It's A Gay Thing

6 //

I wait to see the others’ responses. They’re positive, all agreeing that we should go to this place. I don’t say anything, yet. It’s Saturday night. I guess I should consider going out. My mind wouldn’t mind it but my heart’s protesting against it.

“Dani, you’re in?” Alex asks me.

Every head at our table turns to me, the three pairs of eyes fixating me, waiting for my answer. They sure do look convincing in this group effect.

Seeing how long it’s taking me to respond, Alex insists, “Oh come on. You’re not married to this chick. You can hang.”

Blue finishes her burger and wipes off her hands, “Yeah, totally, I mean, y’all ain’t like, you know – together. You’re gonna miss this shit once you get serious.”

“All right, I’ll go,” I give up.

Tony smirks at me. Even though Blue, whose name is Alicia by the way, is my closest friend out of the three, Tony’s a damn close second. We think similarly, he’s just more discrete about his views. I have great conversations with him.

Night shows up fast, much more rapidly than expected. As I’m buttoning up a casual light blue shirt up, my phone buzzes. I walk towards my bed to pick it up. It’s Pristina. I smile, because she makes me smile, in a way, no one else really can.

I haven’t felt that way in a while. That feeling when you’re okay letting yourself be pulled into your emotions, the ones that invade your soul and capture your heart. The ones that increase the intensity of every single touch, words and sound that, that person creates.

I would have continued my glorification of this ecstatic feeling but I’m interrupted by the banging on my door. It’s presumably Blue trying to hurry me up. I tuck my phone in my pockets, grab my jacket, wallet and keys and leave my bedroom.

Unlike most Freshmen at Duff, I live off campus. I rent an apartment with my four buddies, and well, my dog. He’s my true best friend. He can’t talk, and it’s probably better that way. I’ve told him way too many things over the years that could be used to blackmail me. Thank God dogs don’t have agendas.

I pet my dog on the way out and leave with my friends. We head out to that club that Blue told us about. After a small wait, we get access. It’s black as night in there. Streams of light bounce from wall to wall, flashing the surrounding faces for the length of a second, before blending back into the darkness. The only well-lit areas are the bar and the bathroom. I guess they don’t want any drunken ‘accidents’.

Of course, we’re only nineteen. We don’t technically have the age to do shit yet. But amazing contacts can do wonders. Between Blue and Alex, we know relatively everyone in the region. Those two just know people. I don’t know how they do it, just meet people so easily and establish such a significant impression that the other cares to maintain a relationship. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have outstanding social skills.

Only a minute inside and I feel a hand, from behind me, passing all over my chest. Sliding around the side is Cindy, a voluptuous tanned beauty. The whole world thinks I’ve been with Cindy, either dated or hooked up with her. Truth is, we’re only friends. Her reputation doesn’t imply that she can be only friends with someone, thus, the campus assumes that we’ve fucked. But we haven’t. Though I’ve been tempted, she’s never interested me in such a way. However, I know she would, if I asked. She could easily be my drunken mistake.

Cindy shouts over the music, “It’s been awhile.”

“Like the song,” I chuckle. She lifts an eyebrow. I don’t think she got the reference. I add, “It’s by Staind.”