by L B Winter
I must have surprised him, because he didn’t respond. I glanced at him and saw him frowning deeply.
“Then why did you leave?” he finally asked.
“I told you why I left, that morning.”
He glanced at me. “You gave up.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “I mean, yes and no. I gave up on conversion therapy, but that wasn’t really my own choice in the first place. I think what I did was a lot harder than ‘giving up.’ I decided to accept who I am, that I’m me, and I’m gay.”
Jamie huffed. “That you want to live in sin, you mean.”
Ugh. This guy. Thinking of Jason’s church, though, and how much I’d learned since being away for college—and what my heart had always told me, I said, “Sin is what separates us from God, right? Well, I realized this doesn’t separate me from God. People can be really weird about it, but…God loves me, and in my experience, being gay isn’t that big of a deal.”
“You’re wrong,” Jamie said. “It’s a big deal.”
“For you,” I corrected, trying to keep my patience. “For me, it’s who I am. Like, you’re a fast runner. That’s part of who you are.”
“Speaking of,” Jamie said, and he nudged me. “Let’s go.”
He started running, and I followed suit, jarred by the suddenness of it. He went fast again, just slow enough that I could keep up, but much faster than I could talk comfortably. I guess he really didn’t want to talk about it. And when we got back, he showered and left for East Chic without saying another word to me.
So, that went well.
CHAPTER 9
A Dater
__________
Having Jamie live with us was a cross between stressful and depressing, with a side of guilt and awkwardness. I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly, but somehow this arrangement still managed to disappoint me. Jamie was morose, and nothing I said or did would cheer him up. He only agreed to see a campus counselor after repeated prodding, but he told her he wasn’t a student. For some reason, she still agreed to see him—probably the same red flags I saw that day on the roof—and he left her office even angrier than before, though he wouldn’t tell me what they’d talked about.
He would chat with Taylor sometimes, but with me, never. He acted homophobic, but in a really microaggressive way: he wouldn’t say anything overt to offend me, but he was always there, watching and disapproving. I even began to worry that all the progress I’d made toward accepting myself would be reversed by his continual, quiet judgment. It shouldn’t have bothered me that much, but it did.
Steven worried about the same thing, and he told me so when he invited me to the club a few weeks later.
“It’s like a storm cloud settled over you and just follows you around and rains on you. Constant rain, that’s what conversations with you are like now,” he complained on the phone.
“I’m sorry,” I started.
“No, nope, don’t apologize. Don’t be sorry. Do better.”
“What do you want from me?” I snapped.
“We’re going out. You have to get out from under hurricane Jamie and get under some…other… Oh, shit, I really wish I hadn’t started using the word ‘under.’”
I cracked up. “Oh, man. I miss you, Steve-o.”
“Well, I never come over anymore, now that your homophobic ex-boyfriend lives on the couch and looks at me like I’m oozing toxic sin-juice all over him.”
“He’s just confused,” I said.
“He isn’t confused about that; I really do ooze toxic sin-juice. Trent loves it.”
“Ugh! Don’t tell me about that!”
“Come out with me tonight. I’m not hosting, so I can keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I protested.
“Yes, you do,” Steven answered. “And it’s just me and you, no Taylor this time. He gets too much attention for a straight boy.”
“Fine. He wouldn’t want to come anyway.”
“But you will?”
“Sure.”
“Yay!” I could hear Steven clapping his hands over the speaker. “I will pick you up at 9.”
“No,” I said. “I’ll come over. That way you can avoid ‘hurricane Jamie.’” Jamie was at East Chic again today (on a “trial basis,” according to him), but he’d be home by 7.
“Great idea,” Steven said. “I’ll see you then. It’s eighties night. Don’t embarrass me!” He hung up before I could protest.
Great. Eighties night.
***
When I showed up at the apartment later wearing a sweater vest and high tops, Steven literally threw a book at me, then demanded I find something else. I agreed to ditch the vest, but the high tops stayed, and I walked into the club that night feeling pretty confident that I wouldn’t have any problem with unwanted sexual advances, given my pathetically boring ensemble.
I was wrong. Almost as soon as I sat down at the bar, I noticed Eric sitting at the other end, chatting with some guy. Damn my instinctive friendliness; when I saw a face I recognized, I waved.
Eric immediately ditched whoever he was talking to and walked over to us. Steven, beside me, was ordering us a couple of martinis. He didn’t notice Eric until he was on the stool next to mine, leaning over to kiss my cheek and say hello. But I had to give him credit; after that familiar greeting, he didn’t try to touch me again. Not even so much as a pat on the arm. I mean, we’d had sex, so I would have understood if he’d felt like he was allowed a little touchy-feely, but he was totally casual. It made me mildly intrigued.
“Hey, kid,” he said, smiling. “I’ve been looking for you for weeks. Do you ever come here anymore?”
Kid? I realized he must have forgotten my name. Let’s just have a quick recap. I’d had sex with three dudes: one who turned straight after, one who coerced me into blowing him so I wouldn’t freeze to death, and one who couldn’t even remember my name. Awesome.
