Light cuts through the curtains and burns bright in Victor's eyes. He wakes with a start, the whispers of a dream still echoing in his mind. He'd been falling, sinking, everything pressing in. Sweat pools in his collarbones and his hair is damp. Victor collapses back into his pillow, the collar of his dress shirt cool against the back of his neck. His pillowcase is dark with moisture.
With a small groan from the back of his throat, Victor pushes himself out of bed and peels yesterday's clothes off. He never wants to see this damn suit again.
What time is it?
He picks up his phone, low on battery—he'd forgotten to charge it last night—and sighs at the numbers. 8:15. While he would much prefer to shower and crawl back into bed, spend his whole weekend consumed by sheets, he knows there's a conversation that needs to be had. Multiple conversations.
His heart jumps when he sees there's a text from Benji.
Benji: hope you sleep well. can't wait to talk tomorrow. :) [2:32 AM]
Victor wants to smile but something in his chest is still tightly wound, pulling down. He can't untangle the emotions, the bright soaring joy when they kissed, the frozen pierce of guilt and regret that followed in Mia's eyes.
Mia. Right.
He hadn't had the energy to respond last night, but he needs a few more details if this conversation is actually going to happen.
Victor: what time? [8:17 AM]
It's not likely she's awake yet, so Victor plugs in his phone and goes to shower. He's wide awake, mind racing. In the bathroom he stares at himself in the mirror, strands of hair matted to his forehead. Does he recognize himself? This person existing in some kind of limbo, straddling happiness and fear? Things had somehow seemed simpler when uncertainty was all there was, when a kiss with one person only made him crave the touch of another, when a label fluttered before his eyes but never affixed to his skin.
Now, the future barrels towards him like an avalanche but he's stuck, up to his waist in a snow drift.
Victor turns up the shower as hot as it goes and forces himself in, the steam clouding his vision, scalding water prickling his skin. His own body feels foreign; someone has taken over and all he can do is sit idly by as his life is lived out in front of him.
He eventually forces himself to actually bathe, scrubbing too hard, trying to keep what's good but buff out the shame. What he finds is that it's all sort of interconnected, and ultimately he can't rid himself of either.
The towels have just been washed, white and fluffy, a trivial luxury but a comfort regardless. Victor wraps himself tightly, hair dripping in front of his eyes, and looks in the mirror again. The slight red glow of his skin feels justified; this is what he deserves for what he's done.
Back in his room, Victor is surprised to find a response from Mia.
Mia: 10. See you then. [8:31 AM]
Not horrible. It'll be out of the way at the very least, and then he'll have the rest of the day to...clean up more messes. Victor gets dressed, forces his legs into jeans, drags a gray shirt over his head. He even brushes his hair for good measure, if anything just to indicate that he cares, that he's taking this seriously.
And then he sits. And he waits.
Even though spring has bloomed in Atlanta, the morning is cool as Victor hurries down the sidewalk; he almost wishes he'd brought a sweatshirt. His heart rate is galloping, partly from his pace, partly because he's practically holding his breath as he power walks. The destination is further than he remembered, but last time he was there, the trip had been with Mia, full of dumb jokes and laughter and fingers brushing.
Victor stops dead when he turns a corner and sees that she's already there, bundled up in a purple hoodie, perched on the curb. At least he'd been right. The art gallery is closed until later on Saturdays, but through the windows he can see sculptures, different from the grisly ones they'd suffered through on their first date. The sun bleeds in through the windows and casts bizarre shadows.
Mia looks up when she sees him coming. Victor's lips quirk into an anxious smile. She doesn't smile back, just stands and pulls her sleeves over her hands.
"Hey," he says and stops a few feet from her.
"Hi, Victor," she says. The bags under her eyes make his stomach hurt.
Victor wagers one more step forward. "Should...should we sit?"
Mia shrugs. " I guess." She returns to her place on the curb and crosses her legs. Victor lowers himself down next to her.
"I don't really know where to start," Victor says, his voice breathy. The words vibrate in the air. He's gone over it a thousand times in his head, but never has he figured out what to say first, how to lead into everything. "I mean, I'm sorry. That's where I should start, obviously."
Mia gives a sort of cynical laugh. Her eyes are locked on the pavement; she drags a small rock across the concrete beside her, scraping a sketch into the surface.
"I was going to tell you."
"But you didn't. And you tried to lie your way out of it. Andrew really didn't say anything, you know."
