My mind told a lie and my heart knew it wasn't real, but from his words, his voice, his entire character, all I had going was the mental picture I painted of him. Those years of drooling over a body I somewhat desired, sometimes, and the heart and mind of a professor, I couldn't break free from denial. It was too late that I realized, and still... I'm not over it. I continue to write about him, more of him, and I just want him to go. I can't seem to shake the urge of writing my pains away because of him, detailing the moments of my screams and cries he stole and yanked from the clutches of my innocence. I couldn't help but fall back in the depths of depression; the fiery pit of hell for me.
I thought when he graduated, his presence would no longer haunt mine and nor would I stare through the endless agonizing nightmares his eyes reflected. To many they were brown, a light hazel and that picture was torn the first day he took advantage of me, of course. And I of course I had to repeat myself — the only way I know how to make much sense of my reality. The only way I know how to write what I feel and what triggers me. And he wasn't alone; my own bloodline, or so I believed, triggered me past a breaking point.
In the light of my father, he was everything. His first, his best, his only representation of him. They looked similar and yet different enough where I never choked and whimpered when I saw my own father. How awkward and sad would that be? Breaking down in front of your parent and they question you for answers to which you reply with a lie built on another — and a couple more. When you start with a lie, it's hard to differentiate it from the truth.
The truth would never set me free. No way. Fuck the truth, it wouldn't do me no good considering how many other guys, in a situation most believe are only happening to women, would be branded as weak, a coward, less than a man or some strong, independent women out there. We were the bitches ridiculed and joked about when it came to something as serious as... what he and my brother had done.
I'm still fucking mad. And I'll never not say it again. I'll never not think how my anger transcends emotions and acts from the way I move around them. But I still quiver in the light of the devils. In comparison, they were still bigger. My change of plans of building body mass and strength more than five days a week never reached the level of what they did, not as yet. Besides, I was still younger, still in school and they were out with adults, masked as regular Joes who took care of their bodies and mind.
I was weak, I will admit. I was weak and I needed to get stronger. I would seek revenge — and how many times would I say that?
For Justice should be served. Equality for all.
But to be completely honest... I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with this anymore.
Dropping my pencil, I held the palm of my hands up on my eyes, sighing and groaning and chose to engross myself with the beautiful work of three harmonized sirens. Unlike some bastard, they never betrayed or deceived anyone, and kept themselves in the light of beauty every damn time they performed. Gold. They were stars and worked from the beginning; slaved themselves for the dream of a lifetime. The kind of determination desperation reached far lengths for me.
He just had to slave over a character I'd fall for.
Serene Destiny had success while I sat heaving at my words. I moved from my hands and rested my arms over the surface of my desk and deadpanned eyes over different editions of comics, a silver case with that stupid pendant and graphic novels surrounding the work I've done lately; homework and journal entries of the same fucking thing.
My blood curled in anger every time I wrote, trying my best at coherent and understandable thoughts and no matter what I did, they came out as a mess. Tori seemed to understand, but with how the nerves in her face wrinkled, she wanted satisfaction for my sake.
Any day now I might burn the damn thing.
With my head resting on my arms, I groaned and this louder, and sighed in the moment for the hundredth time. My brain mustered in clumps of disfigured and contorted imagery and emotions on reality.
At least I had my music. The one thing besides my sister who stood by my side through the dark and depressing times, for the third time I went in and attempted a form of liberation from life, the world... my reality.
A guy my age shouldn't feel this way, certainly not for a guy who was drugged on hormones. I needed a life beyond this, a life where I had fun and pleasure and the leisure of peaceful nights and beautiful mornings. I envied the lives of my friends and family who never stressed out enough and the ones who stressed just the right amount when exam season came around.
Ideals... they were to be met somehow, someway. Someday. Sooner the better than when I succeed at my pain's freedom.
Fuck... I pulled my head up, slouched on my chair and reminisced the words Oliver said last to me last Sunday. As I held the pencil, I tapped the end on my desk and remembered the whole reason I started a journal, the reason I discovered my needs and wants of now and what my future decided.
How could I forget?
"Remember when you were young and you wrote about every single tantrum you had, all the bottled up anger that pushed everyone away until the seventh grade? You met amazing people then; Christian, Levy, Leone, Tommy, Kayla... and your own family became more involved in the development of helping you. You can't deny that the love you thought you had for Anthony... the one you thought he gave in return helped the most. Until now... and I want you start writing again; I know it helps to relieve your stress somewhere when you're too weak to tell the tables about it," he had said.
For a father who yearned for a bond, I took it elsewhere with my therapist, Oliver Armstrong. For as long as my journal pissed me off, I continued to write thanks to him.
