You Are My Addiction

"What are you doing?" Mitch shouted as soon as I shut off the game system in the middle of our game. He hadn't been enjoying it, just using it to let out his aggression, and it was worrying me. He knew he could talk to me about anything, so why was today any different?

"When are you going to tell me what's been bothering you?" I replied, with just as much volume. He was staring at me now, biting his lower lip as I stared back at him with the same intensity. His green eyes were shiny and fierce. I couldn't remember the last time he had looked at me with fierce eyes before. I swallowed hard, refusing to look away first.

Finally he sighed, his chest deflating like he had been holding his breath. "I don't want to talk about it." I walked over to the couch and sat on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up at my face, daring me to try and get him to speak. I just sat there, not saying anything, knowing that eventually he would. And he did. "My dad hasn't spoken to me at all since I got to his house. I don't know why I'm forced to spend time with him when he clearly hates me." I felt an ache in my chest.

"He doesn't hate you. He couldn't." I whispered. It felt like I was speaking the words to myself, trying to comfort myself instead of Mitch. A parent couldn't just hate their child for something they couldn't control. People commit murder and rob banks or sleep with their dad's girlfriends and those parents still somehow find it in themselves to keep loving their children. It's supposed to be unconditional. You are never supposed to doubt your parents love for you. I wanted to scream at every parent who made their child feel that way. I tried to calm the rage bubbling inside of me.

"He does." He stated. His eyes had lost the fierceness they were carrying before and had turned to water. I'd only ever seen Mitch cry once before, when he broke his arm last year after attempting a snowboarding trick and failing. He tried to mask the tears by smiling and pretending like it didn't hurt, which is exactly what he was doing now. He was smiling at me, pretending that the pain of his father's disapproval didn't sting as much as it did. He was trying to pretend that he didn't care, but I knew better. I always did.

I leaned in to him and grabbed the sides of his face, resting my forehead against his. "Look at me," I said sternly. His green eyes met mine and didn't waver. "You don't need him, okay?" I wasn't sure if I believed what I was saying but he needed to know he had other people in his life who loved him. That's what you do for the people you love; you lie to protect them. "It's you and me, always!" He nodded, not saying anything. "You and me, man. Don't forget that." He nodded again, this time falling into my shoulder and crying into my grey t-shirt. I held him while his body shook and his sobs echoed through the room. I wanted to make him better. I wanted him to stop hurting.

He stopped crying after a few minutes and wiped his face with his shirt which lifted up just enough for me to make out the traces of his six pack. I swallowed hard and looked away, confused. I wasn't gay just because I found a six pack admirable, something I wanted to achieve one day. I turned away from Mitch's abs and stared at the far side wall, trying to calm the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. I liked girls; I even found Ashley beautiful.

"Grant," Mitch spoke, quietly. He was so vulnerable right now; a vulnerable I wasn't used to seeing with Mitch. "Grant, look at me." There was a lot of eye contact happening lately between us and I wasn't sure if I could handle it this time. I swallowed hard again and looked over at him. His eyes were piercing and it felt like he was reading me, reading me all the way down to the core. I fought back the urge to shiver.

It wasn't him, it was me. I was the one that leaned in and let my lips fall on his. I was the one who didn't pull away after he started kissing back. I was the one who kept going, kept pushing for more. My heart was racing and I could feel my hands shaking with nervous energy. It felt so good to kiss him that I forced myself to stop. This couldn't be happening.

"I'm sorry." I said, my eyes wide. I sat back, afraid to move or speak or do anything. My heart was still racing but not from the feeling of having kissed him. The uneasiness in my stomach grew bigger and I could feel the frustration building up inside me. I felt trapped.

"This doesn't have to mean anything," Mitch said cautiously. I think he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. "We can pretend it never happened." I nodded, still unable to move and my eyes looking downwards. He leaned over towards me, about to touch my shoulder and I shot up so fast I hadn't realized I had given my brain the signal to do so.

"I need to think, to clear my head." My throat was dry and my voice was shaky as I said the words. My whole body was shaking now and I kept shaking my head, telling myself that this wasn't real. What just happened didn't happen.

"I get that," he said, trying to comfort me. "I understand what you're going through." I looked up at him, my expression dark.

"I'm not gay." I spat, feeling the sting of my words hit him. I immediately regretted saying the words the way I did. "I didn't mean it to sound-"

"Yes you did," Mitch said angrily. He looked as hurt as he did while talking about his dad, and I hated that I was the one to do that to him. "I'll see you later."

"Mitch!" I shouted after him, but he was already gone. I shrunk into the couch just as the front door slammed shut. I wanted to run after him, to make sure things were going to be okay between us, but I didn't think they would be. I wasn't sure if it was because of him or myself though. I wasn't sure if we could go back.

"You and me, man." I mumbled and shrank further into the couch, trying to repress my thoughts. And then I started to cry.