Victor sighs and covers his face with his hands. "I know. I know. I really messed up, Mia. I know that. And I can't even imagine how you feel right now."
"I feel like shit, Victor. I—" but she stops, shakes her head, waves her hands once in front of her to indicate that she can't even go there.
"It's just..." he starts. He licks his lips and forces oxygen into his lungs. "There was already so much going on, and I really wanted to at least give you a night to get away from everything. I was going to tell you today, Mia. Well, I was going to tell you before the dance, when we made that sushi, but then—"
"But then my dad dropped two huge bombs on me," Mia says, her voice like gravel.
Victor nods. He scoots closer. "I never wanted to hurt you, but it just kept going wrong. It never seemed like a good time."
"There isn't a good time for that, Victor. For the truth? And to find out the way I did..." Her eyes are vacant.
Victor doesn't know what to say.
"It was all a lie."
"Mia, no," he says. He reaches out and touches her shoulder; she flinches away. "I care about you. I really do. I meant it when I said you're my favorite person. I've just been going through a lot, and I know that's not a good excuse, but you need to know that when this started, I really thought it was going to work out with us." Even as he says it, he wonders how true it is. The moment he saw Benji he felt this pull, this uncanny desire. Had Mia been a distraction from that, just a way to fill the black hole that resulted from Benji's gravity?
"Was that the first time it happened?" she asks. She finally turns to Victor, expression fierce and tears dazzling in her eyes. "Have you kissed him before? Or anybody else?"
"I've never kissed anybody else," Victor says quickly, then realizes he's sort of answered both questions.
Mia's anger subsides some; realization moves in to join it. "That trip," she says, looking back to the pavement. "When you bailed on me to get that stupid coffee machine fixed."
"Mia," he says, pleading, but she holds up a hand to silence him.
"I can't believe this."
"I didn't plan it. You have to believe me, it just sort of happened."
She looks at him, skeptical. "So he kissed you?"
"I mean...no, but—"
She stands and inhales a big breath through her nose as a tear makes a dark circle on the sidewalk. "Oh my god," she whispers and shakes out her hands as she walks in circles. "I trusted you, Victor."
Victor also stands. Fuck it, he thinks, and grabs Mia's shoulders. "I know," he says firmly, looking into her eyes. "And I took advantage of that. I really hate myself for what I did, and I'm going to make it up to you somehow, I promise."
She shakes her head and pushes his arms away. "I don't know if you can."
"I'm gonna try anyway."
Mia pauses and looks up at the sky, at an eavesdropping cloud. "So. You're gay."
Victor glances around, making sure they're really alone. "Yeah, I am."
"Does he make you happy? Benji?" Her eyes are still upward.
Victor sighs. "I mean, I guess so. I don't know what to feel right now. My parents didn't really take the news too well, and—"
She looks at him. "You told them?"
"Last night. It's sort of been a rough twenty four hours for me," he says, not to gain her pity, but because he's done enough hiding things.
She chews on her lip and nods. "I hope they come around," she says.
"Thanks," he breathes. "So...what now?"
"What do you mean?"
His insides twist. "I mean, I know I really fucked things up, but I don't want to lose you."
Mia laughs again, a sardonic sort of chuckle that makes his fingertips tingle. "Victor, I don't...I don't know if I can do that to myself. Not after what you did. I understand the position you were in, but that doesn't change the fact that you cheated on me. Twice. This was the first real relationship I've ever been in, and I spent half of it wondering if I was going crazy, thinking I wasn't good enough. Do you know what that's like?"
"Why didn't you say something?"
Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline and she tilts her head. "Interesting question, Victor."
"Sorry," he mutters. Why didn't he say something?
"My point is, I don't know..." she pauses and wipes a hand over her face. "I don't know if I can be around you right now."
A chill goes through him and he can feel tears coming again; he tries to swallow them down.
"Okay," he says and nods fervently. "Okay," he repeats.
"Maybe eventually. I don't know. I think I just need time."
"Okay," he says for a third time.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me while we're here?" she asks.
Victor shakes his head. "No, Mia. No. Just—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Mia nods, resigned. "Me, too." She grants him a final look, one Victor can't quite interpret. "Bye, Victor," she says, and it's more gentle than the night before, but laced with just as much pain.
"Bye," he says; the word gets caught in his throat, comes out like a croak.
Mia shuffles down the sidewalk. She doesn't look back.
