Your Voice

The next day at school, Tuesday, Gemma asks me to come over. We don't have a project or anything like that due, but I nod anyway and agree. My stomach is going crazy with nervous butterflies and I don't know why, but I want to see Dylan so bad it hurts. Especially when he said he didn't want to forget the kiss; that must have meant something good, right?

Mr. Smith is back today, looking a little under the weather but not deathly. He apologizes for being absent the day before but I just shrug my shoulders, pretending it wasn't as big of a deal as it was. I always do that, though. Shrug my problems off like they mean nothing. If I complained every time something didn't go the way I wanted it to, I would never be happy. I'm just not normal, you know? I don't get to have the things other people have and I don't get to live a 'normal' life, so-to-speak. At least I'm where I am now, so I can't complain about anything. I don't want it to be taken away from me because I was ungrateful.

Time passes slowly, probably because my thoughts are full of Dylan and what is going to happen when I see him. He texted me earlier in the day asking if Mr. Smith was back, and when I told him he was, he said he was glad and that he couldn't wait to see me that night. He couldn't wait to see me. Do you have any clue what that did to me? It made me incredibly happy but it also confused me even more on the subject of where we stand.

Gemma and I walk to their house in relative silence; well technically it's always silent, but that's beside the point. She walks close to me and hooks her elbow with mine, something she'd never done before. She grins at me but doesn't say anything, and when we get to her house I'm disappointed to see Dylan's car isn't in the driveway. I knew he worked, though.

Once we get inside, Gemma gets us water to drink and sits down with me on the sofa, turning to sign for the first time since we left school, "Dylan won't be back until late tonight. He has lectures."

My good mood deflates a little; that meant when he got home, he'd probably be knackered. He wouldn't want to sit up with me, maybe watch Game of Thrones, or talk about what is going on between us. That's what I wanted most. I just need to talk to him, to figure out what's going on here. Gemma wasn't any help; it felt like Dylan was the only person left.

And the prospect of confronting him sort of terrified me.
~

Late that night, just past nine-thirty, Dylan finally gets home. He does look knackered, I note, and with a dejected, internal sigh I realize this will probably be a quick goodbye. He smiles at us, eyes more on Gemma than me and this only makes that dejected feeling worse. I thought he said he didn't want to forget the kiss? Doesn't that mean he liked it? But then why wasn't he looking at me?

This is too complicated, I decide, but I can't remove my eyes from him. He looks far too handsome in his suit, I just want to kiss him again.

Gemma stands up to greet him, hugging him tight and lingering for a little bit. Dylan's eyes flick to me, and for a moment I fear they're talking to each other. That she's whispering something in his ear. But then Gemma is waving over her shoulder and announcing she was going to head up to her room and for me to have a good rest of the night.

My heart starts hammering unsteadily as Dylan stares at me, brown eyes so intense, and my knee starts bouncing out of nerves. I wait for him to say something, anything, when he finally signs and speaks, "I'm going to change and get my food, I'll be right back," and before I can say anything, he's gone.

I burrow further into the couch, wishing it'd open up and swallow me whole. My hands press to my eyes and I realize that I'm trembling. What's wrong with me? This won't be the first time I'm alone with Dylan, but it is the first time I've seen him since he kissed me. And all I wanted to do was jump up, fall into his arms, and kiss him again. It was so confusing because I didn't know where he stood and he was a boy and it made so many emotions swirl in my head. I thought I was going to explode. I'm on the verge of tears when the couch sinks beside me.

I jump, not expecting someone to be so close, and let out a screech. I can't hear it but I imagine what it sounds like. Dylan stares at me with wide eyes, plate of leftover lasagna in his lap. I flop back against the couch when I realize it's just him, pressing a hand to my face as I try and calm my rapid heartbeat. I'm still trembling but this time it's for a different reason.

Dylan moves into my line of vision, and I look at him with wide eyes as he furrows his brow, a little line appearing between them I have an urge to kiss. I refrain as he says, somehow making his hands seem gentle, "Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm fine," I reassure, even though I don't know if I am. I smile half-heartedly at him. "Promise, you didn't scare me that bad any way." Dylan bites his lip and I know he doesn't believe me, but fortunately he keeps quiet and begins eating his food.

About halfway through his plate, he sets his fork down and sighs. I assume he sighs because his shoulders slump slightly and his mouth opens wide. I stare at him, wondering what could prompt such a change of posture, before he throws his plate onto the coffee table and turns to face me completely, his eyes serious and mouth set in a frown. My heartbeat picks up because I think, here it is. He'll tell me we will never be more than friends at best.

"Gemma told me you're confused about your feelings," he says.

My mouth falls open; I feel so betrayed. She told him? After I asked her not to? After she bloody promised she wouldn't?! She told him anyway! She betrayed my trust, went behind my back, and told Dylan the gentle secrets I'd trusted in her. I couldn't believe it. I was honestly in awe; I'd never had a friend before but I didn't think they did things like this, went behind your back and pretty much told the guy you liked that you liked him. Maybe it was better being a recluse.

