The carbonated citrus water stung the back of my throat. The sensation was either caused by the strong lemon flavor or the harsh fizz. I couldn't tell without the two being separated.
"What did you want to talk about, Ross?" Belle asked. Her hair draped over her eyes like curtains framing a window that held a bright day. She sat across from me and parked her hands on her lap. A silence cascaded over my home, empty of parents or sisters to hear our conversation.
I looked down at my drink to see it was bubbling less furiously from when I first poured it. Maybe if I gulped it all at once it would paralyze my entire mouth, making it impossible to utter the dreaded words I had to say to Belle.
"Stop doing that," she demanded. I was tapping my glass unconsciously. I put it down on the coffee table to cease anymore distractions. I locked my gaze with her and leaned over. She did the same, ready to listen attentively to whatever I had to say.
"I love you, Belle," I started.
"And I love you, too," she said with a half grin.
"I have to be honest with you. I've had this feeling for a while now."
"What feeling?" she questioned with caution in her tone.
I sighed in frustration. "Can you talk when I'm done, please?" She nodded in agreement while keeping her poised, upright position.
"When I was younger, it was natural for me to like other people." Her eyebrows slanted in confusion. I took a deep breath. "More specifically, I like other genders." Her eyebrows raised. I didn't pause to inhale. "More specifically, Belle, I'm bisexual."
Belle's expression went blank. She stared at me for what seemed like centuries.
"Belle," I said with my voice cracking and lip quivering. I stood up and watched over her to see her reaction. "Say something. Please."
She shook her head at the floor and placed her right arms akimbo. "Huh," she said and averted her eyes at me. "I can't believe I'm dating a faggot."
"What?" I spoke in disbelief.
"I can't believe," she shouted, "I let a faggot date me." I was standing but I felt like falling. I fell into the thoughts when I first started dating her, to the nights spent crying over this, and into the day I repeated "you're bi" to myself in the mirror while my little sister overheard everything when I thought I was alone.
My voice shook as I said, "I don't understand."
"You understood exactly what I said." She rose from her seat and grabbed my wrists tightly with her cold hands. "You were just using me as a beard."
"I thought you were going to be more compassionate about this. Belle, I love-" before "you" could be let out, she let go of her grasp and slapped me. My cheeks seared with pain, and the saltiness of my tears did not soothe it. I didn't need a mirror to know a scarlet hand shaped print was stuck on my face.
My surroundings suddenly felt unfamiliar. It didn't seem like I was at home, in my own safe haven. I couldn't recognize the girl standing before me in a stern position and an angry expression. This didn't feel like the life I was living. Everything felt absurd and surreal.
I looked into her forest green eyes. I once saw warmth, comfort, and most of all, love in them. All of that was replaced by something I always knew was there, but never thought would affect me: her ability to be dominant.
"I can't believe you would hurt me like this," she cried.
Me neither, I wanted to say. Somehow I knew if I said those words, her hand would once again collide with my already beaten face. But maybe that hit would've slapped me back into reality, because I refuse to believe this nightmare was it.
I replied sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Belle." If only I weren't the way I was. I wished I could blame my mother for always talking about her tall, dark, and handsome lovers. When I was young and admired my mother so much, I couldn't help being intrigued by what she had to say about other men. I knew the way I felt was wrong.
"Ross," she said. Belle reached up to my face and I flinched. She gently wiped away my tears. "You're a coward." She smirked then put her hands on my cheeks, ready to make her next move.
"No, you are," I muttered. "For hurting someone who loved you."
"You didn't love me," she said aggressively. "If you did you wouldn't have these 'feelings.'"
"I did love you," I retaliated. "But not anymore. Get out of my house." She let go of my face and quickly walked over to the door, her red locks bouncing with every step.
'You'll never be loved again, Ross."
"I would rather be loved by no one than be loved by you, Belle."
"There's something wrong with you." She slammed the door as hard as she slapped me and left. I took the deep breath I needed before I presented her with the news and exhaled slowly. Maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe there was something wrong with her. With us separated, now I could find out.
'IMG'S|ຢ}k'