Victor wants to chase after her, somehow convince her not to go, but he knows that would only make things worse. It feels like the birds in the trees are mocking him, their cheerful songs so out of place with the orchestra of guilt that's reached a crescendo in his ears. His legs are shaking and he sits back down—too hard; pain shoots up his back as he hits the concrete—and hastily swipes at a tear creeping out the corner of his eye.
Next to him, etched into the sidewalk, is a sketch of a stoplight, the center bulb illuminated with faint lines coming off it. Yellow.
Victor pulls out his phone.
Victor: hey. are u awake? [10:26 AM]
He goes to put it back in his pocket, but it vibrates in his palm.
Benji: yeah! everything good? [10:26 AM]
Victor: i know i said i would call you, but do u think u could come pick me up instead? [10:27 AM]
Benji: where are you? I'll be there. [10:27 AM]
Victor smiles even as a tear lands on his phone screen. Benji's on his way.
Victor's eyes are dry by the time he gets in Benji's car, his whole body on fire at the sight of him. Benji had pulled up to the curb and jumped out of the car, wrapping Victor in his arms before saying anything. It had felt right, like coming home after a long trip. Benji's hair was wet, aromatic, fresh out of the shower. Victor entered the car silently, and when Benji asked what was going on, Victor asked him to drive somewhere else first.
They're parked outside Brasstown, Victor's hands trembling in his lap.
"Victor?"
His eyes had been trained on the Brasstown sign, his mind running through everything that's happened here. He whips around, surprised to see Benji so concerned.
"Sorry," he says with an apologetic smile. "I have a lot going on."
"Can you tell me about it?"
Victor inhales, holds it for a second, then sighs. "I don't want to dump all of my personal shit on you. This conversation was supposed to be about us."
"If there's going to be any kind of us, we need to communicate with each other," Benji says, soft smile like a miracle. "And I want to help however I can."
"Okay," Victor says, his nerves unraveling. "So. I came out to my parents last night."
Benji's eyes widen. "Oh my god, you did? How did it go?" Victor can see the gears turning behind Benji's eyes, watches as he thinks back to the party, to Victor standing up for him and Derek.
"Not well," Victor says with a dry laugh. He scratches the back of his head. "We haven't really talked about it yet. I sort of...broke down and locked myself in my room. But it doesn't look like it's gonna be good," he admits. Why can't he look Benji in the eye? "I'm afraid to go home."
Benji's hand grasps his shoulder. "Hey, come here," he says and pulls Victor into another hug. He's warm, certain, so real in Victor's arms. "Whatever happens, we can figure it out, okay?" he whispers in Victor's ear.
He's worth it, Victor thinks as they embrace over the center console of Benji's car. Maybe it's all worth it.
Benji pulls away, all cautious grin and rosy cheeks. "Feel better?"
"A little," Victor says. "There's, um. There's something else, though."
Benji's smile presses into a straight line. "What do you mean?"
"It's Mia," Victor says and swallows a lump in his throat. "She saw us last night."
"Victor," Benji groans. He turns to face the steering wheel and pushes a hand through his hair.
"That's why I was outside the art gallery. I was apologizing to her and coming clean about everything."
"When you say 'everything,' do you mean...?"
"I told her about the motel too, yeah. She didn't take any of it well. Not that she should after what I did, but I'm still..." He trails off, not sure how to begin describing his emotional state. "Everything's going wrong, Benji."
Benji nods, looking grim.
"I just...I don't know if I'm gonna be able to do this. Us."
"Whoah, Victor. What do you mean?"
Victor can feel tears coming again, which only frustrates him, which makes him want to cry more. He tries to push it all down. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Everything just feels...broken. And I don't want to break you, too."
Benji takes a shaky breath. "Okay, listen," he says gently, "we can take it slow, all right? If you need a little bit of time to get into a better headspace, I'm willing to wait. I...After everything that's happened, if I lose you, it's all for nothing, right? But if we get to be together in the end..."
Victor reaches out and grabs his hand. "You're right," he says. "I don't want to throw that away."
Relief floods Benji's face.
"Just...let me handle my family first," Victor says, shifting forward. "Pilar is still mad at me, but she was there for me last night when I lost it, so I think it won't take long to make it up to her." He's aware that he's talking too fast but the words just keep coming, like if he says it out loud it's all out of his head. "My parents are a different story, and I don't know how they really feel about it but maybe they were just caught off guard, and they were already so upset—"
"Breathe," Benji says, reaching out to stroke Victor's cheek. "Why were they upset? Did something happen?"