“No, not really—I have classes early most days, so I only let Stevey talk me into coming once in a great while.”
Steven heard his name and turned around. Realizing who it was, he frowned at me and then looked up at Eric.
Eric, not realizing he was public enemy number one with my best friends, said, “Hey, loved your show last week.”
Steven seemed torn between his love of flattery and protectiveness over me. Flattery won out. “Show me your love with tips, sweetie!”
I batted Steven’s outstretched hand away. “Isn’t it frowned upon to ask for tips?”
“No, who told you that?”
“I worked one summer at a restaurant.”
Steven shook his head. “No, doesn’t apply. Anyway, good to see you again, Eric. Paul and I were just out getting a drink to help him be a more relaxed and pleasant person.”
“Thanks,” I said, shaking my head.
Eric laughed. “You wanna dance?” he asked me.
“I don’t want to have sex,” I blurted. Steven nearly choked on his drink, and I shrugged at him. The word vomit was back—but maybe today it would come in handy.
“That’s not what I asked you,” Eric said, frowning and crossing his arms.
“I know,” I said, “but last time I couldn’t say no because…well, look at you. You’re not exactly easy to turn down. So if I dance with you, I just want to get that out of the way so you know, because otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Just like that, his smile was back. I guess flattery worked on him, too.
“Okay,” he said. “Just dancing.”
Steven kicked me and I waved him off and walked to the dance floor. Eric was still an amazing dancer, but somehow the mystery was gone. I felt less nervous. Maybe having slept with somebody does that to you. But since I wasn’t nervous, I could just dance and have fun. We touched and rubbed against each other, and after a few songs, he kissed me.
I don’t know what it was about him, but I just knew from that kiss that even if I wasn’t committed to staying sin
gle, Eric really wouldn’t be right for me. We were just kissing; there wasn’t a spark. I didn’t feel for him what I felt for Jamie. I mean, what I felt when we were younger. Not anymore, obviously.
But Eric and I still had a good time. We made out on the dance floor, with bright lights flickering and music booming around us. I didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually Steven was there, telling me it was time to go.
“Sorry to interrupt, sweetie, but it’s late. We should get going.”
I turned back around to face Eric. “My friend wants to go,” I said. “Thanks, that was fun.”
He kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” he said back, and then added, “I’d love to do it again sometime. I’m always here on weeknights. Look for me.” Then he turned and walked away.
“I did okay, huh?” I said to Steven.
“What?”
“I didn’t have sex with him!”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. That’s normal, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. “Last time I was pretty sure he was some kind of irresistible sex god.”
Steven shrugged. “I mean, he’s fine. For someone as repressed as you were, better than fine. But let’s also remember, last time you hadn’t just run into the love of your life.”
It took me a second or two to understand. Then, “Jamie isn’t the love of my life,” I protested.
Steven shook his head. “He’s making you miserable because he won’t admit how he feels. You are bending over backwards trying to help him. Nothing he does offends you, despite the fact that his is uniformly, consistently, unceasingly offensive. And, to top it off, the guy who you found totally irresistible last time you saw him, now you were completely indifferent to.”
I had to admit, it was an impressive list.
“You really like him,” Steven concluded as we walked out of the bar and into the cool night air.
Thanksgiving break started tomorrow, and Tay and I would be locked out of the dorms for the long weekend in the morning. Two years ago tonight, I’d been completely sure that Jamie loved me as much as I loved him. I’d been willing—eager, even—to run away together so that I could be with him. Suddenly, denying how I felt just seemed too exhausting. Hadn’t I spent enough time doing that?
“Yeah,” I finally admitted. “I don’t know why. But I can’t forget about him—the real him. I know who he really is, and this isn’t it.” I sighed. “He doesn’t like me, though.”
“Is he still being mean?”
I nodded.
“Trent says he’s not homophobic when he’s at the store.”
“So he saves it just for me, then? Awesome.”
“No, I mean…I just mean that it’s good that he isn’t, like, totally hateful all of the time.”
Was Steven defending Jamie now? I turned to look at him as we rounded the corner to the street where he lived. “Call me crazy, but are you sticking up for him?”
Steven crossed his arms, and his voice had a serious tone to it that I didn’t hear very often. “It could have been you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Leaving conversion therapy thinking he’s all straight and happy; marrying some poor, harmless church girl; cheating on her because he actually couldn’t resist, he was so repressed.” He paused and looked at me. “That could have been you. That could have been my best friend. So yeah. I’m defending him.”
I was so touched that, for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. It had occurred to me how narrowly I’d escaped living a sham of a life, but I didn’t realize that Steven had also noticed it. Steven, Trent, and Lynn had all been an enormous part of my accepting myself; maybe they could help Jamie, too. Maybe all wasn’t lost.
When we arrived at the apartment, I asked Trent to drive me to my dorm since Steven had been drinking. He and Lynn had just returned from work, but even though he was obviously tired, he didn’t hesitate a bit.
On our drive, he asked how the club was, and I told him about Eric.
