The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 12: In Which Chance Has 83 Protons

"So hey, I know we've only known each other for like, a week, and that I already forced you to come out to me, but do you want to kill yourself on a regular basis?"

I quickly dismissed that idea, knowing that Callaway would probably punch me in the face (again).

I needed to do something; I couldn't stand the heavy silence.

So I did something stupid.

"What are your thoughts on depression?"
Callaway glared at me with confusion.
"Or, you know, mental illness as a whole?"
I aimed for easygoing, but my words seemed forced.

Callaway developed a tight expression, "Why?"

My mind was screaming at me to stop, but I ignored it.

"Do you think it would be a better topic for our project?" I cringed at myself, knowing that what I was saying was completely idiotic.

Callaway got up from his reclined position, seething. "You said you weren't homophobic."

I watched as green eyes shot at me, filled with fury. My mind raced as I tried to find ways to sort out the situation.

"I wasn't lying, I just have nothing." I showed Callaway my notes to accentuate the point. "I just wanted to know if mental illness was a topic we could use."

Callaway had calmed a bit from my words of reassurance, but was still frowning.

"I comprehend what you're implying, because - arguably - an extended amount of people in 'The Great Gatsby' could have some breed of emotional disorder. But I have already done research in regards of this topic, and I refuse to alter it," Callaway argued, crossing his arms.

"Why are you against doing it on mental illness? Like you said, there could be lots of examples of it that could be easily justified," I retorted.

"I don't want to," Callaway asserted.

"Why?"

"Why didn't you want to do it on homosexuality?"

"It's complicated."

"It's complicated for me as well," Callaway exasperated.

I refrained from arguing, knowing that I had an unfair advantage due to my extended knowledge on Callaway's mental health.

As our argument dissipated, Callaway and I just both looked at each other, defeated. Neither of us wanted to voice our secrets.

I glanced at the boy beside me, sighing. Callaway was my friend now - possibly my only friend - and I needed to respect him and his boundaries. What I had seen in the bathroom was supposed to remain private and I had violated that confidentiality. I couldn't impose my discoveries on Callaway if it was going to make him feel vulnerable.

I already owed him for practically commanding him to come out to me. What I was doing was wholly unfair.

I needed to repay him for disclosing important information about himself by giving him important information about myself. Maybe then he would come clean about his mental state without any violent coercion.

I exhaled, "Listen, I'm sorry for pestering. It's just that I've had bad past experiences about homosexuality because - " I ran a nervous hand through my hair. "Because of very specific reasons..." I trailed off, unsure of what I was doing.

Callaway's gaze lit up. "Is Zander a homosexual? And his direct harassment is some inane form of coping mechanism?"

I giggled, "No." I stopped, throwing a sly smile at the dark haired boy. "But I'm willing to admit to these specific reasons under two conditions."