Colors (bxb) [DISCONTINUED]

cool

"I was just trying to be cool. I was just trying to be like you."

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

It's a little over midnight when I awake.

Staring at my phone, wincing at the bright light shining into my eyes, I try to keep my brain from overloading me with a bombardment of questions. I don't want to freak out - not again. Calmly thinking things through, however, will feel like I'm pulling nails out of my ass. What's the next option? Ignore everything and pretend that it's all fine? Will that work this time?

Which is it gonna be, Kristopher? Freak out, pull the nails out of your ass, or let them stay in there?

I know what I should do; I just really, really, really don't want to think about what happened today, and what could happen tomorrow. My hands tremble as it struggles to keep the Nokia in its clutches; my eyes fill with tears and my vision struggles to keep its clarity. I feel frozen - trapped in the covers of my bed, hiding in the darkness of my room. One side of my brain is screaming at me to forget about it all and . . . and do what, exactly? What am I supposed to do? Ignoring what happened will just prolong the inevitable, and possibly make my pain even worse.

That's what the other side of my brain is telling me. Waiting won't work. Running away from my problems will not work. Not this time.

I close my eyes, swallowing down my fear and apprehension. Just take it slow, Kristopher. You don't have to pull off the bandage too fast.

But it has to come off.

Okay. Okay. What happened? I went to Robin's house to work on the project. He . . . He said that he noticed me staring. And then he kissed me. And then I kissed him. And then, somehow, someway, I was locking lips with my ex-crush of two years. For the first time in my life, I was actually being a typical teenage boy . . . in a non-typical way.

My mind goes back to the kiss. The way his lips felt against mine, the way his arms wrapped themselves around me and refused to let go. A mixture of want and self-loathing twirls inside the pit of my stomach; I want to do it again, more than I want to do anything. But I shouldn't, because . . . because . . .

Because of what? Justin? When will you realize that he's nothing more than a fantasy?

I wince at the haughty voice in the back of my head. Like the sharp needle of a wasp, the truth stings. Don't let anyone ever tell you that the truth will set you free; it locks you up, makes you hate yourself, makes you want to escape reality for just a few more seconds. But you can't. You can never escape reality. No matter how much you run, no matter how much you try to pretend that everything is alright and everything will be alright.

It won't be alright. When you're a closeted gay guy surrounded by thousands of bad scenarios, nothing will be alright.

Stop getting distracted. Stop wallowing in your own pathetic sorrow. Replay what happened today and think of a solution!

Okay. Okay . . . After the major makeout session, Robin took out a condom. He said that he wanted to have sex, or insinuated it, and I freaked out, and then I realized that he knew my secret, and . . .

And Robin knows my secret . . .

Robin knows that I'm gay.

The same emotion that overwhelmed me at his house makes its return. Panic, dismay, unbelief. Pure, unadulterated terror. And a bitter sadness, one that clutches onto your soul and sucks away every bit of joy you possess. I won't escape from this; I can't escape from this. Robin knows that I'm gay. He knows that I'm gay. Nobody knows that I'm gay - nobody but Robin. It's almost surreal. I've been holding onto that secret for as long as humanly possible. And now, just because of one insane experience . . . somebody knows the one thing that makes me . . . me.