"Don't be mad at her!" He rushes, reaching out to rest a hand against mine. His flesh is warm against mine and it makes my cheeks warm, but I pull away despite the fact I just wanted to entwine our fingers. Dylan's face falls a bit at this. "Kade, she felt like she had to tell me, there wasn't anything she could do to help you." I bite my lip at this, refusing to look anywhere except his hands. I guess that makes a little sense; she was a straight girl, there wasn't much she could do to help a confused boy. And in the end that's what I was; a confused little boy with a crush on a guy far out of his league.

Soft, gentle hands are touching my chin then, tilting my head up. My eyes make contact with Dylan's; his caramel pools are tender, smoothed out in comfort as his fingers trail from my chin along my jaw before finally dropping back to his lap. He lifts that hand again and says, "Tell me what you're confused about, exactly."

I blink, wanting to disappear, but Dylan is staring at me and I'm fixated. I lift a shaky hand- and it's literally shaking to my mortification -and sign, "Boys." That's all, and Dylan's shoulders slump a little in another sigh as he smiles crookedly, eyes kind of sad.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay," he says, as if he knew that was going through my head. As if he knew that's what I needed to hear; can he read minds? He continues. "I promise. I know it can be hard, I came out when I was about your age too. It's scary, but I was born this way, Kade. And if you- if you like boys too, then so were you."

I blink, diverting my gaze for a moment as I frown. I sign a bit rapidly, "I don't know what I want. I'm confused about everything."

Dylan bites his lip and nods his head, readjusting how he sits and crossing one leg over the other. Somehow, as if he is magic, he manages to make his hand movements seem gentle and tender and caring as he says, "Have you ever even dated someone before?" My cheeks color in shame as I shake my head, and Dylan nods at this as if he expected it. Which only embarrasses me further because I'm sure he did. I probably come across that pathetic. "Have you ever liked someone before?"

I bite my lip, nodding at this, and Dylan prompts me to actually say something. I let out a little sigh I'm not sure was audible before ducking my head and signing, "I like this... boy." I can feel Dylan tense from beside me, and looking up I realize his mouth is in a straight line and his eyes are narrowed. For a second I'm afraid he's angry, but then he makes eye contact with me and I realize he's having a completely different emotion; jealousy. And that sets off a flurry of butterflies because he's jealous of the boy I mentioned, isn't he? There's no other reason for him to be. He somehow thinks I like someone other than him, and the prospect is insane. I don't talk to people other than him and Gemma and occasionally Chris. Biting my lip, I lift my hand, make sure he's watching, and sign, "Well, man really."

Dylan looks from my hands to my eyes, realization dawning on him. I stare in awe as red colors his cheeks; I've never seen him blush before, but it was definitely adorable. He seemed so manly to me that to see him blushing was odd. I wanted to lean forward and kiss the warm skin but I refrained, watching as a slow smile worked its way onto his face.

He doesn't say anything about that, and it disappoints me greatly. Why won't Dylan just tell me what's going on? I can't figure him out, it's too hard. I just want him to be honest and blunt, to spit it out there if he likes me back or if he was just looking for someone to kiss. But he's silent, and it prompts me to keep going.

I look away as I sign, "But he is a man, and I've never been with someone before, let alone the same sex. It's scary for me. I don't know if I've ever even had feelings for someone before."

Dylan bites his lip, eyes concerned. "You haven't tried talking to someone about how you feel? You've looked at other guys before, haven't you?"

I blush, but that's nothing new, and reach a hand up to mess with my earlobe; I bad habit I picked up with I was nervous. A therapist would probably tell you it had something to do with my deafness but that's a load of bull. I shrug my shoulders and struggle for a response before finally settling on, "Of course I have, I've done it for as long as I can remember. But I look at girls too. And no, Dylan, I've never had someone to talk to, not before your sister."

Dylan frowns deeply at this, one of his hands reaching out to brush over my knee in a way that makes a shudder climb my spine. As soon as his touch is there it's gone, his hand lifting so he can sign to me again, but this time my eyes are focused on his lips.

"Have you ever tried talking to your parents?" My eyes widen; talk to my parents? First off even if I tried they wouldn't understand me, and then as soon as the words I like the same sex were thrown out it would be nasty. It would just be another reason to separate me from them; we already have no communication because I'm deaf and they're hearing, so telling them I was gay (if that's what I am) would result in an even bigger rift between us. I'm already an outsider in my own house, I don't need to concrete that fact.

"Why not?" Dylan prompts, moving to force me to make eye contact. I frown as he tries to explain himself, something in his eyes different than I've seen before. "Parents are parents, they'll love you no matter what. I was scared to tell mine I was gay but when I did they accepted me with open arms and it made everything better. I'm sure it would be the same with yours."

