Although Evan seemed to be getting better after each time he woke up from one of his frequent sleeping spells, the doctor wanted him to stay at the hospital a little while longer to make sure he kept on the road of recovery. Evan had been pretty upset when he heard he wasn't going home until the doctor said so, and I tried not to show how down I was because I didn't want to distress him even more. Greatfuly the doctor had deemed Evan well enough to transfer him out of the ER and place him in one of the regular hospital rooms again, so everyone took that as a good sign and used it as a little piece of hope to hold onto.
"This sucks," Evan grumbled for the twentieth time in the last six minutes. I didn't have to ask him what he meant as I already knew what he was referring to.
"I know," I agreed, unable to make eye contact with him because I didn't want to see the look in his eyes. I stared down at my white Converse instead; they were kind of dirty on the toe.
"No, seriously, Gabriel, you don't understand. This sucks."
"I know," I said, slightly annoyed at him for the tone in his voice. I knew he was upset about being stuck here for at least another week, but that didn't mean he could take his frustrations out on me. I was there to help him.
"I've probably missed so much of school already, right? There's no way I can make up any of the things I missed. They're gonna have to hold me back another year again. I'm gonna be a sixth year senior. This fucking sucks."
"Evan, don't talk like that," I discouraged, picking my head up from my arms and giving him the same stern look that he'd frequently used on me.
"Why not? I'm being honest. I don't even know why you're here. You should be in class, learning, getting an education so that you can go to college and become, like, a brain surgeon or whatever. Discover the fucking cure to cancer or something. You probably would discover something like that, wouldn't you? You're smart enough, you could do it. Just promise me that in ten years when you're rich and famous and have seventy boyfriends at your beck and call, you'll come back and visit me 'cause it's obvious I'm never getting out of this fucking hospital."
I wanted to laugh at how stupid he was being, but the bitterness in his tone made me uncomfortable. The room felt colder than it should've been. "Hey, stop it, alright? I'm not in school today because it's the day after prom, and there's never a school day after prom. You know that."
"Oh, fuck, prom. I forgot to take you to prom." Now the anger in his voice had been chased away, and he sounded like he was going to cry. Judging by the way he was covering his face with his hands, I realized missing prom of all things, Jesus Christ, prom, was a big deal to him. Seeing him so distraught over not being able to take me to a goddamn high school dance made me both exasperated and even more in love with him. The nurses really needed to let off on all the morphine they had him high on.
"Evan, I didn't even want to go to prom. I don't care about that stuff. I care about you. Which is why I'm never gonna have seventy boyfriends unless someone invents a cloning machine and I stick you through it seventy times, okay?"
"You'd probably invent the cloning machine. You're smart enough," he whimpered, voice muffled against his palms. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I stood up from my chair to wrap my arms around him in a constricting hug. His shoulders were tense, but the tighter I hugged him the more relaxed he became. It was funny how much our roles had switched, yet still remained the same.
"I'm not gonna have to visit you in ten years, either, 'cause in ten years we'll be together in our giant California-sized canopy bed somewhere in a penthouse in the middle of LA or New York."
"You think so?" he whispered. I was about to nod in reassurance when I suddenly grew hesitant and caught myself. I rarely ever let myself think about the future, let alone something as positive as I just had. I didn't believe in there being something out there for me, something that promised warmth and wealth and the safety of security. That "something" had always been Evan, and since Evan was in the present, I never thought about him being in my future. It wasn't because I didn't want him in it, but simply because I never had one. Some people were born into the world knowing exactly what they wanted and how they'd achieve it, while others (like myself) tried their best to block everything out that wasn't happening right there and then. I was a statistic, and statistics were numbers, and numbers could not have futures.
"I mean, um. I don't know. If you want that, then I guess so," I mumbled unsurely, loosening my grip on him as I prepared to pull away, but suddenly he was grabbing at me and holding me even closer.
"Yes. Yes, I want that. I want that more than anything in the world." He made eye contact with me when he said that, voice quieted by its healing process yet serious. The fact that he honestly wanted something to do with me twenty years from now made my heart soar and my lips widen into a smile I never thought my face was capable of holding.
