Left-Handed

Over the next week I was again getting absolutely nowhere. None of my friends appeared to know what was happening on Halloween, either, although Russ did inform me that he was planning on dressing as a tonberry, another creature from Final Fantasy VIII. Contrary to their appearance—giant turtle things that some may have labeled cute—they were indeed very lethal in the game, stabbing you into instant death with a knife. This scared the shit out of me.

Wondering both whether Russ would try and stab me with dinnerware and where the party would be held was now preoccupying my mind, rather than cornering Drew. In addition, unless I had imagined it, Finn was now hissing under his breath at me (he was always hissing, too) about our project whenever Mr. Sharon was looking the other way; I was in a mood suited only for procrastination.

And procrastination it was that lead me to Thursday, the latest possible shift of work I could have signed up for. I was again on duty with Mel; I chalked this up to be my manager’s incapability of trusting me without Mel’s supervision. Perhaps one day I’d simply start siphoning funds from the cash register to spite her and her lack of trust in me.

Precisely at five to four I arrived at my place of employment, five minutes early as had been instructed by Mel earlier today. As I entered the store she was obviously prepared, greeting me with a blinding cerulean blue shirt complete with that blasted white bird and looking about two sizes too small.

“You can use the changing room,” she suggested brightly, matching the shirt. She threw it at me and I glared. “Well, get on with it,” she nudged when I failed to budge.

I moved to the dressing room, the metal hook of the hanger stabbing painfully into my chest as I walked. I couldn’t believe I was doing this...

“I don’t think I can breathe enough in this to operate the register properly,” I complained, feeling completely honest with myself.

“Pain is beauty, Thom. And in your case, less nasty looks, so shut up,” she said reproachfully. I skulked back to the register, careful not to expand my chest too much as I did so. “Happy face, Thom! Gay people are happy,” Mel coached while I was imagining what a gruesome death she might have if only I was in charge.

But alas, I was not God, and so did as I was told, forcing a horribly fake smile on while I suffocated underneath fabric.

At four o’clock, this was the general time we witnessed an influx of people visiting the mall, and so, Hollister. Sure enough, as if on cue, a small trickle of customers began to stream in. It was only a matter of time before someone would encounter my stupid disguise.

“Hello, ma’am, how are you doing today?” I asked what looked like the mother of an eleven year old or so, feeling like my teeth had lit up the space, even only partially white as they were. I could sense my suppressed gay coming out already, even though I was positive that I would never act this way without some force behind it.

“Wonderful, you?” she returned politely, flashing me teeth in return that were much too unnaturally white. No appraising look. Huh.

Once the transaction was successfully completed, I looked up at the next in line, one of those intimidating girls who seemed they would judge your trash cans if they had access. Another “hello, how are you”, but this time I wasn’t in the clear just yet. She judged, and accepted. “Thank you,” she parted cheerfully, and my own spirits soared. I really had hated being snubbed consistently.

Halfway to closing time, a girl with brittle looking hair approached the counter, pile of clothes in hand. A newfound power coming over me, I felt compelled to warn her of the adverse side effects of dying hair. “Honey, you should really stop bleaching your hair so much or it might break off.”

She seemed thankful for the advice and Mel mouthed “good job” at me. I knew the girl would have been offended if Lip Ring Counter Guy had told her that, but as Gay Counter Guy I was indestructible.

“Unhateable, maybe. But do you realize how many more girls are going to ask you out now?” Mel said when I told her.

I pulled the shirt over my head, having to unhook it from under my ears so I could get it off. “What do you mean? I thought I was supposed to be gay?”

“Well you are,” she answered, tapping the counter impatiently. “But girls find gay men very attractive. They perceive them to have something in common, usually dress well, and are obviously inaccessible. If there’s anything the average girl wants, it’s a guy that’s impossible for her to have. Probably why Shirley likes Drew so much.” Narrowed eyes again. I was starting to think of them as her ‘Shirley eyes’.

I tried to act casually. “Are you saying you think Drew’s gay?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mel snorted and I loosened. “Good lord, no. What are you smoking? I meant Shirley would never get Drew, what with Emma, and you and me protecting him.” She thought for a moment. “He’s about as gay as you. Though I must say I’m starting to have suspicions after that unprecedented hair tip today,” she joked. She was dead on about everything and didn’t know it.

***

A whole incredible two feet of carpet separated me from him. I was leaning against his dresser and sitting on the floor, as I was wont to do on Friday evenings. As far as I was concerned, he really needed to get rid of that one knob that was always jabbing me in the back or I’d have a permanent bruise there.

I’d probably be sleeping if it wasn’t for that damn knob, I thought. My eyes flashed to the TV screen, where I could just make out a blurred Rinoa hopping around Squall happily. If I remembered correctly, the storyline was about to go into a sort of lull at this point.

My eyes drooped again, watering. I really should have told him by now. I yawned.

I was trying my best to be drowsy with that knob stabbing me and everything, when Drew made it damn near impossible, what with suddenly throwing his controller down and all. I swiveled my gaze to meet his and he had his face screwed up in frustration. “Why doesn’t Squall just fucking tell her he loves her already?” he asked in some mutated thing between a grunt and an angry yell.

“Well you do keep choosing all the stupid answers for him to say...” I yawned again despite myself, my yearning for sleep already passing by the vanguard.

When he didn’t reply I looked at him again, trying especially hard to focus my vision this time. He still had that screwed up look. Like he was about to explode or something. Nitroglycerin.

