Breaking the Ice

eleven

I woke up to a stuffy nose, a familiar couch, my phone buzzing with a million texts, and still drunk.

With a groan, I pushed myself to sit up against the arm of the couch and found a note on the side table alongside a bottle of painkillers and a tall glass of water.

For the headache. My mom said it was fine for you to crash, and there are some leftovers for you in the fridge. Went to work, text me when you're up.
xx
—Iza

Grateful for Iza's sense, I took three pills and downed the rest of the glass before hobbling to the bathroom to take a leak and blow my nose, then to the kitchen to hunt for her mom's cooking. Mrs. Merino immigrated from Argentina when she was pregnant with Iza, and her food was absolutely to die for.

Upon finding the aforementioned plate, also with a little sticky note with my name on it, I was quick to eat the leftover empanadas while I scrolled through my messages. I answered the ones from my mom asking where I was first before moving onto my friends. I replied to Jason's question of my getting home and texted Iza that I was alright before opening the hockey team's group chat.

The first thing I noticed was the usual flood of pictures from the party. There was everything ranging from videos of people making out to bar tricks gone right and wrong to people rolling in their own vomit. The team was oohing and gossiping, and the people in more than one group chat would keep trading photos, only fueling the fire.

A smile curled at my lips as a scrolled, finding pictures of Jason and I jokingly dancing together immediately followed by some of him turning to lead a girl from the volleyball team upstairs. Plenty had Adam laughing and smiling, shots in hand or squirting into someone's waiting mouth, and I noticed Simon's bong making an appearance more than once in the hockey team's pictures. One photo of beer spraying out of Tom's nose got plenty of laughs and a digital sticker made, much to his protest.

It wasn't until one of the picture traders sent one of Iza and I cuddled in the rain together, me half passed out on top of her and her head on my shoulder, that I was struck with the memory of us talking in the freezing rain. She was ace, and I told her I was...

That was probably why I had a cold.

The group chat exploded in teasing and laughs at my expense, and suddenly a little sick, I shot back just one message saying nothing happened before turning off my phone. Better for them to think I have something with Iza than with a specific blond, anyways, and I was too tired to do much of anything about it.

Gathering my things and patting down my pockets to make sure I still had my keys, I left Iza's apartment and began the walk home. It was only a fifteen minute walk from my place, but it felt longer with the weight of last night to process.

I fucked Beau again, and now without the adrenaline of victory or the haze of drink, I realized how weird it was for him to walk into the locker room right after a hockey game and start stripping. My mind whirred, and I could only see one reason he would find himself there, not that I would let myself dwell on it for too long.

I was gay. That much was certain. A straight guy might fuck a guy once, sure, but not twice, much less the same guy. Nor would he fantasize or mull, and was I fantasizing and mulling over each night I saw Beau again and again.

I was gay.

The realization was a long time coming, but that didn't stop the blow from stopping me in my tracks. My hands balled into fists from where they rested in my pockets and my toes curled in my sneakers. In front of me stood my apartment building, tall and looming and ignorant.

I was gay.

Each step and breath felt automated as I walked into the building and up the stairs. I helped my neighbor with her groceries, smiled and laughed while she told me about her kids. I unlocked my front door and greeted my mom in the living room where she was reading a book. I knocked loudly on Alex's door to piss her off and snorted at her angry response.