"Okay," I agreed with a nod of my head. "Then you have to know that you'll be out of here and back at school within a week, and I'm gonna help you stay caught up with everything. Okay? Trust me on this."
"I do trust you. I love you," he said, champagne eyes locked on mine. I smiled and coursed my fingers through his hair; the nurses had finally given him a birdbath that took some of the greasiness from his body and hair.
"Okay. Then don't hate me after I say what I'm about to say."
"I could never hate you," he responded, sounding appalled that I would even suggest such a thing. I patted the back of his hand and pulled away from him, reaching next to the chair I'd been sitting in and retrieving the heavy black backpack filled with untouched homework assignments. Evan recognized the bag as his own and, seeing how filled it was, recoiled in horror with a gasp. I giggled at his dramaticness and placed the bag next to him on the bed, then reached over the bed to pull to table tray over him.
"Let's knock some of this workload out of the way, okay?" I said, unzipping the bag. His eyes widened comically at the amount of books, notebooks and paperwork stuffed inside it.
"Gabriel, call the nurse. I think I'm about to have a heart attack."
"You're really dramatic, you know that? Maybe you should try out for theater when you get back," I joked while tugging his planner out from its jammed spot between a history and math book. He stuck his tongue out at me, but I ignored him as I flipped through the planner until I found the first day of school he'd missed and placed the small notebook in front of him.
"Here are all the assignments you've missed. I talked to your teachers everyday after school and they told me what needs to get done and what you don't have to worry about. I've finished some of the stuff while you were sleeping and I had all the free time, so you don't have worry about . . . " I trailed off while fishing through his bag, removing the US History 2 book and notebook, as well as a literature notebook and the outside reading material that went with it.
Evan raised his eyebrows, taking the notebooks and flipping through them. "You finished two weeks worth of notes for me?"
I shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. Um. I know what it's like to fall behind in school, it sucks. I know. So I tried keeping you up with everyone. I'll tell you what happens in Jamestown and the American Revolution, and I already read Frankenstein and The Great Gatsby twice so I'll explain what happens in them to you, too. I can't really help you with art, though, 'cause Ms. Richardson would definitely know I did it, no offense, and I don't want you to get in trouble. I finished the packets about all the artists we're covering, too, so I'll tell you about that." I paused in my speaking as I began spreading all the materials out across the hospital bed, grouping the necessary materials of certain classes together. Evan didn't say anything, just sat there staring, eyebrows slightly furrowed and lips parted in the middle. I didn't know what to gage of his reaction so I looked away, fiddling with some art pencils I'd brought from home for him to use as I rambled on nervously.
"You just have to work on these math pages up to here," I said, flipping open the book and pointing, "and then finish these two art projects, and review these Spanish note cards, and fill out these pre-labs for Physics. You should be pretty caught up by then, I think. I'll help you, though, don't worry--"
"Gabriel," he finally said, and I stopped flipping through textbooks and stood up straight, looking at him sheepishly.
"Yes?"
"Come here. Please."
I moved all the workbooks and papers down at the foot of the bed and crawled into the space he'd made for me next to him. He held my face in his hands and kissed me in a way that told me he was happy, he wasn't mad and didn't hate me, he just wanted to kiss me. I wrapped my arm around the back of his neck to prevent myself from falling off the bed as his kisses grew more powerful in emotion rather than feeling. I turned my head after several minutes to signal a stop, but he continued to kiss and nibble against my neck instead, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Evan," I sighed, my knees pressing together as my foot hiked upwards and rubbed against his ankle, causing some of the books to fall off the bed with several thuds. I jerked from the sound and Evan laughed, the sound of it warm and comforting, quelling my nerves and fears.
"This is seriously the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me, Gabriel." He sounded ecstatic, looked genuine, and I never thought me doing what I had would mean so much to him. I felt my cheeks redden on impulse, but what he had said still made me feel good, as if I had some purpose here, helping someone and all. "Thank you so much. You just took a bunch of stress off me, I love you so much. I don't know where I'd be without you."
