You Just Never Know

“Messing?” he spat. “I am messing with your head?!”

“Billie, please!” I plead but he just sneers at me.

“You kissed me back Michael! You fuckin’ kissed me back!” The rage carried the words at 100 mph and made them collide with my mind in a serial crash.

“And you moaned my name. Fuck, Mike! You even told me not to stop! You wanted it!”

“Billie I, I-.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“But-.”

“No, Mike. You tried to get away from me. You said you wanted to be friends. To kiss me like you did is that what friends do? Tell me ‘cuz I don’t have a clue. Not a fuckin’ clue, Mike!”

“No. No, friends don’t, they don’t,” I began but was once again interrupted by speeding sentences.

“That’s right, they don’t kiss.” His eyes flickered with fury. “Who kiss, Michael? Who kiss?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“LIAR!” The scream made me jump and I couldn’t help but feel slightly frightened.

“I guess,” I began then had to search my mind for the right words. I didn’t want to set the mental car wrecks in my head on fire. “Maybe, well, people who might love each other?”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe,” he hisses. “And why the hell would you act like that? You’re straight, aren’t you? What kind of a sadistic fuck acts like you? Going on about being friends, running away, then turn around and make out, then pretend like nothing only to spend hours drooling over some photo of some fukin’ I don’t know what stupid pretty boy in some magazine!”

“I only looked at it because I was confused!” I defend myself desperately. I don’t want another fight. I don’t’ want anymore tears. And I don’t want to hurt him again.

“Confused?” he growls. “What the hell is there to be confused about, huh?”

“Well, just, things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah, I just saw this hot girl in the mag and just started to think about if there was any different to look at a guy.”

“And?” he demands to know.

“And there was,” I go on. “With the guys I just, just, couldn’t pinpoint anything attractive. They aren’t bad-looking but more than that I can’t say. I have no idea.”

He has calmed down but his breathing is still heavy and he hasn’t unclenched his fists. I may yet be able to mess everything up. But in spite of that I find myself to start walking over to him. In the passing I pick up the collection of paper that triggered such a commotion.

“Look.” I hold the magazine up, showing him the page with one of the guys. “Can you say if he’s handsome?”

“Yeah,” Billie shrugs noticeably calmer, but he still glares at me.

“Why?”

“He has nice lips. And those muscles aren’t too bad either. I like his arms. And hair. Looks good. Yeah.” He detaches his gaze from the photograph to look me in the eye. I sallow hard.

“Maybe I should work out more,” I mutter not even realizing what I’m saying.

Billie Joe gives me a perplexed look that momentary replaces the rage.

“Mike, what?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Well, he looks better than me, don’t he?” I smile jokingly at my friend.

To my surprise Billie give me a short laugh.

“No way. No, really, no,” he snorts before he’s fully able to regaining his angry expression.

When he settles there is a silence. It seems like it’s about to turn in to one of those awkward ones, the kind I’ve never experienced with him before. But before it gets to that point I speak up. Though I should probably shut up.

“How do you know?”

Billie tilts his head to the side like so many times before, appearing less upset with me now.

“Know what?”

“That you’re, well, bisexual. How do you know?”

For some reason he looks terrified. He licks his lips nervously and then his eyes start to dart around the room like he’s scared to look at me.

“How do you know it’s not just hormones fuckin’ up or whatever?”

His gaze meets mine and suddenly it feels like I’m falling fall. Fast. And I hit realization so hard it makes my head spin.

Billie’s eyes widen when he recognizes that I know.

“You,” I stutter. “You really, when you said it, you really meant it, didn’t you? You fucking mean it.”

I should probably have kept my mouth shut. Because I’m an idiot. A first class hands down idiot.

***

“He knows. He knows. He knows. God, he fuckin’ knows.” The thought is repeated over and over in my head. I can feel myself starting to panic. Everything I did to him, the kissing and all, didn’t seem so bad before. It could be explained away. Covered up with a joke. Lied about. But no anymore. Because he know now. He fuckin’ knows.

“Mikey,” I stutter. Then my mind goes blank, all that’s left is this paralyzing fear.

My chest feels tight. I can’t get enough air. If I just could get my rampaging heart under control it maybe wouldn’t be so bad. Can 16 year olds get heart attacks? They can’t. I don’t think they can. All I need to do is to calm down.

“Is it cold?” The thought flash trough my mind. “No, it’s burning. Fuckin’ burning hot. Shit. Oh, shit”

“Billie?”

I lift my gaze at the sound of his voice. And I focus all my concentration on his eyes. He doesn’t look like he did last time, when told him my secret. There’s no disgust. There’s no hunted look in his eyes. Only concern. Or am I just fooling myself again?

***

I’ve never seen Billie Joe so scared before. He trembles, absolutely petrified. Eyes wide open in desperation, lips quivering with pleading words, arms clasped around a huddling frame. I don’t think he’s even aware of how nonsensical sentences tumble out of him. The words probably get tossed around and mixed up from the way his jaw clatters and tremors. Because I can’t understand any of it.

Not knowing what to do I edge closer. One step. Two steps. A half step. Slowly I approach him. I move so cautiously, like sudden movements could shatter him. He seem so very fragile to me. Like one wrong move would break him. And it probably would.

I’m right in front of him now. But I have no idea what to do next. Thoughts try to force their way out of me. But I’m too scared that they are too much of a threat to his frail state to let any of them out. I have to do something though. I can’t just stand here. Because doing nothing went really well last time.

Very hesitantly I lift my arms and drape them around him, pulling him into a soft embrace. Is it the right thing to do? I have no idea. But I can’t think of anything else.

“Don’t leave me, please.” He clutches my worn out T-shirt hard. “Don’t ever leave me, Mike. Promise. Please. Please promise me,” he begs, finally making sense.

“I won’t,” I whisper afraid of talking too loud.

“But I-I love you, Mike,” he stutters probably thinking that his love for me will drive me away.

“I know,” I hush, stroking him comfortingly across his back.

“And s-still you make that p-promise?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Mike,” he breathes nervously. I only hum in response.

“Do, do you, do you love me?”