Lockers and Boxers (boyxboy)

Chapter XX - Brown Eyes

 I shove the storage containers out of my way. One tips over, spilling a menagerie of plastic Christmas ornaments on the garage floor. I can't remember the last time we even celebrated Christmas. The treadmill is covered in a thick layer of dust. I brush off what I can from the console and press the "ON" button. The track beneath me begins to move.

I walk, or rather stomp, for a minute to ready myself. Then, I hold the up arrow until I'm jogging. After a few minutes, I feel a cramp in my side, but I do my best to ignore it. Once I get tired of the same speed, I adjust it until I'm running. When I feel like I can't handle it anymore, I increase the speed more. And then more. I increase it until I'm dripping with sweat and my vision kaleidoscopes. I keep pushing, my feet forcefully hitting the track. I'm sprinting, my head throbbing, sweat dripping from my upper lip into my mouth, my legs burning with pain. I think of nothing but running.

I'm on the verge of passing out when I yank the emergency stop cord. The track beneath me stops abruptly. I lay down on the filthy concrete floor, and the pain I feel across my entire body gradually subsides. Finally, I gather the strength to stand up. I drag myself to my room, kick off my gym shoes, and fall, allowing my bed to catch me. I extend my arm and grab the cup of water that's been sitting on my nightstand for days. It tastes disgusting from soaking up the flavor of plastic for so long, but I chug it greedily. I cough, feeling flecks of dust in my mouth.

I shove the now-empty cup back onto my nightstand. It tumbles over, taking those melatonin gummies with it. Fuck it, I'll deal with it later. I grab my phone and check my home screen for any notifications. Empty. I don't know what I expected, an I'm sorry message? Defeated, or more so pissed off, I throw my phone across the room. It hits the wall and falls into a pile of dirty clothes. I'm suddenly reminded of Gabe banging his head against my wall, right in this bed, which only makes me angrier. Not knowing how else to channel my rage, I squeeze my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I can see the reddened indents in my skin when I unclench them.

After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, I feel the anger slowly drain from my body, leaving me only with sadness. I don't know if it's fair to call it heartbreak — Gabe's hardly been in my life. Maybe I'm overemphasizing his significance in my mind, but all I know is that I want him. And I shouldn't want him. He ditched me. He ditched me and didn't give me a reason, not even a clue, and yet here I am, longing to be touched, to be held by him. It's fucking pathetic.

I feel tears well in my eyes, but I stare up at the ceiling through the dark, refusing to let them fall. I won't cry for Gabe. He doesn't deserve it. This is what happens when you trust people. They build you up and make you feel good about yourself just so they can knock you down. I'd done so well not letting anyone have power over me. It cost me all my friends and the potential of making any new ones, but it kept me safe. And now here I am, blowing all that away, for what? For a pretty face? I'm a gullible idiot.

My gut instinct was to be suspicious of Gabe's intentions — why didn't I follow it? I could have avoided this pain. Where did I think this would lead? The whole thing was one big distraction. I have other things I should be worrying about, namely, college. I've spent the last three years of high school desperate to escape this town. I reserved all my energy, all my time for academics, just so I'd have a chance of escaping. And then what do I do? Let my grades slip, my dreams go down the drain, all for some dick.

My grades were the only thing I had to show for. I'm not involved in any clubs or sports, I don't volunteer anywhere, and I don't have some gut-wrenching story to tell college admissions officers. But at the very least I could point to my GPA, my test scores, show that for what I lack in a life I make up for in numbers. I can certainly get accepted into college, but that's not enough. It doesn't matter if I get accepted into fucking Harvard because I simply can't afford it. I need scholarships, and for scholarships, the worthwhile ones anyway, I need stellar grades.