I shrugged and fluffed up the hair on the back of my head, adding to its craziness. "It's really no big deal, I just wanted to help you out."
"But it is. You didn't have to do any of that for me, you didn't have to make sure I got done what I needed to, you didn't have to talk to my teachers and stuff. Seriously. You're such a good person, I'm being for real, I promise it's not all the morphine talking."
I laughed quietly and shrugged again as I grew awkward in the crossfire of his compliments. "Yeah, well. It was really hard in the beginning, willing myself out of bed and going to school, knowing that I wouldn't be able to see you there. Eventually I came up with the idea of going to school purely for you, to keep you caught up with everyone else and stuff. The thought of helping you in any way I could really motivated."
He stared at me for several seconds before grinning, pearly whites unfazed by the cheapness of the lighting around us, his light brown eyes sparkling like the glass of champagne they resembled. "You really care for me, huh?" He asked that question in a way that made my stomach flutter with all sorts of jungle-floor critters. If I didn't answer him, the wings of all the butterflies tickling against my insides would've answered for me by pouring out of my mouth--in a stream of vomit or colors, I didn't know.
I rolled my eyes at him playfully and scoffed, lightly. "Of course I do. I love you."
That declaration alone seemed to make him smile even wider, if that was possible. I loved his smile. It was always growing; it never seemed to have an end. I was so glad his smile hadn't ended.
"Yeah. I can tell. You actually did my art homework for me. I should be sick more often, huh?" He winked at me then pretended to start coughing exaggeratingly loud, which actually set him off into a painful hack-attack. I rolled my eyes at him and patted his back lightly, and when he was better I proceeded to elbow him lightly in the side; he was so annoying. "I was kidding," he laughed, eyes watering from the forcefulness of his coughs yet still shining in a way that told me he really was fine. I felt him grin against the top of my head as he kissed it.
"Art's actually really interesting," I defended, purrowing at him. "I mean, come on, did you know that Monet's father wanted him to be a grocer instead of a painter?"
"I have no idea who Monet is, but you're still really cute when you get all nerdy about art."
I stared at him for several seconds, saw that he wasn't kidding and rolled my eyes again. I had a feeling I'd be doing that a lot throughout this weekend. "Okay. Clearly we have a lot of work to do. Let's get started."
"Yes sir. You're really cute when you take charge, you know that?"
"Seriously, how much morphine are you on?" I huffed, shaking my head as I separated myself from him so I could gather the fallen books from the floor.
"Too much, apparently. Every time I look at you, there's a halo above your head."
"I thought you didn't believe in God."
"I don't, but angels are another story. You proved that to me."
I shook my head, chuckling softly, disbelievingly, as I set down his art projects and the necessary materials in front of him. "You're a sap."
"Sticky and stuck on you," he agreed, picking up one of the art pencils I leant him. While studying the pencil, he furrowed his brows and asked, "Why's this say 2B? Did Shakespeare make it?"
"Just start drawing," I laughed, sitting down on the chair next to the bed. He looked away from the pencil and focused his eyes on mine, his bottom lip protruding as he worked up a pouty face. "What?"
"Why aren't you sitting by me?"
"Technically, I am."
"I mean, next to me, in the bed. I can't focus with you so far away. S'Hurts my head."
"You can't focus with me so close, either," I tsked, folding my arms across my chest as I leaned back against the uncomfortable plastic chair.
"Come on, I can't hear you from that far away. The IV drip is too loud. Plus, you have to help me with my Spanish homework. Tienes un bonito culo, remember?"
"All I need is for your parents to see me cuddled up against their ailed son, distracting him from his studies."
"You can be my tutor," he suggested, and I raised my eyebrow at that. He nodded his head, as if that was the greatest idea in the world, and, getting into character, I presumed, proceeded to put the most sultry look on his face. "Oh, Mr. Adams, I've forgotten the Pythagorean theorem--A squared plus B squared equals kiss me times two."
"You're so annoying," I laughed, throwing my head back and cracking up at his terrible acting--he couldn't act sexy for the life of him.
