A Unique and Torn Romance

He's an ass. He tells me that he's not ready to make our relationship public, but he's willing to risk getting caught in the bathroom in the fucking locker rooms where anyone can just waltz in and hear us.

I'm nothing but a joke to him. He's just pulling a prank to impress his zombie-friends. I bet they're gonna play cookie afterwards, then share the cum-soaked treat.

I stamp right out the school gates and down the street. The car is still a mess – can't go anywhere since it apparently hit a tree after I forgot to pull the hand break. Mom yelled at me for that. Dad scowled. Gerard, even though it's his car, simply just shrugged it off. He knows why I was too busy to pull the hand break.

I shake my heads to get the thoughts of that fucking car out of my head and speed up my pace once again. It's a long way home, but I'll manage. It'll give me some alone time. I know that Gerard is watching me all the time. He can't read my thoughts like dad can, but he can-

Shit!

My steps slow down.

Dad knows. I know he knows. He said that I'm harder to read, but I've plenty of times thought about my...jump, while I've been lying in my bed. He must know. He must've heard. I'm not that hard to get through to.

I stop.

I don't want to go home.

I didn't want my dad to know. I didn't want anyone to know – not even to remember. I wish no one saw me do that. I survived – no one needed to know that I did it.

I floated.

Suddenly, I feel a rush in my gut. A rush that tells me to do it again – to float again. I want the feeling of freedom and nothingness again. I've never felt so liberated as when I found out that I was floating. The night after, I dreamed about it. I woke up with such a light feeling in my body – like I was still floating.

Maybe I was. Sleep-floating. That would be nice, but I want to float right now. I want to glide through the layers of the sky and be caressed by the wind. I want to feel free again.

I want to feel forgiven.

“Mikey!” I open my eyes, not realizing I'd shut them, and turn my head to see Bob. He hanging out his car-window, smiling at me. His white teeth are in perfect contrast with his black car.
“Hi! Why didn't you wait for me?” he asks, frowning, but still smiling.

I just stare back. The smile is just a con, isn't it? Just a cheap trick to lure me into his trap, tie me up and leave me to rot.

“You still wanna come home with me?” His smile has faded a bit, but it's still there. I don't smile back.

I don't know why I do it, but I get in his car. Without a thought in my head, we drive back to his place – his hand either in mine or on my thigh during the entire ride.

We pull up to his house and walk inside. He tosses his backpack on the floor in the hallway and kicks off his shoes before he heads into the kitchen. I carefully put down my bag without a sound and bend down to take off my shoes, before I walk towards the kitchen.

Bob comes out with some food and sodas, walks past me, but not without smiling at me.

I follow him into his room, where he closes the door and throws the content of his arms onto the bed. I take off my sweater and place it over the back of his desk chair.

“So, had a good day?” Bob asks and opens a bag of chips. I walk over and carefully sit on the bed, taking a soda and tapping the cap to rid it of initial pressure. I don't open it immediately, though.
“Why didn't you wait for me after school?” Bob asks with his mouth full of crunchy chips. He opens a coke, some of the content spraying out on him. He curses under his breath, but settles for just brushing off his t-shirt. I look over at his window when a truck drives by.
“Are you okay?”

“Stop asking so many questions,” I say. I feel him frown at me.

“Are you mad at me or something?”

“Stop. Asking. Questions,” I snarl.

“Well, then tell me what's-” A truck drives by, swallowing his last word.

I suddenly turn my head to look at him. He's frowning, and though the frown is to express his confusion and frustration, I still see fear in his eyes.

“Are you using me?” My voice forms the sentence as a questions, but in my mind it's a demand. I demand the truth. I demand him to hurt me now, rather than later.

“What?” he asks. I'm about to tell him to stop with the questions again, but after all, I just asked one. Instead, I just look away.
“Are you kidding me? Why would you think that?” He's starting to get on my nerves again. He sounds utterly confused.

I refuse to let him fool me.

“What are you saying, Mikey? Did I do something wrong?” His voice has suddenly changed. Just like my trust, his voice has gone from innocent to confused to betrayed.

I look at him.

“I'm not your victim anymore.” His eyes widen, before his eyebrows furrow again.

I drop the soda on the bed and get up. I look down at him.

“I know what you're doing. You can't fool me anymore, Bob! I'm not fucking stupid. You won! Now go back and impress your zombie-crew!” I yell, before I turn around and grab my sweater before I rush out the door.

Bob runs after me and catches me when I put on my shoes.

“What're you talking about? I wanna be with you! I don't want people to know, so why the fuck would I tell my friends?”

I crouch down to tie my shoes. I glance up at him.

“Don't try and convince me that you like me. I know people like you.” I stop talking as I switch my weight to tie the other shoe.
“You use people. You tell them what you know they want to hear, just to hurt them best you can.” I get up.

“What're you talking about?” he yells at me. I bend down to grab my bag and then quickly straighten back up.

“You get off on other people's pain! You enjoy watching people suffer!”

“Oh yeah, it was just so easy watching you hurl yourself off a cliff!”

I stare at him with wide eyes.

A silence drags its way through the room as we stare into each other's eyes. Bitter sarcasm fades into an apologetic look in Bob's eyes.

My wide, disbelieving gaze doesn't falter.

“How dare you bring that up again?” I ask, my voice calm but filled with hate.

Bob's chest rises and falls as deep breaths passes through his lungs.

“Why do you pretend like it didn't happen? Why won't you talk about it? You ignore...” he looks away from me, searching the room like the last word is flying around like a butterfly, waiting to be caught.

He looks back into my eyes.

“Yourself.”

My gaze falls.

I turn around and leave.

The truth hurts when it comes from the mouth of someone you thought you trusted.