Feeling it out

Sorry

"You got to be fucking kidding me!" I yell frustratedly. "Why is HE going? I'm not going if he's going. No way. I can't stand the guy" I ask my best friend, Niall, complaining about his step-brother, who I've hated since forever. I haven't seen him since high school. He got much easier to avoid after he left for college, and was only home once or twice a year.

He'd gone away for four blissful years. I don't get how he got into UCLA. He's not that smart. He's just really good at bullshitting his way through stuff. Cheating. He cheated all through school. That's one of the reasons I can't stand him. Anyone else he asked would be delighted to give him their paper to copy off of quickly in home room. Not me.

The way he intruded into Niall's life when his mom met Niall's dad. The way that the two of them got along at first, but then when they moved in together, Niall got to see the dark side of Harry Styles. He's not all gorgeous, dimply smiles. He's a smooth talker, nothing more. Niall had hid the fact that he was gay from his new step-brother for a long time. That was, until Harry used Niall's computer without asking, and he found copious amounts of gay porn. He teased him endlessly for it. Every slur you can think of, for the entirety of senior year.

It made me double down on my decision to stay safe inside the closet until graduation. Niall knew, no one else. While Harry was an absolute asshole about it, he never outed Niall to anyone. It surprised me. Niall called me, freaking out that night. We were both positive the whole school would know in the morning. They never did. Not until Niall met Liam at a soccer game and they hit it off. Liam was so open and confident about being gay that it made it easier on Niall. He was able to take his time.

When he and Liam were finally an official, out couple, Harry stopped speaking to Niall. Basically until he left for UCLA, apparently. He did start talking to him again the first summer when Harry came home. I haven't seen Harry. When he came home, I would avoid that house like the plague. Niall told me that since he came home that summer, he always asks about me. If we stay in touch, if we're still friends, if I'll be coming by.

I had no interest in catching up with that smug, homophobic asshole. I was terrified of coming out because of him. I was never convinced he wasn't going to out Niall. He used it to hold over his head to manipulate Niall into doing stuff for him. Mainly, writing him admissions essays. He's just come home with a BA in computer science because of it. I'm sure he cheated his entire way through that, too. He's charming. Smooth. Slick. People are drawn to him because he's objectively attractive.

He uses people and when they're of no use anymore, he disposes of them. Take my high school friend Lucy, for example. He'd made her fall head over heels for him. They were inseparable...for months. The day after graduation, he dumped her. He needed a pretty, rich girl to bring to prom and she fit that description. Once it was over, he didn't need her anymore. He talked endlessly about all of the pussy he was going to get in California, and how he'd never leave here tied down.

Harry teased and tormented me, too, never as bad as Niall, before Liam. He used slurs, called Niall and I boyfriends, even though we've never thought about each other like that for a second. His friends would always be over at the same time that I was, and he needed them all to know that his gay stepbrother's gayness wasn't contagious. Once Liam came around, I think Harry might have actually been intimidated by him. He left Niall alone. He wouldn't speak to him unless it was necessary.

With me, however, I wasn't as protected. There were very few times Harry and I found ourselves alone together after Liam came around. He always asked the same thing. 'How bad does it hurt? Seeing your boyfriend take off with someone better, faster, stronger, more attractive?' It was easier to ignore him. If I tried to get him with a comeback, he'd verbally destroy me every time. He made fun of how I looked. How I talked and walked. Then, there was the last time, which still makes my blood boil.