"Your neck looks good from there. C'mere so I can kiss it, yeah?"
That made my giggles halt. I blinked back the laughter-induced tears and met his gaze; his eyes were imploring and beautiful as pieces of his unstyled brown hair fell into his eyes and tangled with his dark lashes. The hospital gown he was wearing had fallen off his right shoulder slightly, just enough to expose the naturally sun-kissed skin of his clavicle. I noticed that he had a freckle on his shoulder; it was small and brown, almost unnoticeable, but it was there. Others might've seen it as an imperfection, yet the tiny little freckle was something I wanted to kiss more than anything. I noticed another little freckle, this one slightly darker than the other, located in the dip between his collarbones. I wanted to kiss him there, too.
I was wrong. Evan was terribly good at being sexy. I had just never really bothered to notice before.
These new thoughts unnerved me. They were wild, inappropriate--verging on sexual. I didn't have sexual thoughts; I wasn't supposed to. It wasn't that I didn't like the thought of sex, I just didn't like the thought of it when it concerned me. I didn't want to be put in a position where another person saw me vulnerable and weak, bent to their very will. The thought of being touched--of touching someone--it made me sick to my stomach. Or, it had. Because right then, as I sat in that small, uncomfortably wobbly plastic chair, staring at the dark-haired, bright-eyed, bedridden beauty across from me, my mouth didn't fill up with vomit and my brain didn't surge with thoughts of horrible memories--past experiences. Evan was not just someone, Evan was Evan. He wasn't him, and that's when I realized something.
There was something wrong with me. There was something seriously, literally, extremely wrong with me--I was a victim of sexual assault. I had been used and abused by the foulest of human beings, had been forced to do all types of sexual acts against my will. I had been hurt, goddammit, I knew what it was like to have sex, had heard horror stories from all the boys, from Eightie, from Sixx. So why the hell was I sitting there, voluntarily putting myself in a position to be hurt again? Why the hell was I allowing myself to desire something that I knew would only bring me pain, pain so horrible that I would want to die? I knew what it was like to want to die; I'd wanted to die many times in my life. It wasn't fun. It sucked. So why would I do this to myself? Why would I allow myself to be hurt, used and abused again? Why was I doing this to myself? What was wrong with me? What the fuck was wrong with me?
Nothing, the voice in my head answered. I hadn't heard from it in a while, and right then I really didn't want to hear from it, either. You're still a seventeen year old boy with desires and feelings. You know Evan would never hurt you. You know this, Gabriel, that's why you want it. You know he's a good person who makes you feel good; he won't hurt you, Gabriel, he promised you--
"No," I said, the harshness in my voice shutting the voice up and creating an uncomfortable, incommodious feeling to the atmosphere. The formerly irresistible look in Evan's eyes disappeared. He saw that something was wrong, that I wasn't ok anymore, and that caused him to lean away from me, pull his sleeve up over his beautifully, distressing skin, and sit back against his propped up hospital bed, eyeing me carefully.
"Ok, sorry. Maybe later. I have to start drawing circles for this 3D focal point pattern thing, anyways."
The tone in his voice told me he was hurt. I didn't know why, though. The bitter, angry part of me that had been brought on by myself was annoyed at that. How dare he be mad at me for not giving into him when I was the one who had been hurt by giving into people before. After several long, suffocatingly harsh minutes of silence filled with the soft scratching of the art pencil and the occasional beep of an IV, I looked up from my Converse and focused my narrow-eyed glare at him.
"You can't be serious," I said, growing angrier and angrier by the seconds, nearly fuming by the time he finally put the pencil down and glanced over at me.
"About what?" He looked as confused as he sounded, taken aback by my change in attitude, but I didn't care. I couldn't find it in myself to care. Evan had promised not to hurt me, and so had he--he had promised nothing bad would happen to me. I was remembering now. It was only bits and pieces, but still, I remembered. I remembered the lies now.
"You're upset because I won't make out with you?" My fists were clenched so tightly that I could feel my nails leaving tiny crescents in the skin of my palm.
