(Matt's POV)
We became a ‘we’ about half a year ago. We never discussed our relationship or what exactly was ‘we’. For him it is probably just a comfort thing but for me, it is so much more: Maybe it’s because he never actually broke up with his boyfriend. I don’t know.
Kris or better yet known as Kitty, was always a close friend during school. He had brown hair, weighed at his shoulders, white skin which could compete with a porcelain doll, and faded blue eyes. We didn’t chat much after school hours, much to my dislike, but it wasn’t like we were childhood friends. We were those two kids who were awkward around strangers and prefered to partner up with someone we knew best. Seeing how we were in almost every class together, we found ourselves being partners on a regular basis. Unlike most school-friends, we chatted about our personal life during free periods and knew a lot about each other. I had developed a crush on him somewhere during freshman year, but that was something I was planning on keeping personal.
In sophomore year Kris started telling me about his wonderful boyfriend named Corey. Now it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know, I wasn’t exactly keen on this situation. I tried to keep talk about him to a minimal, but Kris didn’t exactly need an invitation to talk about him. For most of the beginning of Sophomore year he’d bounce into the classroom, with some new story about Corey and how romantic he was the day before. I’d pretend to be interested while flipping through the physics book in front of me. I didn’t mind his endless chatter, I did mind it was about Corey.
Before winter break Kris had ran up to me, his clothes completely disheveled and his hair unruly, telling me
he just ran away to live at Corey’s house. Splendid, right? Now, I was trying hard to be supportive, but I started questioning the whole relationship around valentines day. Kris had constantly came to the school, with a much less bouncy attitude. He would still share stories about Corey, but they were far less detailed and usually ended with in ten minutes. I started questioning Kris when he had entered school with a couple of bruises on his arms. He always came up with an excuse: Fell down the stairs. Burnt my hand making dinner. Ran into a door. Kris wasn’t a klutz, so his stories didn’t sound very believable, but that was all I could go on, so I stayed quiet.
February was coming to an end when Kris had came in with a bloody bandaged, arm. He had told me he cut himself on a knife, which was proof he had ran out of stories to tell me. A slight cut on your hand would make sense, not a whole gash on your left arm. Definitely seeing how he was a lefty.
It was in the start of March when Kris had stopped coming to school. Kris, a secret lover of the torture called education, was absent for a week. None of his so-called-friends had heard from him either. So, being me, I made it my job to check on the guy. He had texted me his boyfriend’s address a while back, hoping he could invite me over one day to brag about his ‘wonderful’ boyfriend. It never happened by the way.
Corey lived in a luxurious apartment. It was pristine, with white tiled floors, tan couches and glass coffee tables in the lobby. The elevator had a button man, which I had made myself quickly entertained with. I kept saying a different floor, driving him crazy. The incoming people, found my joke funny and went along with it: Pretending to get mad at the bell-man when he clicked the button. Once I was on the floor, I waved goodbye to the ‘friends’ I met and found my way to the apartment door. It was unlocked, and slightly ajar. Slowly, I peaked in.
The insides of the apartment wasn't a disappointment. The walls were white, with an occasional black flower airbrushed on. White couches and a flat screen were in the center of the, I was guessing, living room. A kitchen had an arch as it’s entrance. A black, airbrushed serpent, was painted around it. A small bubble of jealousy had formed as I took in the interior. Kris was living here. I was living at a boarding house. Kris had a boyfriend. The boyfriend wasn’t me.
