It All Started With Him

:: Chapter 8 :: Teenage Gay Panic

Chapter 8
***
On my bedroom floor, Wes is asleep. The only thing I can think about is whether to text Evan or not.

I text. I erase. I text again.

Finally, I just give up and send him another text.

An ounce of confidence pangs over me as though I have been drinking some of Wes's alcohol he has been drinking. I smile like a fanboy when I see his name show up on my screen.

"Chris, I love you so damn much." I hear Wes murmur in his sleep as he rolls over to the other side. It's the first time he's ever called me Chris. As much as I hate to admit it, my name sounds so good coming from him.

Another text from Evan breaks me from my thoughts. I brush Wes's hair out of his face and kiss him gently on his head, taking this moment in as I know he won't remember it tomorrow morning.

Much to my dismay of betrayed agony, I find myself alone, the moment knowing that he was never going to stay all night. The relentless betrayal of his fake love and his own feelings, as he worshiped them more than anything.

****

By lunchtime, my aloneness pushed itself away. Maybe it was my inability or lack of self-love that caused the sudden drop of adrenaline and butterflies in my stomach at seeing Evan wear his black and gold jacket. Then it dawned on me that he was the student on the motorcycle that I had seen while in the car with Anna that day.

Mentally, I wanted to look for Wes; maybe get him to tell me he meant every single lie he ever said to me. Ever desire, every broken word. My thoughts are despairing as Evan places his hand on my left shoulder.

"Hi," a simple expression after texting last night. In simpler teenage romantic cliches, his face and figure sparkle in the middle of the sun shining through the windows. However, this moment has my mind wandering around the matter of whether to speak or not.

"Hi," I finally said; the simple word repeated what he had just said. Despite the obvious confusion of words, Evan seems to have shrugged it off and just smiled.

Content to what extent I have, Wes seems to be the least likely candidate of my conscience. My phone pings. Instead of answering it, I turn it off. I could always use the excuse that my phone died. That's a common misconception, isn't it?

"I promised you a lunchtime hangout, and we now have approximately twenty-six minutes left to do just that," Evan says as I follow him to the spot where he and some of his friends are sitting and enjoying their lunch.

"Won't your friends mind? They don't know me," I point out, as it sounds like I'm trying to back out. I wasn't sure what his friends would think about someone who had just left a high from a junk hit just before the start of school. There's no way I'm bringing that up.

"That depends on whether you're a DM or Warlock," he tells me, just before we officially reach the table. I'm hoping for an explanation, but I don't get one.

"Is that a Godzilla reference for Warlock or something?" I ask as I see a girl with midlength curly hair look towards Evan and smile. She's beautiful and most definitely crushing on Evan as she tries hiding her face from him seeing her blush. I think her blush is beautiful; however, I don't think Evan even looks as he sits down in the middle chair.

"Dude. You're hopelessly stupid when it comes down to pop culture references," he tells me as he rolls his eyes at me, purveying the same truth as our eyes meet for a moment of silence.

The silence is over as I steal one of his nuggets and dip it into salt and vinegar. A worthwhile way to eat the fries, and I'm glad our school offers vinegar instead of just ketchup.