"I--Gabriel, no, that's not it at all. Why are you getting so mad?"
"Because--because I'm fucked up, ok? I'm fucked up!"
"Hey--no you're not, come on, cut that out. Two favors in the favor jar--" he said, attempting to calm me down as he pushed the covers off his legs and moved them off the side of his bed so he could sit facing me.
"I did enough favors for you already!" I exploded, standing up from the stupid piece of trash chair so fast that it flipped backwards. Evan flinched at the noise, or at my movement, or at my ferocity, I didn't know; I didn't care. "I did your homework for you, Jesus, I washed your clothes for you, twice. I bandaged you up after that stupid fight, I let you use my bathroom so you could vomit up your guts--I did so much for you, and you're upset with me because I won't let you fuck me?" I had spat that last part out at him so vehemently that even I winced with him.
Evan's cheeks were bright red, his eyes wide and his jaw slackened. "Gabriel, what the fuck," was all he got out before the door burst open and two female nurses dressed in blue flew in.
"What's going on in here?" the first one, Nurse Nina, I recognized, asked. "Evan, I know you're not about to get out of that bed." I didn't know what to say as I began to grow sheepish, coming down from my adrenaline high, my temper tantrum fading as quickly as it had come. Luckily Evan had it covered.
Evan kicked his legs back into the bed and under the blankets. "No, um, nothing, um, we were just--Gabriel was getting heated because I kept drawing the circles for my art project wrong, and, you see, he doesn't want me to fail the class, but he can't just draw the circles for me, you know? So, yeah. That's what's going on. In here."
Nurse Nina didn't look convinced. "It's ok, Stacy, I've got it from here," she told the other nurse, who left the room with a nod. Then Nurse Nina returned her attention back to us. "Boys, I'm a nurse, not an idiot. I know when there's tension in a room, and stress really isn't going to help Evan get out of here any faster. How about you guys take a break for a little bit, ok? Get some air, Gabriel, honey."
"Wait, no, I'm ok, really--" Evan started, but I nodded my head in agreement with the nurse.
"It's ok, Evan. She's right. Maybe we just need to take a break."
Evan paled visibly while his eyes almost popped out of his skull. "Are you breaking up with me?" he nearly croaked. I furrowed my brows and pursed my lips questionably at him; Nurse Nina put her palm to her face
"God, no! I just--I meant, like, I don't know. Maybe we just need an hour to ourselves. Get a start on your homework without me bothering you, you know?" I attempted to explain my reasoning.
"You weren't bothering me," he replied almost automatically; I rolled my eyes. I knew that I was. I was bothering myself, actually.
"Just for an hour, alright? Enough for you both to cool off and think about what you need to say, and how to say it," Nurse Nina interjected.
"This is gonna be the longest hour of my life," Evan whimpered dramatically. I didn't want to leave him, either, but I also didn't want to pick up our argument from where it'd left off. I was glad to have this momentary escape. Maybe they'd up his morphine dosage and he'd forget about what I'd said; God knows I won't.
I picked up the chair from its fallen position and hesitated before leaving, looking at Evan everywhere except his eyes. He looked pained, as if he really wanted to speak and get all the words compressing his lungs out of his chest, but not with Nurse Nina monitoring our every move.
"I'll be back," I promised softly, looking at his cheek as I spoke.
"Ok. I'll be here," he promised back, sounding so miserable that my heart actually ached. Christ, what had I done?
I moved towards the doorway, and just as I was about to leave, Evan called out my name. I turned around to see him pointing at the floor next to my chair. "Don't forget your sweatshirt."
"It's yours," I mumbled, pressing up against the doorframe awkwardly.
"You wear it more than I do. It's yours."
Nurse Nina, seeing as I wasn't about to move, sighed and walked across the room to pick up the sweatshirt. She came back towards me and handed the green and yellow football sweatshirt to me.
"Take it, it's cold outside," she said. I didn't look at her as I took the bundle of clothing and left the room.
