Morphine
Him- Equals Never
I don’t love anyone.
I won’t love anyone.
I don’t have to.
They love me. Everyone. There is not a person in this state or in the City that can say they hate me… Except one.
But it’s okay! I hate him too.
I met Samuel Atwood during one of my undead mother’s religious bouts. If you can call it that, she was screwing the youth minister/ local child molester at the church where Atwood was a prized member.
It was about the time I lost her favor. He was quarterback for the middle school’s football team, which I found quite amusing. He was a lot ‘buffer’ then… You could discern muscles without effort and had something of a buzz cut. No one remembers that now…
She never noticed him then. Why should she? He wasn’t her crowd… That wouldn’t happen for two more years, but I digress.
Being in fairly good standing with the Lord and his Christianity, Samuel tried to reach out to me, bring me to God and brainwash the heathen thoughts out of my skull. It worked, but not how he wanted.
Samuel Atwood is charming, I’ll admit. Well-spoken and attractive even (I can say that, I’ve been gay). I can see why he’s so adulated by friends. But then I met Eric.
Eric.
Eric was another attendee of this church and even had the displeasure of being one of the molested, but he was different from the other boys… different than the girls… He wasn’t scary or strange or elusive, just different. And I couldn’t figure out why until about a year after I started going regularly.
We were on a Youth Group trip to Coney Island… We’d gotten separated, on purpose, from the crowd and were hanging out under the roller coaster. He stood too close and I didn’t move back.
“Are you scared?” he asked, trailing his fingers down my arm. I was. It’s a frightening thing going from the idea that boy+girl= to the idea that boy+boy=. It didn’t matter. I was ruled by testosterone either way.
“No.” I said and he smiled, pushing my hair out of my face.
“Keep lying.”
You know what happened next. You know that he kissed me and I didn’t stop him. You know it was the best moment of my life and that the Ferris wheel caught fire and Atwood came looking for us. You know that he found us in a compromising position and glared with every ounce of loathing he could muster.
On the bus back, Eric and I sat alone on the back seat, staring at the smoke rising. He glanced to the front and smiled.
“He’s still staring?” I asked, shrugging down and not believing anything that’d just happened.
“Let him.” Eric said, taking my hand and falling asleep on my shoulder.
I wasn’t sure if I cared then.
Or if I cared as he slowly changed me into the perfect boy. A king to his queen. The difference was, and is, that after I lost him, he lost his rank.
I am still ruler.
And as for Atwood, well… He’ll have to deal with his homophobia next time he walks into this little brother’s bedroom unannounced.
I won’t love anyone.
I don’t have to.
They love me. Everyone. There is not a person in this state or in the City that can say they hate me… Except one.
But it’s okay! I hate him too.
I met Samuel Atwood during one of my undead mother’s religious bouts. If you can call it that, she was screwing the youth minister/ local child molester at the church where Atwood was a prized member.
It was about the time I lost her favor. He was quarterback for the middle school’s football team, which I found quite amusing. He was a lot ‘buffer’ then… You could discern muscles without effort and had something of a buzz cut. No one remembers that now…
She never noticed him then. Why should she? He wasn’t her crowd… That wouldn’t happen for two more years, but I digress.
Being in fairly good standing with the Lord and his Christianity, Samuel tried to reach out to me, bring me to God and brainwash the heathen thoughts out of my skull. It worked, but not how he wanted.
Samuel Atwood is charming, I’ll admit. Well-spoken and attractive even (I can say that, I’ve been gay). I can see why he’s so adulated by friends. But then I met Eric.
Eric.
Eric was another attendee of this church and even had the displeasure of being one of the molested, but he was different from the other boys… different than the girls… He wasn’t scary or strange or elusive, just different. And I couldn’t figure out why until about a year after I started going regularly.
We were on a Youth Group trip to Coney Island… We’d gotten separated, on purpose, from the crowd and were hanging out under the roller coaster. He stood too close and I didn’t move back.
“Are you scared?” he asked, trailing his fingers down my arm. I was. It’s a frightening thing going from the idea that boy+girl= to the idea that boy+boy=. It didn’t matter. I was ruled by testosterone either way.
“No.” I said and he smiled, pushing my hair out of my face.
“Keep lying.”
You know what happened next. You know that he kissed me and I didn’t stop him. You know it was the best moment of my life and that the Ferris wheel caught fire and Atwood came looking for us. You know that he found us in a compromising position and glared with every ounce of loathing he could muster.
On the bus back, Eric and I sat alone on the back seat, staring at the smoke rising. He glanced to the front and smiled.
“He’s still staring?” I asked, shrugging down and not believing anything that’d just happened.
“Let him.” Eric said, taking my hand and falling asleep on my shoulder.
I wasn’t sure if I cared then.
Or if I cared as he slowly changed me into the perfect boy. A king to his queen. The difference was, and is, that after I lost him, he lost his rank.
I am still ruler.
And as for Atwood, well… He’ll have to deal with his homophobia next time he walks into this little brother’s bedroom unannounced.