The Queerest [🗸]

my fist and ryder's jaw

2. His predatory smirk, one that comes so naturally to him that it's nearly nauseating. The way he looks at girls as though they're nice pieces of steak at a dimly lit steak house. The way he looks at me.

3. His laugh. A har har har in all respects, he seems to let out a laugh every time stupid shit is said, stupid shit that can usually be traced back to him.

4. The stupid shit that he says. See number 4. Usually along the lines of something predatory, accompanied with The Smirk™ (see number 2).

5. The fact that he's my boyfriend.

He's my boyfriend.

The statement is a strange feeling in its entirety, mainly because I might hate him, (just a bit). Yet, we've been dating since freshman year. 

Since we walked into our first dance. A memory that I'd like to forget completely. Because Ryder Hudson's hands were really fucking greasy.

"I'm not jealous," I finally say as his gray eyes rest on  me, and he doesn't have a clue about how dead honest I'm being. In fact, I can't be further from jealous. Mainly because no matter how hard I force it, I'm not attracted to Ryder Hudson.

At all.

But seeing as stating that painful fact would probably cause the world to blow up, I settle with listening to Ryder scoff as my eyes flick about the outside space, Cath and Ella grinning like we're on top of the clouds.

We live on top of the clouds. Always have.

My lips purse. Sometimes, I feel like shit would be better on the ground.

With all the other muggles, normies, commoners if you will.

Because then, I wouldn't have to spend hours of my time pretending to be interested in Ella's daily instagram posts. Wouldn't have to spend my time listening to Cath talk about who's a bitch, only for her to pull said bitch into a chirpy hug the next day.

Then, I wouldn't be dating Ryder Hudson.

Being above the clouds isn't always heavenly. 

My stomach seems to curl in that second.

And it curls in the way you drink milk that's a day old but your mom insists: it isn't bad, mi hija. I promise it won't kill you. Which is bullshit, in any accord. But you still drink that shit and face the consequences.

That's how I feel right now.

Like bad leche.

So, I rise to my feet.

"I don't feel too hot." I mutter, my voice coming out quickly. Cath doesn't look up from Ella's phone, and Ella blinks pale blue eyes before waving. 

"You look perfectly hot to me." Ryder says. He smirks. I suddenly think that my stance on zero violence can be bent in certain situations. His eyes glint. Wolfishly.

"Well," I say. And to my credit, English comes out in place of barf. Or angry Spanish. Neither of those two options have worked out well in this town. "I'm just gonna..." a thumb jutting behind me. "Leave." 

Permanently. I wish.

So, I do. I don't wait for Cath to look at me, or for Ella to kick her Gucci sneakers off the table. Or for Ryder to stop ogling that poor ninth grader. I just go where the wind takes me.

Which is far, far away from here.

I'm already in the school and making my way down the hallway when it dawns on me that I have no idea where I'm going.