The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 13: Cappucci-NO

My hand moved swiftly across the stark expanse of the canvas beyond me.

I was painting. And though for most artists, this choice of medium was painfully ordinary, it was pretty unusual for me.

I concentrated on wetting my brush and mixing the oil paints in an attempt to find the colour I was seeking.

Once I got the right shade of red, I started painting in the apple I had previously outlined in the scene.

My gaze switched periodically between the canvas and the window of my bedroom; the view I chose to portray in my painting.

At first, I had thought the window was too bland to paint; large quantities of white and not enough warmth. Even so, I was too lazy to seek out better landscapes, so in a moment of haste, I added an apple to the surface in front of the window. It was cliche and amateurish of me, but it added the colour I was looking for.

I was so intently focused on the task I had set out before me, that when my phone buzzed, I nearly hit my brush against the canvas. Though, I stepped back quickly to prevent ruining the painting with a slash of the crimson dripping from the paintbrush.

I pulled my phone out of my jeans, huffing when I noticed the message blaring from the screen.

11 new messages from: Callaway

He had sent me 11 messages in the course of three hours. None of which I had replied to.

He was probably going to murder me.

I hadn't even read the messages, because I was terrified of what Callaway was going to say.

In my experiences, heterosexual and homosexual people both had some type of prejudice towards bisexuals. The motives for this discrimination were unknown to me. All I knew was that straight people believed bisexuals were completely gay. And then gay people believed bisexuals were straight but claiming to be otherwise for attention.

I had also heard many homosexuals explaining that dating a bisexual was dangerous for many moronic reasons:

"They're indecisive."
"They just want attention by jumping on the gay bandwagon."
"They're cheaters."
"Who knows when they'll decide they're straight."

Fundamentally, everyone hates you. Even those that are supposed to be accepting.

That is why I had, up until that point, refused to read Callaway's messages.

But I was curious. I wanted to read the messages, even if I was afraid of their contents.

I debated with myself for a prolonged moment, before the phone buzzed in my palm again. The vibration almost caused me to drop my paintbrush to the ground in shock.

Thankfully, I had laid out an old sheet over the carpet of my flooring. It was precaution my dad forced me to take, due to multiple past incidents. The sheet helped to keep my carpeted flooring unscathed.

I ignored the clattering of paintbrush in favour of glancing at the last message on my screen.

Callaway: and i'm gay af so y would i care abt ur sexuality? answer me, cha

I smiled as I read the short message, realization pooling in my mind.

What I had been doing was foolish; obviously Callaway wouldn't hate me for being bisexual. He was the one that had coerced me into choosing homosexuality as a topic for our project. He also seemed to have strong - but positive - opinions on the matter. I should've anticipated for him to be accepting.