We All Want Something Beautiful

Of course I knew him. Everyone knew him.

It’s horrible.

The thing is, I know exactly how he feels. I’ve been there before. I’ve been their target.

I just wish I could let him know. He shouldn’t be so alone. He’s not alone.

He’s not alone, but he doesn’t have company.

He’s in the limbo.

Awful crude calls of ‘faggot’ and ‘homo’ in the school’s vicious corridors, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. As if it’s wrong. Is it wrong?

They used to direct all those calls at me.

Humans are dreadful creatures. All we ever do is hurt each other. The only difference is that some humans, like them, hurt others on purpose. Who knows why? And then the people like me, who do it unintentionally. Which is worse, do you think?

Seeing the look on his face, it’s terrible. I’ve watched his facial expressions change. At first he’d cringe. Every time insults from a faceless stranger were thrown harshly at him he’d just let it hit him, sending his crumbling self-esteem lower and lower. But over the last month, since he moved here, he’s gotten better at masking it. Now he’s just blank. It seems like he’s ignoring them, but I can see the truth. He just doesn’t let it show anymore how much it really hurts him.

He doesn’t know that I’ve been in his position. Once he came along, I was tossed aside and left for dead. They didn’t bother with ruining me anymore. My story was nowhere near as interesting as his.

Everyone knew who he was even before they found out. He was the popular kid in middle school. He was the popular kid who, when he entered high school, let go of his popularity to pursue music. He was the kind of guy that was just left alone to do his own thing, considered cool for not following the crowd’s expectations. The kind of guy that girls would secretly swoon over. The kind of guy with a guitar and notebook in hand, no longer popular but not shunned completely. He was just the boy-next-door kind of guy. The kind of guy everyone respected for getting good grades and not flaunting them.

I’d never met him, but I’d heard of him.

Even before I’d ever seen him, I could tell what kind of guy he was underneath that exterior. He was confused with life in general, he didn’t know who he was, and he didn’t know what was going to happen to him.

Maybe I was being judgmental, but that’s who I thought he was.

And I was right.

He didn’t go to my high school, so I don’t know exactly how it happened. All I know is he came out and told everyone he was bi.

I’ve heard rumors. Some say it was a dramatic outburst, a cry for attention, but I don’t think that was it. Others say that he told some friends and they blabbed it to the rest of his school. I don’t know what to believe. People are all liars.

Whatever way, his school found out. He went to a catholic school, and they weren’t so supportive. The next thing I knew, he was transferred here. On his first day here, even before he was bullied and before rumors started to fly, I noticed a bruise on his cheek and a cut on his shoulder. Whoever was the cause of those, he’d already suffered enough. He shouldn’t have had to suffer at all. But that didn’t occur to anyone else. They probably didn’t even notice his injuries. Everyone just started hating on him, and I was forgotten.

I just wish I could somehow share his burden. I know what it’s like to bear it all. Maybe it’s worse for him, because it’s new and he used to be so loved and admired. Maybe it was worse for me because I’d dealt with it for so long, and I’m only attracted to guys.

Does it really matter in the end?

We’ve both gone through severe emotional and physical damage. Nothing can change that.

But the difference is that I know about him. He doesn’t know about me. I fade into the background so expertly I could be a ghost.

But I wish he knew me. I wish I could gather up the courage to talk to him. But that’s never been who I am. All of them have pointed it out to me, and they’re right. I’m a coward. But what am I supposed to say? He’d probably be weirded out if I told him I had a crush on him. I’ve never even talked to the guy before.

So instead I’m like a creepy stalker kid. I walk home the same way he does, for the most of the journey. I always try and stay a good way behind him, so he doesn’t see me. If he recognizes me at all, he probably thinks I’m just like the rest of them. Which I guess I am, in a way, since I can’t tell him. I watch him out the corner of my eye. He dawdles. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to go straight home, but at the same time he doesn’t want to linger in the streets. Everywhere is a danger zone for him. He just wants to go somewhere far away. But if he did go somewhere far away, would he change his mind? Would he keep his sexuality a secret to avoid criticism? I wish I knew the answers to these questions, but I don’t know him at all, really. I just know his story. No, I don’t even know that. I know twisted versions that might be based on vague truth of his story. That’s nothing.

