"DID YOU HEAR THAT SOUND, BABY, IT'S MY BEATING HEART."
Guidance Counselor was dressed like a fraud, suit and tie, not sparing anyone in the room a second glance. My mother was also dressed, and my father seemingly didn't want to be here, tapping his foot impatiently. If only my mother and father knew how many times Guidance Counselor pulled out a flask in my presence. He wasn't certified for this.
"I think," he began, concern painted on his features. ", Joshua may need some professional help."
My father grunted, hand falling onto my shoulder harshly. I held back the wince, because emotion makes you weak, and I was not weak. "My son is not in need of professional help, he's got you, doesn't he? Aren't you supposed to help him?"
My mother sighed, tilting her head. "What my husband is trying to say, is aren't you enough for him to get back on track?"
"Mr. And Mrs. Dun, Joshua has been cutting class."
My hands curl around the hard, uncomfortable chair, and I glare at him. What an asshole. This wasn't his place at all. My fathers hand began to sweat on the fabric of my t-shirt.
"Is this true, Joshua?"
There was no way out of this. No lying, no excuses, no confused faces. I was caught. Guidance Counselor rat me out. Called my parents, signaled my failure. And so, without searching for pity, I nodded. And my parents asked why but what sane teenager would answer? My father promised Guidance Counselor I'd get the help and attention I so deserve and my mother reached over to squeeze my hand. She said she loved me and stood, leading my father out of the office. I followed suit, pausing to flip off the elderly man slipping off the tie. The hallways were full when I walked out, and a hand grasped mine before I could get very far. My mother. My father hasn't touched me without my consent since my twelfth birthday party. I grimaced at her.
"I'll call Dr. Rubio first thing in the morning." She promised, licking her thumb to wipe something off of my face. She was calling the psychiatrist that Uncle Gary had before he commit suicide in the middle of the woods in December. I moved away from her, nearly bumping into my father. He smiled at me.
"This is a long time coming, Josh. You've needed help since the accident."
The Accident is what my father loved to call it. Accidental misconception. I wanted Bernard to kiss me. I wanted to lie about it. I wanted to be touched in ways of non-existent caress. From the corner of my eye I can see Tyler at his locker. He was crying, and none of his dwarves surrounded him to wipe his tears with silk rags. I excused myself: "Thanks, guys. I should really get to class, though. See you later."
They both give me proud smiles, squeezing my arm hesitantly before turning down the corridor. I approach Tyler. He sniffles and grabs a binder from his locker. I lean against the one besides it. I don't say a word, just watch him bite his bottom lip and cry. He's a silent crier. Eyebrows creased in pain, lips bitten raw. He notices me and shuts his locker, holding the binder to his chest. I open my arms and he collides against my chest, sobbing into the fabric of my sweater and fisting it in his hands. I wrap myself within him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head after much thought against the war in my mind. He trembles in my arms, muttering apologies and profanities not repeated in a playground. The hallway was illuminated by the light spilling in from outside, and as Tyler pulled away, his eyes glinted beautifully.
"I can't breathe, and I wish I could explain this to you but it feels like there's just something in my brain telling me I won't amount to an-anything and I can't do this anymore, I can't keep playing football, I can't keep getting hit on by girls, I can't keep getting straight A's, and I'm so sick of being told who to be, Josh, I want to be yours."
I wipe his tears, trying not to allow my heartbeat to accelerate at his words. He squeezed his eyes shut, and I gripped his hands once I noticed he was attempting to inflict harm on his wrists with his fingernails. He shivered at this, struggling to stand upright.
"I h-hate the skin I'm in, I hate that I like to kiss you, I hate that you're seeing me like this, I hate how goddamn perfect you look with that hat on--"
I lean in and kiss him, shutting him up in the process. As his tongue swipes my bottom lip, I have to remind myself of my age and of the scenario. Not only was kissing him hard for me, it was something I wasn't accustomed to. The feeling of his lips on mine--albeit it gave me anxiety--made me crave more. He melted in my arms, hands gripping onto my sweater to pull me impossibly closer. Once I was certain his tears had halted, I pulled away, wiping his sticky cheeks with the pads of my thumbs. A blush covered them and he looked down, eyes casted towards the floor.
"Sorry."
I didn't reply, still with his cheeks against my palms, trying to get him to look at me. Once he did I kissed him again, softer, yet louder and quicker. He smiled and my heart stopped.
"Slow." I said quietly. He nodded.
"Y-Yeah, we can go slow. Of course." He agreed, still with a smile on his lips. I caressed his cheek and he shut his eyes, exhaling.
"We should get to class." He pointed out. I hummed in response and he extended his hand for me. And so I took it, with the voice in the back of my mind telling me it was a bad idea. We walked down the hall hand-in-hand, and he leaned onto me, head on my shoulder.
"My parents are very religious. If I came out to them... what do you think they'd do to me?"
I tensed. Having experienced this exact fear of being declined a loving home, I didn't know where to start. I squeezed his hand.
"I came out to my parents a couple of years ago. My dad got mad that I had interrupted his work and my mom put three ice cubes into her coffee mug--which, she doesn't use for coffee at all, but lets not dive into that topic right this second."
He giggled, thumb sliding over my knuckles and giving me goosebumps. So eloquently perfect, eyes crinkled, lips stretched into ecstacy, cheeks indented by dimples. He was absolutley beautiful. After the moment ceased, he became serious once more.
"I want you to come to my football games. And I want you sitting on the bench with my mom and dad. And I want to kiss you when I want to. I want you to kiss me when you want to. I want you to text me at four a.m like you use to. I want to know more about you."
"And what is it that you'd like to know?" I inquired as we turned the corner and began up the steps. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before the brown revealed itself.
"Everything."
And so, upon watching him slightly trip up the stairs and blush, I thought back to the first time I spoke to him. His words of advice, his complete understanding of my lack of will to survive adolescence. Late night rambles about his favorite song (FairyTale by Milky Chance), and why Lucky Charms were putrid. To the brink of tears, chest heaving, hair pulling and dirty pick-up-lines to calm me down before a small: it's going to be okay.
And it would be. With him. So, with a glance at him from the corner of my eye, I knew I'd fall in love with him. Be it today, as we ended up walking home together with his bicycle at his side, or tomorrow as we had lunch at his favorite Italian restaurant. I watched as his lips curved into a strong jaw, and the thick eyebrows that clouded over admirable lashes.
Not expected to have an interest in boys, Tyler was shrinking into the views of society. Whether or not he fit into the puzzle piece of football jock was unclear, but with his fingers between the spaces mine provided--the window-wipers cleared up the fog. I smiled at him.
"You're beautiful."