"They're..." Right. That's another thing. "I came out right after they told Pilar and me that they're separating."
Benji pulls his hand away. "Oh, shit. Victor," he says, his eyebrows pinching together.
"I know. Now do you see why I'm so fucked up right now? It feels like I'm in this boat and every time I try to fix a hole, another one pops up on the other side. I don't understand how I got here. I've never felt so..."
"Hopeless," Benji finishes.
"Yeah," Victor says. "This is why I didn't want to put all of this on you. It's too much."
"No, I'm glad you told me. At least I know what's going on in your head, you know? And I can try to help. I'll help as much as I can. I promise. I'm here for you. We...have to be there for each other, right?" Benji smiles; for a moment it looks forced, but then the light shifts and the pressure in Victor's chest releases.
Even through the turmoil, something fresh and hopeful twitches somewhere deep inside Victor, a chick trying to hatch from a sturdy egg.
"I don't deserve you," Victor says. He smooths down Benji's hair and his lips quirk into a smile.
Benji smiles back. "I feel the same way about you."
The kiss that follows is so different than the one in the motel room, the one on the bench. The first kiss had been a dying star, twinkling out as a last resort; the one on the bench had been a full moon, yanking Victor's heart like the tide toward Benji's; this kiss is the sun, golden, searing. Victor worries if it lasts too long, he'll get burned. But he can't pull away, even with the knowledge that someone could walk out of Brasstown and witness the whole thing, could drive by and catch a glimpse. Would they even see it? Would they be blinded by the relief that issues from Victor's pores when he kisses Benji, the untold promise that this is what life could be, that a horizon is approaching and it's warm and it's bright and for the first time, something has clicked into place.
Victor pulls away, his lips shiny and singing. "Are we ever gonna have a kiss that doesn't make me feel like a different person when it's over?"
Benji smiles at him, cups his chin, and run's a thumb over Victor's lips. "I hope not."
Victor laughs and ducks his head, smooths over his hair where Benji's hand had ruffled it during the kiss. "Me either."
"Do you want me to take you home?" Benji asks.
It's still scary, dropping feet first into a hole Victor can't see the bottom of, but with this new sunlight running through his veins, he feels as capable as he could be to handle it. So he nods. Benji takes his hand and raises it to his lips, gives it a kiss, and starts his car.
"Whatever happens, I'm just a text away, okay?"
Victor smiles and squeezes his hand. "Yeah."
The sound of the door swinging shut behind him is like a trap being triggered. His parents are on the couch, just like they'd been the night before, and his mother exhales in relief when she sees him. She rises and crosses the room in broad strides, and—to Victor's surprise—envelops him in a tight hug.
"We were so worried," she says, choked up. "Where have you been?" she asks as she pulls away, hands still on Victor's shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Mami," he says. "I had to take care of something." His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, little pulses of darkness at the edge of his vision.
"It's okay," she says and lays a hand on his cheek. "Will you come sit? Your dad and I just want to talk to you."
He nods. "Sure." Each step toward the couch is heavier, like his feet are made of lead. He could crash right through the floor and fall forever. Like some kind of sick deja vu, Victor sits in the same chair he had the night before, his parents' expressions a near exact replica.
"So, I'm sure you can imagine that we're feeling a little...surprised," she says and forces a smile, "about what you said last night."
"Surprised?" his father says. "Try offended."
"Okay," she murmurs and gestures for him to settle.
"Are Pilar and Adrian here?" Victor asks, looking down the hallway.
"We sent them out for the day. It's just us, mijo."
Victor doesn't want to bring his eyes back to them but forces himself to meet her gaze, all too aware of the trepidation there. So many times she's said to Victor, "You know you can tell me anything, right?" So why does he feel like he's made the wrong choice by admitting the truth?
"We just want to understand, that's all," she continues, a note of desperation in her voice. "It seemed things were going so well with Mia. Is this about her?"
"What? No, Mom, it's not about Mia. It's about me. I...this is who I am."
"But how do you know, Victor? You're only sixteen, there's still so much to learn about yourself."
Victor stares down at his hands, wishes they would stop trembling. "I didn't just wake up yesterday and decide, you know. I've been thinking about it for a long time. Last night was the first time I've ever even said the words out loud."
There's a pause, one during which he's sure his mother is looking to his father for help, but his voice never comes.
"Victor, you have to understand that this is difficult for us. It seems like you're putting yourself in this box when maybe you don't even know if you fit there yet."