Oliver understood me like my friends did back then as kids, but he knew what I wanted to hear even when I never realized it. No one takes a child to a therapist except for my parents and that only bettered my wellbeing in the long run. I could never live without him.
He continued saying, "I know I can't understand the pain he and your brother inflicted on you; emotional and physically... But I can understand the depression and anger and the denial on one's self-worth when I see it, and the damage it causes to not only themselves, but to those around them; pushing them away from the very connection that healed the tumour. Continue to write, no matter how much you wish to toss the book and kill your mind, because one day, everyone will know. Your friends will be there, your family by your side till your old and worn, and a lover who understands and makes sense of your mind. You don't have to work out for a distraction anymore; it was never about revenge."
It was never about revenge, he said... I never had to work out... that he never understood. The boy I used to be wasn't alive today and he just didn't want to believe. I didn't want to believe it before, and I guess that's why no one wants to dare be more than friends.
But I got it. I understood why.
When I first started out in the gym, confidence was a foot away, my main goal, as I fought for courage and brute strength for I wanted to deal out my own served justice when the cops wouldn't give a damn. After all, what Tori did, evidence would be highly insufficient and completely run on our stories against theirs.
Can't blame her, though... she did what she thought was best and I love her for it.
Soon the fain noise of a ruckus faded in my ears and I yanked my earbuds out, turning towards the door.
"Yeah?"
Tori came in halfway, dressed in black and white pyjamas. "I'm going to Tommy's house. Just so you know." It was while since Middle School that I'd seen Tori's true twin. Nice guy.
But I cocked an eyebrow. "What about Bentley?"
"I don't know. He hasn't called or texted me in a while. So... it\s probably work, I guess." Her voice kept very quiet and soft, and when you got to understand her personality, you'd believe magic was real. "And maybe because of what he's going through with his dad and brother, too. Eventually he'll talk, though, so I won't pressure him and make things worse, like, that's not going to work out in the long run, right?"
"Yeah..." Not one word or a message to her while he never rested on me.
"Okay, so I'm going now. Logan's picking me up — his dad."
"Alright." I waved, contorting my lips. "Have fun."
She smiled and left, closing the door behind her. I spun and faced my work and collections, easing the earbuds in as my phone glided across the desk.
Bentley... fuck, man...
Honestly, my nerves couldn't stand his relentless desire. I always pictured a scenario where I let him understand how frustrated he made me, and for once since a few weeks ago, I answered. "What the fuck do you want, Bentley?"
Silence stood for a split second and he sighed right after. "I-I don't get you..."
I sighed in return. "You never did."
"Well maybe that's because I-I never got the chance to, bastard! You make it so hard."
There was a reason he tested my patience far too many times that I wished Tori turned him quiet. "You make it hard for yourself. Now what the fuck do you want? I'm tired of this, man."
"... I'm sorry for calling for then." He paused again, for what felt like minutes. I guessed — prayed — he understood my anger. Maybe he would give me space like Tori gave him. "I-I..." he breathed. "I hope you have fun fantasizing about your brother fucking you in the ass over and over again. Must have been real fun. T-This is the last time I ever talk to you; you play hard to get every day and I'm dead sick of it. Stay depressed, I don't give a shit!"
When I hung up on the phone, I dressed casual, stormed downstairs and struck my shoes on. The door coward in fear and if we ever get those glass installations my mom wanted, I'd be dead for sure.
The moonlight and streetlamps coloured me sketchy but I pressed my luck and paced myself down the street on convergence with his, and frantically maneuvered around a few acquaintances from school. I felt their eyes glare and their voices gossiping but one thing ran through my mind, the only thing that drove me to his front door.
The pressure of my fist made Jared widen his eyes when he opened the door. He almost staggered back at the complete sight of me and realized when he finally took in who he saw. But I wasted no time.
Jared gave a sign of Bentley's presence and I searched through the house, to find a few of his friends lounging around in his family room, his family's flat screen playing a thriller I, for a second, thought about. I loved it. But I chose to move on past their words behind me, and barged my way in his room where he sat beside his bed. His knees were pulled up and hugged where his face rested.
He looked up out of curiosity and confusion and got on his feet quick. His muscle cringed and his eyes begged for pity and forgiveness to where his lips quivered. When I stepped forward, he stepped back.
"What you know stays with only you. You don't even begin to start spreading that shit around." I took a pause to breath. "How the fuck do you know anyway?!" My voice was raised the worry in his companions tried coming to rescue. But little did they know, and the little his father gave any thought, I locked the door.
I hadn't told him... Tori hadn't said a word and yet he knew somehow.
He then cleared his throat. "It's okay guys. "H-He's just venting. We're talking."
He fell back into a corner and in no time his eyes watered. But he cocked his head, furrowed his eyebrows and left a slight gap between his lips. I didn't need a mirror or his glassy eyes to see how my own vision distorted.
