his whimper from beneath me, and I realized how this looked: I had a newly legal teen pinned down onto a bed after just confessing that he was not only homosexual but interested in me.
Interested in me.
My head felt hot and foggy but my brain was slowly calculating my next move.
I carefully moved off the bed and pulled the covers up and over the trembling boy, then leaned down to remove my socks. I stepped back into bed and lifted the cover back up and shuffled my way under them, making Jordon tense up once more, before ultimately lowering his walls. I laid on my side, facing Jordon. We stared into each other's hazy eyes, taking each other in. He slowly advanced toward me, his hand slipping up under his pillow while the other gently rested on my chest; the touch sending searing hot tingles all the way down to my toes. I let out a shaky exhale as his chubby cheek made contact with my shoulder; I could feel his breath on me. I moved my hand to join his under the pillow and reached behind me to shut off his light. The darkness engulfed us both, but I could still make out his round face from the faint light outside.
My eyes slid shut and I let out a peaceful sigh. My arm came up to wrap around Jordon’s side, somehow bringing him even closer; he practically melted against me.
The rest of the night was wordless, there was nothing more either of us could convey that wasn’t already demonstrated.
That night felt like a dream; so warm, so safe, so secure.
That next morning wasn’t anything like that.
I woke up with a groan. My body felt overheated and stiff from sleeping in my clothes. I blinked open my eyes and was met with Jordon staring back at me, nearly making me jump off the bed.
I could feel the heat of our entangled legs under the sheets. His face wasn’t even an inch away from mine; our noses were so close, and our lips…
Jordon flinched back and yanked himself out from our embrace, tossing off my arm like it was a bug. He pulled the sheets up to cover himself despite being fully clothed from the night before. His breathing was sped up and his mouth was slightly contorted, while his eyebrows were furrowed.
He looked disgusted.
I sat up and held my arm to my chest, beyond confused. Shame slowly began to nip at my feet, and fear crept down my spine.
“What. The. Hell. George?!”
“What?!” I stammered out, moving to get off his bed.
“The fuck do you mean ‘what’? Why were you fuckin’...” He seemed too flustered and shaken to speak properly, “Th-that! Why’d you do that all last night?! You’re lucky I woke up when I did, if my dad saw you—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?!” I became defensive. “I didn’t— I— you—” I tried racking my brain from the night before, but it was so hard at the moment. “You said you liked me!”
Jordon’s face drained of color, eyes immediately falling elsewhere. He sewed his eyes shut and clutched his blanket closely, his legs folding up to make himself smaller, his body trembled softly.
“No. No, no, no! I’m not a fuckin’ queer,” he spat, shaking his head with a shaky tone.
Everything hit me all at once.
FearShameDesireHateFearShameDesireHateFearShameDesireHateHateHateHATEHATEHATEHATE
Static began filling my vision, refusing to clear no matter how hard I blinked. All sound around me faded out, leaving one, loud, piercing ringing.
Fuckin’Queer Hate Fuckin’Queer Hate Fuckin’Queer Hate Fuckin’Queer HateHateHateHATE HATEHATE
Blood drained from the vessels in my chest and pooled down to my feet.
My hands were ice cold.
My entire being was too heavy.
Every part of me screamed.
I wasn’t there anymore.
My legs steered me away with tunnel vision; I couldn’t see my friends strung out all around the room, and I couldn’t even remember if I took my shoes.
None of it mattered. There was only one path I fixated on: Out of his room. Out of his basement. Out of his life.
I was so out of it walking home. I could barely see, but my legs knew where to go. I couldn’t tell if the walk took ten minutes or an hour. Nothing mattered. I could feel my body sinking lower, and lower with each step I took.
My mind was screeching, but my brain was empty. My nails dug into my palms, but I couldn't feel a thing. I was breathing, but I was gone.
Eventually, I arrived at my home, locked every door, and collapsed onto my bed. Barbed shackles of hate, the noose of desire, and the shards of shame, all clung and dug, ripping, and tearing me open even deeper than before.
My chest heaved.
My psyche reeled.
My hands shook.
My eyes clenched shut.
I rolled to lay on my side, stuffing my face into a pillow, and howling into it. I howled and wailed for what felt like hours of burning agony; I must’ve snapped my voice that night.
I stayed away from everybody. I didn’t want to be seen as a… I wasn’t a…
Fuckin’ queer