I shake my head again, opening my mouth as if I'm about to speak before closing it. I lift a hand and sign lazily, "I don't talk to my parents."

Dylan's eyes narrow as he stares at me; it feels like he sees right through me, straight to my soul. He stares for what feelings like hours, as if he's trying to figure out what an abstract painting is about. And only then does he ask, "What do you mean?"

I lean back against the couch, shrugging my shoulders as if it doesn't matter, even though it does. Even though what I'm about to say keeps me up late at night and occasionally makes me cry myself to sleep, like some pathetic hormonal girl. "They don't know much BSL," I fib, not wanting to tell him my mom barely knows the alphabet and my dad doesn't care. Dylan's eyes widen at this but I plow on, not wanting to linger on that statement and make him think it bothers me. Even if it does, I have to pretend it doesn't. "And trying to talk to them about my sexuality would be a disaster. I'm pretty sure they see it as morally wrong."

"Kade," Dylan says seriously, reaching out to grip my shoulders in one hand and sign with the other. I stare at him wide-eyed. "There is nothing wrong with being gay, understand? There is nothing wrong with being confused about your sexuality or liking another lad. Nothing. You shouldn't be afraid, least of all about it being morally wrong. Love is love, understand? And if you like someone, be it boy or girl or alien, then you should pursue something with them because love is a beautiful thing with no boundaries. And you deserve to experience it as much as anyone else." He slowly releases my shoulder, staring deeply into my eyes and portraying so many emotions I get a little dizzy.

As awful as it makes me, I'm just happy he forgot to worry about my parents. But also, I'm happy that he can read right through me. It's like he got into my brain and crawled around to figure out what I was afraid of; and he said I deserve to be happy, to love someone. And that's my biggest fear, isn't it? That because I am the way I am- socially-awkward and deaf -I don't deserve to be loved by someone. Why would they love me? My parents can't even manage it, but here Dylan is, telling me I deserve it. But how can I believe him?

I blink, unsure what to say as Dylan slowly raises a hand and brushes the hair off my forehead. I feel myself blush as I stare into his eyes, my stomach twisting painfully. He's right, isn't he? I don't care about gay people; they've never bothered me, and even if I wasn't interested in the same sex, I wouldn't care if two guys made out in public. So why should I care if it's me making out with another guy in public? I'm still confused don't get me wrong, but I was never afraid to admit I had feelings for Dylan. That isn't what bothered me; I was more afraid of everyone else's reactions. I'm already completely alone, wouldn't that just make it worse?

Dylan starts signing and it pulls me from my dangerous thoughts, my eyes straying to the movement of his hands. "Whoever this guy is, you should tell him how you feel."

And then my stomach drops to my knees, because is he stupid?! I thought he realized it was him I liked. I'm not just flat out telling him, Dylan can forget that. It would be way to mortifying and he still hasn't even hinted as to whether or not he feels the same way. He's just concerned with me being comfortable in my sexuality, when the main thing I'm worried about is him! Do you know how much that hurts? How awful that makes me feel? It feels like my head is going to explode and my heart will be close to follow, and suddenly a surge of confidence courses through me.

I stand up abruptly, Dylan following with wide-eyes and when he stands tall, I realize he's several inches taller than me; at least a head. I blush but that doesn't stop me from lifting my hands and signing frantically, "You bloody idiot! Dylan do you even like me or should I just give up now?"

Dylan takes a step away from me, as if I've yelled at him, and his eyes widen comically. He's staring at me again, seeing right through me. I don't like being so transparent; I've always been the one able to read people like they were an open book, but Dylan brings out all these foreign emotions and his eyes are so gorgeous I can't see much past them. I'm not used to the rolls being reversed, but Dylan seems just as perplexed at me as I am with him.

When he doesn't say anything, just stares, I feel my bottom lip wobble pathetically. I look away, not wanting him to notice the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. I shouldn't be crying, it's not like I had a chance in the first place.

A soft hand is touching my chin, much like earlier, and tilting my face up. My eyes are narrowed as I look at Dylan, see the smooth planes of his face and his eyes switching between the both of mine. He moved a lot closer to me and I can feel his sweet breath washing over my face, making my tears momentarily dry in my eyes. He lifts a hand and I can clearly see it, but my eyes are focused on those pink lips like usual, watching as his tongue moves behind his white teeth and suddenly I want to taste it just as much as I do his lips.

"Kade," he whispers- I don't have to hear his voice to know that much. "Will you go out with me this weekend? Just the two of us, alone. Like a date?"

I blink, not expecting the question. My gaze moves from his lips to his eyes and back down again, my thoughts racing a million miles a minute. He's a boy. I'm deaf. He's four years older than me. He's out of my league. But none of those thoughts matter, because where words fail me- and they usually do -I follow my actions. So without another thought I push onto the tips of my toes, steady myself on his shoulders, and press my lips harshly against his own. The first kiss I've initiated myself.