"Really? Because it feels like you're the one trying to put me in a box," he says, finally looking up. His mother is taken aback; his father's disinterested frown turns into a glare. "I thought I could tell you anything," he says, his voice breaking.
"Of course you can," she says and shifts closer to him. "And I'm glad you did. We just want to help.
"Do you still love me?" he asks; the suspense of that unanswered question is eating away at his insides like acid.
"Oh," she says, tears springing to her eyes. She takes Victor's hands. "Of course, of course I do. I will never not love you, Victor. You are..." she pauses and presses her lips together, a tear cascading down her cheek. "You are so special. I don't think you know how special you are. But you're still so young, mi amor. I'm just worried that you're confused, or maybe following some trend, I don't know!"
Victor pulls his hands away. "Is that what you think of me?" he asks, hot, angry tears building. "I'm gay," he says. Then he repeats it. "I'm gay. But I'm still me, Mom. Nothing has changed."
She sits back and shakes her head, dabbing at her eyes with a shirt sleeve. "But everything does change, Victor, if that's the path you're going to go down. It's not a life we ever envisioned for you."
"Have you considered that your vision of my life might not look the same as mine?"
"And your vision involves going around and kissing other boys?" his father says, smacking the cushion beside him.
"Armando," his mother warns, but his father continues.
"I thought I made it clear after you invited those friends that that is not something we want in this family. If that's what they want to do behind closed doors, fine, but I will not have my son bring that kind of perversion into this household."
Victor stands and points at his father. "Do you think I chose this? I'm not proud of who I am, and if I could change it, I would," he cries, lips pulled back over his teeth, "but I can't change it, Papi. It's who I am," he says and collapses back into the chair, face in his hands. His shoulders jerk up and down as he cries. Neither of his parents reach out to comfort him.
"You should have kept this to yourself," his father says as he stands, his voice dangerous.
"I thought it would be different if you knew it was me," he says, his throat heavy. "I'm still me," he repeats, trying to make them understand.
"No," his father says, rubbing a hand across his beard. "I don't know this person."
Victor's mother is openly crying now, reaching for his father as he shakes his head and storms out of the room. She looks at Victor, says something that sounds like "I'm sorry," but Victor is already running for the door, the world shattered in his vision, distorted by tears, more tears—all he seems to know is tears. He slams the door behind him and presses his back against the wall, sinks to the floor. His forehead rests between his knees, knocking against bone as he cries, unable to command his body, cease the emotional onslaught.
After a few minutes, his phone buzzes against his thigh. He fumbles it out of his pocket, using the other arm to make a poor attempt at drying his face. It's a response from Simon.
Victor,
Wow. It sounds like there's a lot going on. First of all, I'm really sorry that everything went down that way. This is supposed to be a time when your loved ones are in your corner, and it really saddens me to hear about what's going on with your parents. They don't hate you, Victor, I promise. You're still their son, and no matter how they feel right now, they'll remember what an incredible person you are and eventually come around.
But hey, that's good news about Benji, right? My advice: take things slow. If he's just getting out of a relationship, that complicates things, even if it was a relationship that wasn't going so well to begin with. From what you've told me, he sounds like he could be a good person to lean on during all of this. Just make sure you're not the only one doing the leaning, okay? I know you're already pretty overwhelmed, but you also have to be there for him, right?
As for Mia, all I can say is that you have to apologize and be genuinely sorry. It would be irresponsible for me not to tell you that. She might not be ready to hear it just yet, and I know it's hard to accept, but she's justified in feeling that way. She means a lot to you, though, and if you mean the same to her, she'll come around, too.
You're not alone, Victor. I meant what I said in my last message. No matter what changes, you still have me. Whatever happens, I'll be here to talk you through it. I don't have all the answers, but I can do my best. Maybe it's weird considering we've only actually met once, but you really are like a part of our family here. Things might hurt right now, but you'll come out stronger on the other side. It will all pass. I promise. Until then, don't be too hard on yourself, and keep me updated.
Love, Simon
Victor clutches his phone to his chest and heaves another sob, something between despair and reprieve. Why can't his life be like Simon's? Parents who don't bat an eye, who promise him that they love him just the same, who adore Simon's boyfriend. Clearly he's not destined for that life, not fated to have a Simon Spier Ferris wheel moment, the fireworks and the cheering and the knowledge that everything will be okay.
No, Victor doesn't get to breach his head above the surface just yet. For now, the waves are still lapping over his head, his breath held close like a secret that never should have seen the light of day.