Murrayed

Chapter Two || Regular Freaks

Will stepped out of the shower, staring at his face in the foggy bathroom mirror. Murray wasn't right, Will knew he couldn't be.  Mike wasn't gay, and even if he was, he did not like Will.  He thought back to what Murray had said, about him not being able to believe he could be loved.  It was true, and somebody saying it didn't fix the problem.  It didn't fix that he was unlovable.

He didn't remember when he'd figured it out, but Will had known since he was young.  He was gay, and he couldn't fix himself.  That made him unlovable.  Gay people were sick, diseased, and horrible.  They didn't get loved, they got killed.

So that was always what he'd expected.  He wasn't going to be happy, and he wasn't going to be loved.  Not how he wanted, at least, and soon enough, not at all.  His dad, the terrible, abusive man that he was, hadn't been wrong about one thing.  His son was a useless, unloved fag.

Will knew that, though.  He told himself it didn't hurt anymore, but he was lying.  When he was up late at night, maybe working on Mike's painting, maybe something else, no matter he was doing, it always managed to slither through the cracks in his mind, and not very deep down, he knew.

Since he was little, he'd been an outcast.  A weird kid.  A freak.  It had changed a little in Lenora, but not much.  He'd still been alone, and nobody had really cared.  His brother, after meeting Argyle, had drifted away, just as Will had expected him to. When he was younger, Jon had always hung around, for lack of a better friend. It only made Will feel worse though, because that wasn't normal, either.

And now, thinking about it, he was glad he hadn't told Jonathan in Surfer Boy. He would hate Will eventually too, all the same as anybody else. Jonathan was just another extra. Another person there to play pretend.

And Jon was strange. That's what he used to tell himself, why people were so grossed about by him constantly. It was Jonathan, always hanging around and scaring them away. God, he lied to himself so much. No, that wasn't true. He was the freak, the fag, the disturbance in an otherwise peaceful town. He always had been.

Mike Wheeler hadn't cared, though. Even on that first day, Mike never cared. He hadn't looked at Will and whispered to his other playmates 'ew, no, his brother's a creep.' or even thought 'no, he's no fun. See, he's too shy.' Mike Wheeler had walked up to him, and he'd said nothing. Just sat on the swings, not really minding the silence.

Finally, Will had dared to say 'hi'.

Mike said 'hi.' back.

"I'm Mike." He spoke carefully, but it wasn't the careful that made you wonder 'do they think I'm fragile?' And not the kind that made you think 'they know I'll melt into the ground if they speak too harshly.' It was just... soft. "What's your name?"

So he replied. "I'm Will." His tone was soft as well, matching Mike's gently.

"Do you... do you maybe want to be friends?"

"Oh. Yeah! Friends." Will smiled, to himself and to Mike. A friend! A real, actual friend!

And it had been the best day of his life. He finally had a friend, and his name was Mike Wheeler. Out of all his memories, that was his most vivid. It was his favorite, and that was because Mike stayed his friend. Even when he found other kids, they stayed best friends. Even though he could have left Will behind. Even though it most definitely would have made Mike's life easier if he left, he didn't. Mike stayed.

Even when Mike seemed to know, even after that horrible night in the rain, Mike followed him through the storm.  He apologized. Even when Will hated him, even when he didn't send the letters. Mike called, and he tried to talk.  And he took the painting, and Mike wasn't mad when El didn't really commission it.