Disclaimer: This is part of an original piece of fiction. It's mine. No stealing.
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Midnight has come and gone, and sleep is still avoiding me. I am so ashamed of how I lost my temper earlier; Emily gave me more than one worried glance during the almost silent truck ride here.
As we walked in several hours ago, Kyle told us that we could either sleep in the guest room or on the living room couch. Jonathon graciously claimed the couch for himself (even though it's doubtful that it is long enough for him to comfortably sleep on) and forced Emily and I to take up the night in the guest room, whose queen-sized bed could easily hold us both. Silently, Emily and I changed into sleeping clothes and got ready for the night.
I made a cup of tea for Emily- sleep inducing- which she gladly drank. Sitting on the couch quietly talking with Jonathon and I, she didn't realize how tired she was until she was asleep on Jonathon's shoulder. I didn't comment about how that should have been my shoulder under her head. I gently woke her long enough to lead her by the wrist to our borrowed bed, easing her in and kissing her on the cheek, promising I'd be there soon enough.
I lied.
It is two a.m. now, and I am far from being asleep. I am sitting at the kitchen table alone, a single light turned on above me, flipping through the entertainment section of the greater area newspaper. The door in between the living room and I is closed, and as I sit quietly, I hope that the sliver of light undoubtedly shining under the door isn't bothering Jonathon. I doubt that, though, because two hours or so ago, he dropped to sleep on the couch with his best friend on the Lay-z-boy catty corner to him.
The newspaper has a few film reviews- though they are hardly good examples of film culture, I would fight to the death about that. The only two movies that have made the review are the spring's usual foul-mouthed romantic comedies. I honestly don't mind the cussing and the sex, but they're so unoriginal as far as the plot goes; we get it: he's a womanizer, she is emotionally damaged and wants nothing but a happy ending. Not to mention, there is never a gay or lesbian couple in them, unless they are minor characters and can be used as a cheap joke.
As I sit mulling this over, I am reminded once again (as I always am when I think about the shortcomings in silver screen characterization) of Adam. I find myself wondering what he's been doing lately... how he's been doing lately. His birthday was sometime last month, and he is six years older than me, so... he's twenty-three. If he went into Law like he always wanted to, he's probably still in school. If he didn't, he must be about to graduate college. I wonder where he ended up attending, and whether or not he has some good friends there. Does he have a boyfriend?
Adam and I were closer in mind, though Carson and I were closer in age. We were good for each other, Carson and I, but after all was said and done, Carson was a social athlete, and I just wasn't.
But Adam... I think about him all the time. I think about him every time I hear anyone being made fun of, every time someone huffs and says 'that's so gay', every time angry words are exchanged. Adam never did get mad at them- the people who made his life hell. And then there's me: no one's laid a hand on me because I'm too afraid to let the world hear that I'm bi, but I'm still losing my head.
I get the feeling that Adam and Emily would get on really well. When people want to say horrible things to them, they just shrug and let them. And when people try to get a rise out of them, they don't let them have it. Unlike me. When people want a rise out of me, I say 'are you sure you don't just want a rise? Because I can give you so much more.'
"You know, Emily and Kyle aren't the only ones who're tired," says a voice behind me, making me jump in my chair.
I turn around to Jonathon leaning up against the doorjamb in between the dining room and the living room.
"Sorry," I say quietly. "Was I keeping you awake?"
"For what it's worth, no," he sighs. "And I wasn't talking about myself. You need sleep too."
He sits down at the chair next to mine, putting his feet on the rungs just underneath my seat.
"If I could get it, I would," I say.
"Uh huh." He's not buying it. "What's on your mind?"
"I lose my temper too easily."
"You're still thinking about that?" he asks, as if it's old news that I threatened to bust Sellers' car's lights. "Please. That's the only time I've ever seen you lose your temper. Every other time, you've very politely dissed him and walked away. I honestly think it's about damn time you went off on him."