"I'm serious, Bentley... I'm not playing... no one..."
The adrenaline died down but carried me out in a hurry, and when I reached his driveway, he came calling my name. I turned, stopped and saw his friends by the doorway, peeking out and hiding when I glanced their way.
"He's regular customer... I'm sorry..." he said. His eyes trembled like his bottom lip still, more so than before. His frantic fingers confused themselves on whether they wanted to run a hand through his nappy hair and I shifted my composure.
A regular customer? "What?"
"He's a regular customer... Anthony. Ask yourself how the hell my dad, who gets paid minimum wage with my brother at a damn fast food joint keeps us in middle class. Tori doesn't know... no one does."
He read my face and when his look corrected, he continued. "I have a job, everyone knows that, but..." He breathed, his frantic fingers fiddling now like he searched for words — a habit he tried breaking free from. Anxiety sure never helped parts of his social life. But he breathes once more, looked at me with rheumy, goggled eyes and spit out what pissed me off the most. "I'm an escort. They're rough... most guys are... but they pay well enough. I keep my family alive. Anthony walked in once with Shane and through our heated session which... contained Marijuana, they blurted out the whole story." What...? "I figured the cops didn't do anything or you never went to him out of fear... and when you just kept ignoring me... I'm sorry..."
An escort... Bentley... a guy too young to throw his life away like that. I get that it was an old profession but come on... I didn't want that for him. I'm sure not one did — not his father, his brother, Tori and Tommy. He had a lot to live for... al his dreams and hopes and being an escort...?
It still shocks me...
Low and husky, I said, "Why the hell would you work as an escort...? You're 17, Bents... you don't go around fucking the future like that..." Until now, really, I didn't know what to say.
I let him continue while I tried fishing for words and a voice again. "I told you... it keeps my family alive. I took older than I really am! And it's just sex, what difference does it make?! My dad and brother alone can't keep the three of us afloat for any longer and you know that... so understand what I'm going through... understand I just care so much."
My gaze kept a lock on his and because of his words, he reminded me of unrequited feelings. I never loved enough for him like he did for me. He pissed me off and depression was the blame. But he cared more than I could actually care to give a shit in my state of development.
His job, in our city, wasn't regulated. There was no guarantee his safety was at the top priority of our police department; they cared more about crowding their cells ad wasting more money on another penitentiary for no reason. Compared to my issues, I guess they were on par, somewhat, but while I had a chance for a bright future of any kind, his would end before his twenty-first birthday.
"Love me the way you sleep." He quoted his favourite line and this time was more than appropriate, especially when his eyes glossed over.
Truth is, besides the ass I was, I never wanted to hurt him in the long. I wouldn't dare, especially when Tori was his best friends and she guarded her friends like they were her pack.
Bentley cried on my chest, his fingers scattering my back as I reeled him in my arms.
Depression came in shades of not just black and white. I felt more than one thing and sometimes all at once. People swayed my moods with the flick of a few words and knew how easy it was to see a smile once in a while. Yes, he got me mad for what he said but... he knew from the wrong way. Clearly... things weren't going to change in that moment, I knew.
But for as long as I held him, I thought on what our relationship meant how it would carry over in the future. I soon realized what choices were final and unchangeable, and what choices would benefit ourselves.
I pulled out and when I kissed his lips, his whole body shivered. I gave a slight smile and before I walked, I told him something. "Get out of there... please. I will drag you out with force if I have to..."
"Is that it? Our friendship?" He cried out asking.
I'm sorry...
His persistence ceased to amaze me. He pulled on my arm and I turned. "Come on, Chance... stop doing this to me! Our relationship is clearly more than just friends."
"I can't... you know why I can't..."
"Shut up! You make no sense half the time and you confuse me for someone who's supposed to be brilliant. I can't understand how the hell mind works. You really don't make it easy for me or even for any guy for that matter. Why don't you just stop and re-evaluate why you're being an ass." I rolled my eyes, licked my lips and glared to the stars. The bullshit he pulled made it hard. With closed eyes, I shook my head and took my leave again. "Fuck you! Now I know how rough they were!"
The minute I turned around, he corrected his face and gasped. He let it slip and for the moment of anger that I regret now, I didn't care to realize it. He staggered back and tripped over the edge of the sidewalk when I swung a steady fist.
"What did I say?!" I saw red, nothing of the sorts of calm serenity, or a clear, open mind where I'd understand he made mistakes. They were, however, common with him.
His loud sorrows reached the far end of the street I passed, and I never looked back.
I got him, stripped down and slumped in my bed, blocking out reality. Back on an ideal world I loved, as that was the only way I'd recover from my temper breaks.
Another night gone by restless... and the only thing I'd drown in was regret.
I missed my sanity...