Ctrl + Alt + Dalt (BxB)

Ctrl + Alt + Dalt + 3

"I'm not going. I need a quiet place to call in, sick."

"Why?" I ask, still confused as he takes out his phone and starts dialing his work's number.

"Because this is too big of a day—"

"What do you mean? You need to work. You need the money."

"You've literally just been outed. I can't just leave you like that and go off to work—"

"Of course you can. I'll be fine—"

"No—you only think that you'll be fine—right now—but as soon as you get home—as soon as you're alone—it's going to hit you harder than anything has ever hit you in your entire life."

"No, it's fine. Really."

"Right now, you're in denial—or you're in that weird, in-between place where you still think you have the chance to control the situation—you're in the place where you think you can still turn it all around—change the narrative to fit your agenda. Trust me, I would know—believe me when I say, I'm not trying to be cruel, but—no, you can't take it back or change it, you can't make it stop, and it won't just go away."

"Are we talking about me, or are we talking about what happened to you? Because it's not the same and it won't be the same because it was obviously different with you, simply because, unlike you, I'm not gay."

"Look, whether that's true—or, you just want it to be—it doesn't matter to them—"

"'Want it to be'? 'Want'? I'm not gay! They can't shut me out for being gay, if I'm not gay!"

"Jacob Miller," he says, calmly—the very mention of the name shocks me into utter silence. I thought that he might have been bluffing last time, but now—how does he even know the guy's actual name? The pain that I've locked away from so many years ago resurfaces to boil my blood.

"How dare you! If you already know so much, why did you say it? How dare you say his name—"

"Listen—I'm sorry for bringing it up, but I don't think you're being fair to yourself for hiding who you really are. You know I'm here for you, especially for all of this—"

"Who said I ever needed you, anyway. Just go to work," I spit—his expression seems dejected, but then quickly shifts to one of annoyance.

"Who's the one who said that they feel as if nothing feels right? That you're living the wrong life? It's because you're hiding yourself from your own self! And that's eating at you, slowly but surely, destroying your sanity and who you're meant to be and, ultimately, you're going to end up miserable because of it! You literally came to me because your subconscious self, your true self, your gay self realized how dire the situation really is, so it cried out from behind the walls of your mind and from below the caverns and crevasses of your heart looking for someone—anyone—until it found me—not just some gay guy, but—a friend who cares so much for you that even the bile you ejected from your fake facade of a straight-boy image couldn't completely repel even after years of trying to push me away. Jacob Miller was a dick—you couldn't get back at him, you couldn't deny it when he outed you to the school and all of its bullies, and you, certainly, couldn't stop any of them from hurting you, mentally and physically—so you did the only thing you could do—run away—but it's not your fault—none of it is—but, you need to stop hiding—you don't need to anymore—you don't need to keep running away from who you are."

"No matter what I do, nothing matters," I mutter, fighting back the tears already forming in my eyes, turning away from him as a tear rolls down my cheek and falls onto my lap, I stare out the window at the nearly deserted dunes of yellow sand and its clear blue skies overhead. "It's not safe to be me."