I don't reply. I just turn the page of the newspaper, the new page reviewing various live theatre performances in the New Orleans area. Two different companies are putting on a show called 'And They Dance Real Slow in Jackson'. I wonder briefly what the appeal is to that play in particular before my companion speaks again.
"Look, you shouldn't beat yourself up about it, okay? Everybody gets pissed at him. Shoot, even Rusty gets pissed at him, and they're practically brothers."
I still don't answer him.
"Why the hell is this bothering you so damn much?" he asks, leaning in to me.
I stare at him for a moment, collecting my thoughts.
"I've finally found someone who loves me, in spite of everything," I say. "She does; even though I drink tea too much, and I'm a movie snob, and I cuss a lot, and I walk everywhere because my car's broken down, and I don't have any sugar in my house, and I dress like a guy, and I barely know anything about baseball. She's never said so, and I've never said it to her either, but I know she loves me in spite of everything that's off about me. She loves me even though she's going to leave after the summer and forget about me. But you know what? The one really harmful thing about me is how angry I am, and it makes me sick because I promised myself that I would never let her see me like that again-"
"Again?" he interrupts me.
"Again," I repeat. "We got in a fight a while back, and it was... ugly."
He doesn't say anything, waiting for me to finish.
"I just don't like her to see that part of me. The part that can't hold in the rude comments, the threats. The anger. I can't allow myself to let that part out, because it's the only part of me that's ever hurt her, and I'm so- so afraid- that it might hurt her again. That I might hurt her again."
At the last phrase and my voice breaks, I stop fighting, and just let go. Quite suddenly, the tears I should have cried the first time I lost my head around her are streaming quietly down my face, and I can't stop them, no matter how much I hate crying, and no matter how much I hate doing it in front of anyone.
I bury my face in my hands, and even though I hate this signal of surrender, I can't take it back. After slightly less than a moment, a pair of long, muscled arms wrap around me. He doesn't pull me into him, but instead moves to me, he leaves me where I am.
For a minute, he says nothing. He just holds tight to me, like the more firm his grip is, the less likely I am to actually fall apart.
"That's the thing about love though, isn't it?" he says quietly. "A person can fall in love with you because of how they see you act, how they hear you talk and all that when there are other people around. Then they get closer to you, and if you're lucky, they'll stay in love with you even though they've seen all there is to see."
"How would you know?" I say after a shaky breath. "I bet you can't even remember the last time you actually had a girlfriend."
It's true- he's always flirting around, but I've never seen him actually with a girl for more than an afternoon. If I was him, I wouldn't have replied. That wasn't nice of me.
"It's not just romantic- it works for friends, too. I mean, who do you think takes care of Kyle when his dad's not around? He can't even take a shower on his own. We were already pretty tight, but we're just... I don't know... more than that, now. Once you've helped a guy in the shower a few dozen times, you can't really help but to be really, really close."
"I just don't know why she loves me," I whisper into his chest
"Look, I think you're pretty lucky to have Emily, you know? Because even though she's worried about how you got angry, she's not worried for herself; she's worried for you. She wants you to be happy, and that's love," he says. "As long as you know she loves you, why's it matter why she does?"
He pulls away from me and wipes my cheeks off with the back of his hand.
"Here's what you're going to do," he says quietly. "You're going to forget that you got mad earlier, and you're going to go get in bed with your girlfriend and sleep this off. Okay?"
I nod, but before I get a chance to answer aloud, the door to the living room opens. Emily stands on the other side, her eyes still clouded with sleep.
"Are you ever going to come to bed?" she whispers in the husky way that people do when they aren't awake enough to speak properly.
"Yeah," I reply, getting to my feet. I glance at Jonathon, wanting to thank him, but his attention has turned to the newspaper on the table in front of him. I walk to Emily, who is holding her hand out to me. "I'm coming."
She leads me by the hand silently past Kyle, asleep in his recliner, and down the hall to the guest room. She drops my hand and climbs into the far side of the bed. I mirror her, slipping beneath the heavy covers.
"August?" she whispers, curling up to my chest.
"Mm?" I drape one arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Beautiful."
~~~
AN: I love all of you
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