Flower Boy (BoyxBoy)

iv

kevin.

"BABE, I'M HOME," I ANNOUNCE AS I ENTER THE APARTMENT. I set the groceries in the kitchen, looking around the door frame for Isabel.  When I see her, I quickly put the disks behind my back.

"Hiding something?" She asks, kissing my cheek and reaching behind my back.

"No!" I laugh. "This is a surprise gift that you cannot have until Friday."

She sighs and pouts. "Can't I have a sneak peak? Friday is so far away!"

"You can wait three days, my love," I smile, kissing her forehead as I pass her. "I'll be right back to help with groceries!"

I switch the bag from behind me to in front as I walk into our bedroom.

I didn't plan this far ahead, I think as I search for a good hiding place.  I decide to put them on top of the armoir before walking back into the kitchen.  I go slowly past Isabel and take a bag of broccoli and carrots into my hands. "What shifts are you working next week?"

"I work Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday from open to close," she responds, putting her chips and junk food away. "Want a sandwich?"

"Yes," I moan. "I haven't eaten all day!"

"You need to make a schedule, Kev. Otherwise, you're going to get too skinny," Isabel scolds.

"I was too busy running errands to eat today," I say. "Speaking of errands, I met someone today."

"Do I have any chance against them?"

"I don't know, he was pretty sexy."

She laughs and hugs my waist, looking up with her chin on my chest.  "Oh, geez, then I'm in trouble, huh!"

"Don't worry too much, I think he was a little off."

"How so?"

"Well, it was more like he was really nervous around me. He kept rubbing his wrist and looking around nervously."

"Don't sweat it, babe," Isabel says as she puts the chicken ramen away. "Maybe he was mental. Or just not a people person."

"Yeah, I guess.  Autism maybe?"

"Maybe.  Listen, it's almost six. How about we have dinner, study for the Chem test that's on Thursday, and then go to bed. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

edd.

THE BEST PART OF MY DAY IS COMING HOME TO AN EMPTY APARTMENT. When I enter the house, I set my hat and keys on my kitchen counter and head straight for my bedroom, bringing my backpack with me.

My feet slap against my light hardwood floor as I walk through my hallway, my head full of intruding thoughts.

What are you doing?

I sigh and shut my door, dropping my backpack on the floor of my bedroom and getting my notebook and botany textbook out.

You looked so stupid. Why did you even try?

I wipe my face with my hands and open the textbook to the page on Echeveria Lola and grab my sharpie and pen. I can feel my anxiety levels rising, my hands are shaking and my breath is rapid.

You're an idiot.

"I'm not," I say, rubbing my wrists.

He isn't different.

"I'm over him." I rub my scalp and try the breathing exercises my therapist taught me. My mind only laughs at me and reminds me that his hands were there. His hands were everywhere.

You're a slut.

"I am not!" Although, I'm starting to believe it.  "I don't like him!"

A whore.

"I'm not," I groan.

You will never see him again.

"It'll be for the best," I rub my wrists.

It's only for the best, of course. You're not stable enough for a relationship. You're too weak.

"I know." I twist the skin as tears fill my eyes.

Why don't you just give up?

"I am."