The further I walked from the hospital room, the more embarrassed and horrified I grew. How could I have said those things? How could I have been so spiteful, so hateful, to the person that I claimed to love more than anything? How could I have accused Evan of such terrible things when he'd done nothing but be good to me?
I left the hospital and walked through the parking garage until I found my car. I unlocked it and slid into the backseat, lying on my backside across all the seats and shifting until I was comfortable, meaning the seatbelt buckles weren't pressing into my legs or back.
I had just locked the car when I felt a buzzing in my pocket. I pulled my phone out and saw that it was a text from Evan.
can I call u?
I grabbed the nearest object, which was Evan's sweatshirt, and pressed it over my face. Suffocate me, I thought. "Death by boyfriend's sweatshirt." What a way to go.
After counting to sixty exactly seven times, I pulled the sweatshirt off my face and heard a crumpling noise within its pocket. I fished my hand around in it and retrieved a small, folded up piece of paper. I unfolded it and saw that it was Evan's note from before, the one about the cheshire cat grin and drawing of two snowmen.
How could I have been so stupid? I really wasn't as smart as he made me out to be.
When I looked away from the note, I felt my hand buzz from my phone and saw that I had another text.
pls.
I placed the note on my chest and typed and sent, We're supposed to spend an hour without each other.
Within seconds Evan replied, we are without each other. it sux
After reading his text, I didn't hesitate to go through my contacts, find Evan's name and press the green "call" button. He answered on the first ring.
"Hey," he said, voice softer than usual. "Where are you?"
"In the parking garage, backseat of my car. Why're you whispering?" I asked, furrowing my brows at the empty space above me.
"Nurse Nina said she's keeping a close ear on my room in case I decide to, and I quote, 'try to escape the hospital bed again and find Gabriel.' I wasn't even gonna leave the bed, you know? I was just trying to look at you. I think being in this stupid bed makes you think less of me. When I'm in here, you think I'm not the same strong person who promised to protect you, and I don't blame you. I couldn't even protect you from stupid Treyvon."
"Evan, that's not true," I said, shaking my head despite the fact I knew he couldn't see me. My heart continued to sink lower and lower in the cavity of my chest; I couldn't believe I'd made him think that. I'd never meant for him to think that.
"Then what? Why did you think of me so differently just then? You honestly thought I was mad at you because you told me no? I was upset by how upset you were, Gabriel. I thought I'd upset you, and that made me feel bad. Gabriel, I would never make you do something you didn't want to do. Even if we just got done kissing twenty seconds before, if you didn't want me to kiss you right there and then, I wouldn't. I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you into anything; that's the last thing I want to do, and I don't even want to do it."
"I . . . Evan, I'm so sorry." Now I was whispering, too. I felt terrible, absolutely 100% like a piece of crap. "I didn't mean any of that, I just. This is hard for me to explain, ok? Please don't think badly of me when I say this. I love you. I'm--I'm so sorry, ok?"
"Say what?" was all he asked. I took several deep breaths before clearing my throat.
"I tend to snap on people a lot for almost no reason, I'm sure you've already noticed. And it's more than just a bad habit, it's a part of who I am. After what happened to me when I was thirteen, I wasn't the same--the psychologists said I developed an anger management problem, but that's bullshit, really, it is. I just. I don't know. I get so upset sometimes, and it usually starts with myself, and I don't mean to take it out on others but I always do and--I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Evan, I love you so much, I didn't mean to be so horrible to you."
"Gabriel, don't cry. Kitten, it's ok, I'm not mad at you, I understand completely. I should've tried to handle the situation better--"
"Don't turn this on yourself, Evan! You were about to get out of the freaking hospital bed for me."
"I had a benign tumor removed from my trachea, Gabriel, not a double amputation of my legs."
I giggled through my hiccuping sobs, nodding my head in agreement at the teasing tone in his voice. For a while the line was silent, filled only with my quiet sniffles and his soft breathing.
"Are you doing your homework?" I whispered, wiping my nose on the back of my freehand.
"Yes, mom."
I giggled again, covering my eyes with my free arm. There was another brief silence before he cleared his throat; I could hear the pencil in his hand stop its movements on the paper.