One day I didn’t know him. The next I did.

We were going on the bus. Some stupid field trip for geography. The only good thing about field trips is that most people are so preoccupied with being somewhere new and different that they lay off their bullying tactics for a while. Or at least that’s the way it used to be with me. I was hoping that it would be the same with Ryan.

I didn’t head for the back seat. I’m not that stupid. All the popular kids sit at the back of the bus. I’m not putting myself up for slaughter. However, this being his first field trip with this godforsaken school, Ryan didn’t know that. There were only a few other people on the bus, myself included, when he got on. And he started to head straight for the back, like he did in every class. I couldn’t let that happen.

“Don’t.”

That was the first word I ever said to him.

I reached out and grabbed his bare arm, holding it in as firm a grip as I could without shaking. I never did anything this rash. I could ignore the foreign tingles in my fingertips when he spun so suddenly, dark eyes meeting mine. His were wide and fearful. I guess I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t one of his regular bullies; for all he knew I could be worse. This close up, I could see that his face was slightly disheveled. There were soft purple rings under his tired eyes, his tightened pink lips were chapped, a little stubble unnoticeable from afar sat on his otherwise smooth cheeks, and his brown hair hung limp and a little greasy.

This wasn’t the Ryan Ross everyone once thought they knew.

“Don’t sit at the back.” I battled internally, willing my voice not to shake from lack of use. “They’ll be sitting there. They’ll use you.”

His eyebrows changed position so that he looked confused, the fear beginning to slip from his eyes. I knew I didn’t need to explain myself. He knew who ‘they’ were and he knew what I meant by ‘use’. I know it wasn’t the greatest verb to use, but at that point I didn’t really have control over my words. They just poured from my mouth. The reason for his confusion was because I had stopped him.

He stood there staring at me suspiciously for a few moments. More people flooded onto the bus, some shoving his lanky form into the pole as they passed him. I stared straight back at him, hoping that in my eyes he could see my sincerity. Whether or not he did, he looked around him for a seat. Most of them were now occupied.

“You can sit here if you want,” I mumbled. “I don’t mind.”

I left out the fact that butterflies would surely run havoc in my abdomen if he did sit beside me.

“You’re not waiting for anyone?” he asked, puzzled, his voice crackly.

Even hoarse from not speaking for so long, his voice sounded beautiful to me. Gentle and calming, sweet and soft, but at the same time an indescribable edge that showed that he had been through more than he should have. Wisdom beyond his years was evident. What did he think of me? Maybe he thought of me as everyone else did. A pathetic, loner junior. He was a senior, after all. This is why I have been scared of approaching him for so long. If I drew attention to myself, he’d surely see me for how much of a loser I really am.

“Does it look like anyone wants to sit next to me?”

I worked hard to keep the bitter tone out of my voice, but I think there was a hint of it anyway. We both looked around and a few people were shooting us dirty looks, but as soon as they saw us looking they turned back to whatever they were doing and pretended not to see, not to care. To make it seem like they ignored us and wanted nothing to do with us.

Slowly and nimbly, he sat down next to me on the awful red plastic-leather seat. He put his dark green backpack down in between his knees and sat on the very edge of the seat. It must have been uncomfortable; he was barely sitting down at all. At first I thought it was because he didn’t want to sit next to me. I even tried to subtly smell my armpits. But it only took me a minute to realize; he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable.

“You can actually sit, if you want,” I said. It was becoming easier to talk to him. “I don’t mind.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I confirmed quietly. I still couldn’t quite look at him.

Cautiously, he shuffled over on the seat. Our arms brushed, and I felt my heart jump into my throat. God, he smelled amazing. Like vanilla, almost. I tried not to look, but he looked so good. Jeans so tight, v-neck t-shirt exposing a little chest hair… And now I feel guilty because he doesn’t even know that I’m gay yet. But I can’t tell him yet… his smell is too intoxicating…

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He was looking down, not at me. That was good. If I had to look at his face it would just make this harder.

“No problem.”

