The Religious & The Damaged

23

Elias

  I walk into Nick's room and immediately drop my bag with his on the floor, and I walk further into the room and sit on my makeshift bed. Nick drops on his bed and turns on the tv.

  "Thanks, man." I suddenly say.

  "For what?" He asks.

  "For trying to warm up to Joseph."

  He hums. I look back at him, and he has a brief smile on his face. "You like him, so I guess I should at least try to." I smile softly, and he looks at me. "Obviously not in the same way as you." He jokes.

  I huff out a laugh and look back in front of me. "Obviously." I reply.

  "So that's it, huh?" I look back at him and he's grinning ear to ear. "You're gay?" He asks.

  I revert my gaze to my lap and sigh. "I don't know." I say, and a slight hint of amusement lingers in my tone. "I know that I like him. It's undeniable. I want to be with him, like all the time. And when I'm with him, it's like my sadness just.." I snap a finger and let out a light laugh as I continue. "I've thought about kissing him a dozen times, and I always want to touch him, like I can't function without us having some sort of contact."

  "Shit, man." A smile is audible in his voice.

  I nod. "But I still don't know what I am, I have no fucking clue, and I have too much going on to worry about that when I don't even know if he likes me back."

  "I get that." He replies, and it's strained.

  I look back and I'm not surprised that he's already high.

  I huff out a breath of amusement and take the joint from him and look back in front of me.

  There's a long silence before he asks, "But you're doing okay, right?"

  Smoke blows from my nostrils and my brows furrow as I take in the strength the weed holds and I blow more out from my mouth.

  "Doing pretty okay now." I answer as I take another drag.

  "You had me trippin' last night and this morning. I was worried,"

  My heart drops at the sudden vulnerability in his voice—I've never heard that before, not from Nick.

  "Y'know? You can talk to me, man." He continues after a brief pause.

  I subconsciously tug at my sleeves as my eyes grow unfocused.

  I feel it; the panic. I want to cut myself. I want it to go away.

  I stare at the door in front of me, and I want to go in the bathroom, take the scissors, and make myself bleed until this overwhelming feeling disappears into emptiness.

  "Lias." He calls out.

  I direct my gaze downward. "I'm fine. I was just fried after the night I had."

  "..Okay."

  "I'm going to the bathroom."

  I stand and rush out of the room, and into the bathroom. I exhale shakily as I take the first aid from the top drawer of the sink, and like yesterday, I take the scissors and sit with my back against the sink.

  I pull up my sleeve, then pull back the plaster. My eyes fall on the cuts I made last night.

  I fill with shame at the sight of them, remembering how they got there—that only makes me want to do it more, just to get rid of the shame, the guilt.