“Yeah, Steven filled me in on all the details last time you went out. Glad you were able to keep it in your pants this time,” he teased, elbowing me playfully as we drove through downtown. “You don’t have to worry about him, though. Ever since he broke up with his last boyfriend, he’s been a serial dater.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m sure he likes you. It’s just that he likes lots of guys. If he wants to date you, he only wants casual.”
“Oh.” Was I disappointed? Sheesh.
Trent must have thought the same thing, and he laughed. “But maybe dating casually would be good for you, kid.”
“Steven certainly seems to think so.”
“Steven doesn’t run your life. And neither do I. What do you want?”
I played with a hole in the knee of my jeans. What did I want? “Somebody I can’t have,” I sighed.
Trent nodded. “That might not be the healthiest choice.”
I didn’t feel like I was choosing, though. I just felt drawn to Jamie. He wasn’t even nice to me at all anymore, but I was still obsessed with him, just living for the moments when he would give me a scrap, a shred of decency.
Trent was totally right. To say it wasn’t the healthiest choice was a huge understatement.
“I don’t know how to get over him,” I said.
“Well, again,” Trent said patiently, “you might consider dating. Seeing what else is out there. You don’t have to sleep with random dudes like Eric,” he added quickly. “You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. But dating is how you meet people. And get over people.”
“Okay,” I said. I watched the streetlights cast a yellow glow over everything and remembered being homeless in the city. Expecting too much from Jamie had almost killed me once. I needed to let it go. I needed to get over him.
As we approached my dorm, I said, “Trent, you don’t have Eric’s number, do you?”
He looked surprised. “No, but I think I can get it for you.”
I shook my head. “No. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s no trouble.”
I opened the car door and slid out. “No, it’s okay. I want to date, but…maybe not him. Maybe somebody closer to my age.”
He smiled. “That’s a good idea. You know, when I was in college, I joined an LGBTQ group, just to have people to talk to.”
Taylor kept mentioning flyers for a group that he saw around campus, but I hadn’t had time to go—or I hadn’t made time. Maybe I should. “That’s a good idea. Thanks, Trent. And thanks for the ride.”
“No problem, kid. See you soon.”
Trent drove away, and I climbed the stairs to our floor. Approaching the room, I already felt like my mopey cloud of negativity was coming back. I was so tired of being alternately ignored and judged by Jamie. I didn’t even feel like this was home anymore.
Our dorm room was set up with two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room in the middle. Jamie had basically commandeered that space like a third bedroom, and Tay and I both spent most of our time in our rooms—though we also spent a decent amount of time dropping in on each other.
When I opened the door, it almost looked like Jamie was walking out of my room. Weird.
“Hey,” I said, smiling. I hadn’t expected him to be awake this late; it was after midnight.
“Where have you been?” he replied, looking slightly nervous as he shuffled toward the couch. He was dressed in pajamas and seemed ready for bed. Had he been waiting up for me? I decided to ignore the apparent violation of my privacy for the time being.
“Steven’s place,” I answered. He didn’t need to hear about the club. “Did you decide yet about Thanksgiving?” The dorms were closed on Thanksgiving, so we gave Jamie the option of either coming to New Tower with us or staying at the guys’ apartment for a few days.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to stay at the apartment,” he said emphatically. Steven would be thrilled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oops. Turned out he was moody after all. “I just know that things didn’t go well with that counselor on campus,” I stammered, “so I thought maybe talking to a pastor would be better.”
He crossed his arms. “You don’t have any idea, Paul,” he said. “Just butt out.”
I knew I shouldn’t take it personally, but I was so exhausted, and it had been so nice to get out for a while and spend time with people who didn’t snap at me and misinterpret everything I said. I was just so tired.
“Okay,” I said, and I was alarmed to hear my voice crack as tears stung in my eyes. Shit. I didn’t want him to see me crying, or to think that what he said mattered to me as much as it did. “Sorry,” I added, hurrying past him to my room.
I closed the door behind me and stood for a moment, shaking. Why was I doing this to myself? Jamie had been such a jerk to me. I had to remind myself that he was hurting right now, that the life he’d tried to build for himself was in shambles. I took a deep breath and held it until I was sure I could let it out without sobbing.
Then I sat on my bed and took out my phone to text Trent. By the way, if you know any guys my age, let me know, okay?
My phone beeped a moment later. I just showed this to Steven and he’s weeping.
And then another message, this time from Steven: FINALLYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!
I debated for a while whether I wanted to come out to brush my teeth before bed. Maybe I should wait until Jamie turned out the light and I knew I wouldn’t have to talk to him.
Suddenly I heard Steven in my head: “Sweetie, you never had to talk to him in the first place. You’re already doing more than enough, and if he wants to talk, he knows you’re always there.”
Imaginary Steven was right. I quickly stripped down to my t-shirt and shorts, then pulled on my robe and headed to the bathroom. I saw Jamie lift his head as I walked by; he was seated on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. But I didn’t say anything; I just walked to the bathroom, did my business, and walked back out.