"Gabriel, will you tell me why you got so upset? Was it something I said? I think we should probably start talking about these things instead of you blowing off the handle and me sweeping it under the rug."
I sighed, nodding my head again. "No, yeah, you're right. I guess it kinda was, but not really. It was more of my reaction to what you said, if that makes sense?"
"Uh, kinda. Not really. I'm dumb, in case you've forgotten."
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head against my arm. "You're not. I'll try and explain, ok? It just--when you said that, about kissing my neck, I--God, this is awkward--I kind of, um, liked it? I guess?"
"Oh, yeah?" The instigative tone to his words was impossible to miss; I could practically see his eyebrows waggling suggestively up and down on his forehead. I wanted to elbow him again, only harder this time.
"Yes. But that's not the point. The point is that I--I felt like I shouldn't have liked what you said. I shouldn't want to kiss the freckle on your shoulder or the dip between your collarbones. I shouldn't want you as badly as I do."
"Why not?" He sounded like he was holding his breath.
"Because I was molested, Evan." I said it so emotionlessly, so matter-of-factedly, someone might've thought I was reading a paragraph about sedimentary rocks from an Encyclopedia.
"What's that supposed to mean?" When I didn't answer right away, he quickly attempted to cover the rawness of his question. "No offense. I'm dumb, remember?"
"Stop calling yourself dumb, you're not dumb. We're taking the same AP classes. And it means that I've experienced everything people want to experience, and I hated it."
"Nobody wants to experience getting molested, Gabriel."
"That's not what I meant, Jesus!"
"Don't get mad at me!" he huffed, his voice rising with mine before he caught himself and lowered it again. "Explain it to me. Talk to me about this."
I didn't want to explain it to him, because then I'd be stating it outloud to myself. I wished I could've texted him instead. I wished he didn't have to hear my voice shake the way it did when I talked about my past. "I meant that I've . . . I've done all those sexual things before. I'm gotten intimate with a guy before, and I hated it then, so why wouldn't I hate it now?"
"Because you didn't get intimate with a guy before, Gabriel, you were molested by a monster. You were used for somebody else's sick pleasure, and that's the absolute opposite of getting intimate with someone. Intimacy is different from being someone's sextoy, okay? I'm a teenaged guy and even I know this."
I uncovered my arm from my eyes, staring up at the gray ceiling of my car with a perplexed expression. His words made sense in a way that I never really considered before. I had grown up being taught the wrong lesson about love and sex; I had warped and switched the two to the point where I no longer knew which one was which.
"And I wouldn't just--just fuck you, ok? You made it sound like I'm some sort of animal. I love you, Gabriel, I do. I swear I do. Please believe me when I say that, because I mean it so much more than just an attempt at getting in your pants. I've already gotten in your pants, remember? After the fight with Treyvon, you let me borrow your Simpson pajama pants. They were so comfy, man, better than sex."
"Shut up," I said, the grin on my face obvious in my voice. Then I paused, frowning a little bit to myself in thought. The question had appeared out of nowhere and had taken its place at the forefront of my mind. I thought about ignoring it, but Evan had said he wanted me to talk to him, and . . . well . . .
"Do you think we'll have sex?" I murmured absentmindedly, listening to the hitch in his breathing and replaying the sound in my head as the line went silent for several long, agonizing seconds. Finally, Evan gave a little cough, and I could almost see the glow of his reddened cheeks.
"I--I don't know," he stuttered, and he sounded completely, 100% honest. "It--I don't know, Gabriel. I. Um. I remember on day one you wouldn't even let me talk to you without freaking out, and now look at us. You could hardly kiss me for more than two seconds, remember? I remember almost crying when after you'd kiss me, you'd pull away before I even realized it. I remember that day we were in your room, you were showing me your new fish tank, and you told me that you could never give me a physical relationship. But you have."
His words made me fall silent and reflect upon myself in my head. I didn't know how to respond to him. All I knew was that he was right.
"Plus, you kissed me first, you dweeb. Jesus, I can't believe I just called you a dweeb, I'm such a loser."