After that exchange of words, we didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. We stayed in silence, not awkward but not yet entirely relaxing. I could still hear whispers of ‘faggots’ and snickers behind us, but I didn’t acknowledge it. I wondered if he heard them too.

When we got to our destination and the bus pulled to a stop, we remained seated whilst the other students started to file out, some hitting us over the head.

“Thank you again,” he said quietly as we stood to get up, the only passengers left on the bus.

“That’s alright,” I replied. “I’m Brendon.”

May as well introduce myself, right?

“I’m Ryan,” he reciprocated, the smallest hint of a smile gracing his lips.

“I know,” I said simply as we stepped off the bus and began walking.

We didn’t speak again for the rest of the excursion. We didn’t speak, but we stuck together. Side by side, the entire time. As if I could concentrate on whatever it was we were supposed to be concentrating on; I could fucking hear him breathing.

We sat together again on the bus back. It was less awkward this time. Less fidgety. There was just something between us. We didn’t need to spend the entire day talking to get to know each other; we’d done it in silence. But I still wanted to say something to him. I wanted him to know that I knew how he felt. I just didn’t know how to approach the subject, especially since this connection or whatever there is between us has so far been created without words. But during the bus trip when we were almost back to school, he spoke first.

“Don’t I make you feel uncomfortable?” he asked. “Don’t you feel weird sitting next to me, knowing what I am?”

At first I didn’t know how to reply, but then, like before, the words just came to me and I couldn’t stop myself from saying them.

“No. I can relate to you.”

“How so?” he asked, curious.

This was my chance to say it.

“I’m gay,” I whispered.

He hesitated before whispering back.

“Oh.” Pause. “Do they know?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I was their old you.”

“Oh.”

I left him to his thoughts. Surely he’d be thinking now. He’d be wondering if they’d eventually toss him aside when they get a new target, like they did with me. The remainder of the trip was in silence, but when we got off the bus at school I spoke again.

“Follow me,” I whispered.

He did. I could hear his footsteps behind me and feel his body heat radiating off him, although I didn’t look back. I led him to my hideout, my sanctuary; behind the gym. We slumped back against the cool brick and stared out at the few trees and grey fence before us. We were at the very edge of the school, practically out of bounds. No one ever came here, which is precisely why I did. I could feel the soft skin of his arm on mine, and I could once again hear and feel him breathing. He was so close to me. He was right next to me. He was touching me.

“Are you sure I don’t make you uncomfortable?” he whispered.

“Positive,” I started to grin, finally looking him directly in his big, beautiful brown eyes. “But you turn me on.”

I could sense his shock at first, but he got over that quickly and smirked a bit. I loved seeing an expression other than caution or misery in his face.

“Oh really?” he teased, leaning in a little.

“It’s not obvious?” I smirked back, mimicking his actions in leaning forward a bit.

The word games ended there as he plunged his hands into my hair and pulled my head the rest of the way, his lips meeting mine with an incredible force. All the lust hit me in one go, and I wasted no time in wrapping my arms around his thin body and pulling him closer to me. He tasted something sweet, his talented tongue twirling and dancing with mine. His kiss was contradictory; soft, gentle and sweet, but also rough, hard and passionate. I’d never felt anything quite like this. I explored the contours of his body with my fingers, rubbing his prominent hipbones gently and teasingly, earning myself a fantastic moan into my mouth. He tugged at my dark hair and I returned the sound, my hands now under his grey shirt and traveling over his chest. He moved his mouth to my neck, sucking and biting to make me arch towards him.

I wanted to go further. God, I wanted to go further. I wanted to have him right then and there against that harsh red-brick wall. But I didn’t. I restrained myself and pulled away gently, smiling at the boy I’d fantasized about for so long. He smiled back and we sat up from where I’d pushed him to the floor.

We sat for a while longer, content in our shared silence. We weren’t alone anymore. Distantly, we heard the final bell ring. I got to my feet and held my hand out to Ryan. He accepted it with a thankful smile, standing up beside me, but neither of us made any move to separate our entwined hands.

We ignored all the jeers and calls. We ignored all the confused stares. We ignored everything we didn’t want to be a part of.

Together, we walked out the prison-like gates. Together, we smiled. Together, we could live again.