“Hey, are you okay?” I said, concerned. I wasn’t certain, but his eyes struck me as a bit mistier than usual.

I thought he was going to hit me when he moved. But before I had gathered that he’d only pushed me onto my back, I was, unquestionably, on my back. First his mouth was on my throat, like a vampire who’d held back for too long. Moments later I felt his teeth collide with mine, creating a not unpleasant tingling sensation.

He was indeed after blood it seemed, once he bit into my lower lip, releasing a wave of iron onto my tongue. His tongue dragged over the raw lip, pausing to play with the extra sensitive flesh near my lip piercing.

His hand was tangled in what little hair I possessed; I hadn’t even known that was possible. Nor had I known that I would no longer care about that stupid knob, even though it was still present, digging into my shoulder now. But I had scarce time to notice these things, as I was pretty much focused on what was happening inside my mouth.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted to cover him, be all over him.

He grazed my belly button and I felt him fumbling with the button on my jeans. It was at that time that I sprang to life, crawling back out from under him. He searched my eyes, panting. He may not have been, but I was determined not to get into any relationships that might leave one of us pregnant. Especially while not being together, much less married.

“What are you doing?” I spluttered, knowing perfectly well what had just almost happened.
“I—I...” He was clearly at a loss for words, mouth hanging open and everything.

Talk. “I...can’t cheat on Emma with you, Drew. It’s...break up with her?” I pleaded. I really was trying my best to sound reasonable.

His grey eyes turned to ice. “Well you didn’t have a problem with me mouth raping you a minute ago!” he yelled, seething with anger.

I balked. “That’s different. You don’t even care about me, do you? I’m just something fun for the weekends!” I screamed back. “You know what,” I went on, “I think she’s just your cover. You can’t live up to the fact that you’re gay, can you? Well fuck you.” I was already on my feet and raging towards the door.

With angry tears flooding my vision I took the stairs two at a time and ran out of the house, barely even hearing what Joe said. “The hell? You guys never fight.” The shuffle of newspaper.

The night was chill and I now regretted having walked to his house in the first place. That’s the thing with walking places; you never want to walk back. Another thing I sincerely regretted was leaving my sweatshirt up in Drew’s room in my hurry to leave. Like I could get it back now.

And really, what was his problem, making both of us go mental like that? I mean, I doubt that’s what my dad meant for me to do, anyway.

I ran it over probably ten times and came up with a few choice things that I should have said to him before I made it back home. My bike was still outside. I went inside, leaving it.

I should mention that at this point there was quite a bit of water leaking onto my face and when crying that specific area gets very red, and very swollen. I was a walking slap in the face that something was wrong.

There was something to be said about my mom. She was always looking at me. I barely had a foot in the door when she appeared there, fussing. “Oh honey, what’s wrong? Did that girl Mel force you into anything?” My mother didn’t like any of my friends.

“No, Mom, go away,” I mumbled, brushing her off in the retreat to my room.
“Will, your son is crying.” She obviously felt that he needed to be let in on it too so that we could have a nice bonding chat about how you shouldn’t be gay in the first place because you can get hurt oh so easily.

I closed my door without turning the light on and stumbled towards my bed. I crashed down on it and waited for the inevitable disturbing of my darkness; I could already hear my parents’ muffled voices outside the door, debating who should go in.

The twilight of my room lifted to reveal the winner, my dad. “Sit up, Thom.” I did so, to make space for him on the bed. He handed me a tissue from his pocket, where he always kept a bunch in case of either times like these or for places without a necessary box or two. I wiped my face with it. I really did have to blow my nose, but I wasn’t about to do that in front of my dad; it made me seem too vulnerable.

“What’s up?” A simple question, admittedly.
I didn’t think before talking; I just launched. “He wanted to have sex, but he won’t even break up with his girlfriend!” I’d blurted accidentally. And I’d used the ‘h’ word, he. “Oh God.” I buried my face in my hands, feeling it grow hot and ashamed.

“I assume we’re talking about Drew, here?” my dad said quietly.
I whimpered in assent. Feeling pitifully like I needed to apologize or say something, I added in a voice stifled by my hands, “Dad, I’m gay.” There was a lump in my throat. Why wasn’t he talking?

Instead I felt his arms wrap around me, trying to bring comfort. All holding me ever did was make my body flare with heat, though. I was very hot when I cried.
“It’s okay. Jesus. You’re on fire.”

I knew I was on fire. I wished he’d say something else, something that would make it better. I dreaded the next time I saw Drew. But I realized something else, too; I also dreaded my mother.

“What about Mom?”
“We’ll deal with her later, I think. Now she can stop worrying about your sperm and more about AIDS, anyway,” he teased. I figured it was easier for him to joke about it. “It’s really okay, though, Thom. You know that, right? Your uncle Rufus was gay.”

I hadn’t known this. “He was?” The fact that I didn’t know made it seem like he was a black sheep. Or rather, only the gay part of him.

“Oh yes.” Uncle Rufus had been my father’s brother. “And I could always tell which guys he liked, too. He always went on about how much he hated them. I thought he was going straight once because he kept saying stuff about this one girl, but it turned out he really did hate her.” He smiled in reminiscence.

“Do you think it’ll work out between us?”
“You guys are tight, don’t worry. You’ll make up eventually.” He squeezed my shoulder confidently.
“Dad?”
“Mhm?”
“Can you leave now?”
“Of course, but just remember one thing. I don’t want any suicides on my hands.”
I chuckled, though still thoroughly depressed.