"Yeah, me too," was all I could muster out of my throat. "I'm a loser, too. A seventeen year old virgin, automatically classified as a loser."
"Hey, I'm almost eighteen, jerk. I'm more of a loser than you."
"Maybe we can change that one day," I heard myself suggesting, not even realizing the meaning behind my words before they were already out and said. The hitch in Evan's breath was starting to become a sound I could easily grow use to hearing.
"Gabriel, 'm serious. I'll wait for until you're ready. We can be eighty when you finally say the words; we'll make it happen."
"Gross," I giggled, shivering uncomfortably at the thought of us as old men actually--yeah, no. Hopefully my brain will have stopped being such a horrible ball of useless pink flesh and decide to work right by then.
"Yeah, I know. Just. Hey. Know that I'm serious when I say that I love you, okay? I don't want to be with anyone else. Kylie Jenner could offer herself to me right now, in this very hospital bed, and I'd jump out the window and run to find you."
"Gross, she's not even that pretty. Kendall's where it's at--" I joked back, but he interrupted me with a gasp. Shoot, had I offended him? Maybe he really liked Kylie; I shouldn't have judged him. I guess she was kind of pretty--
"Evan, it's been an hour, you can tell Gabriel to come back," I heard someone say, their voice softened from being far away. I recognized the voice as Nurse Nina's. "Oh, nevermind. You beat me to it, I see. I should've known you guys couldn't stay away for even an hour."
Evan returned to the line, saying, "Hey, Juliet, Nurse Nina says we can be together again. She's such a Tibelt."
"Why do you get to be Romeo? And you mean Tybalt," I corrected, smirking at his mispronunciation.
"Yeah, him. Whatever, I hate Shakespeare."
"Me, too. You know, maybe we should just stay where we are."
"What? I thought we made up. You don't want to see me?"
"No, it's not that. It's just--you really need to focus on your homework, and I don't think me being there will help you any more than distract. Plus, I think I just saw your parents car pulling into the parking spot across from mine."
I knew he was bummed out by my proposal; I could visualize him slumping against the flattened pillows behind him as he dejectedly pushed his homework away like a pouting seven year old.
"How about this," I suggested instead. "You work on that art project, and I'll tell you about everything you missed in class."
"You mean you're gonna tell me more about that Dutch-sounding painter guy whose dad oppressed him into stacking boxes of Easy Mac and Lucky Charms?"
"Claude Monet was French, and they didn't have have Easy Mac or Lucky Charms back then."
"Oh. Sucks for them. But yeah, okay, that sounds like a fair deal. Pa-blow me away, art boy."
"What?"
"Pa-blow, as in blow me away, impress me."
"Yes, but . . . ?"
"What's his name--Pinocchio. Piccalo."
"I'm not following you, Evan--"
"Picasso! Pablo Picasso."
"Oh," I said, then burst into giggles, and Evan's adorable laughter rang through my ears, chasing away any residue of the negativity from earlier and replacing it with nothing but goodness and love.
note:
hi friends, hope you enjoyed the update. a lot has happened (in both the story and real life) since the last one, and i feel like it wouldn't be fair to you all if i just brushed everything that's happened under the rug when it affects me (and therefore my writing) so profoundly. my birthday was on dec 17 and i turned 16, which was pretty cool although i still feel like i'm 14. and on dec 19, my mother passed away after her 3 1/2 year long battle with brain/spinal cancer. i love my mother dearly and losing her has made me realize a lot of things about life. most days i want to do nothing but lie in my bed and watch my ceiling fan shake, and i hope you guys know that deep down i wish i could just make myself well because i know my mama wouldn't want me to feel this way. but, yeah. my writing inspiration has seemed to have kinda ceased lately, but that doesn't mean i'm gonna stop. my goal since second grade has been to make my mother proud, and now that i have all 6400 of you here with me, you guys are going to help fuel me to pull out of the bad state i'm in and get better again. thank you all for being so supportive of my story and of me, i don't know where i'd be without you all.
xocici