I miss Snake terribly the second after he walks out the front door. At least I have prom to look forward to, which I'm now excited for. How ironic. At the beginning of the school year I laughed in the face of school activities. Now I'm set to attend senior prom with the coolest guy I've ever met; and I'm honoured. My grandparents are so happy to see me when they return that Nana almost immediately asks me to do the dishes the second they walk inside. "Yes, Nana." I sigh, and shuffle over to the kitchen sink. Why can't she do them? Maybe because she didn't dirty any of them. "That's a lot of dishes for one lad!" Grandpa points out, eying up the overflowing sea of dirty dishes. Nana glances over and agrees. Dammit. Thanks, Grandpa. "What can I say? I eat a lot." I lie, scrubbing soy sauce off a porcelain plate. "Well, try to reuse plates next time, son." Grandpa says, suspicion still lingering in his tone of voice. While I cleanse the remaining dishes, I think about the past weekend. It was the time of my life. Man, I hope nothing ruins it. I finish as quick as possible and I run upstairs to find Nana hovering at my bedroom door, looking in as Grandpa rummages through my things. These people give me no privacy. Grandpa pulls the muddy clothes out of my hamper and examines them.
"You go outside and prance in the mud," he says, "and then you do it again, in completely different clothes?"
"Matthew, what's going on with you?" Nana asks, putting her hand on my shoulder. Oh shit, she's concerned. Then, grandpa unnecessarily adds, "Now, before you lie to us again, Brandon spoke to us this morning before we came inside. You have ten seconds to explain who the hell that man was and why you were with him that night." All of a sudden, I'm weak. Anxiety comes up and kicks me in the ass, as it always does at the best times, of course. Brandon has gone too far. He can tell the whole school, he can tell my best friend. But my grandparents? That's too low, even for him.
"I'm eighteen. I can live my life the way I want to," I say, full of a grand bravado, "and I don't appreciate it when you guys go through my shit like that."
"Matthew, who was that man?" Nana asks. She seems to be good cop in this interrogation. After Grandpa slams in with the lovely, "And why the hell were you kissing him?" I feel my heart snap.
"I'm fucking eighteen!" I exclaim. "I can do whatever the hell I want with whoever the hell I want! I happen to be in love with that man and if you don't like it, tough shit. And before you say it, yes! Yes, lovely grandparents, I am a homosexual. You'll get over it, but I won't."
This is the worst fight of my life, where, in this case, it seems like I'm fighting for my life. I shouldn't have to argue with my grandparents about this. Like I said, I'm eighteen. The difference between snake and I is only two, almost three years. I love him and I don't like how that has to be such a problem. Grandpa wants to throw me out, but Nana convinces him to let me stay at least until after graduation. Unhappily, he obliges, and they leave me to my own devices. They aren't happy with me at all. I brought a "strange man" into "their house." At least I fucked him outside; I don't mention this to either of them, of course.
I, once again, walk alone to school, ignoring Nana's offer to drive me. Someone throws a Slushie, but I dodge it. I'll only let that happen to me once. The minute I walk in, I start looking for George Daniel, half expecting he's forgotten about what happened already. He sees me, and quickly walks away. Great. I think that it's about time I confront that douchebag. Of course, what good will that do? It'll just make everything worse. During lunch period, just before geometry, I can't eat my sandwich. Everyone's talking, and they're talking about me. I glance over at someone's phone to see the video they're all watching, thinking it's just something stupid, like something Michelle taped at the restaurant. No, it's not that simple. One of the creeps from her clique was outside our tent the night we fucked, and they fucking recorded it. The whole school has seen it, and now, the whole cafeteria knows that I know they've seen it. They've all stopped laughing. They're all looking at me. I'm tearing up, falling apart right here, right now. My heart's beating a mile a minute and I can't breathe. Every effort to take in oxygen is a fail. Am I dying? I try to picture Snake, holding my hand, kissing me, but I can't. All I can see is fire. Burning. Fire burning him, fire burning us, and every memory we made. I manage to get the strength to stand up, and I watch the eyes of my peers follow me out of the cafeteria. As I'm doing so, my phone buzzes again and again. People are texting me, taunting me, asking when their turns are. I'm being called names, horrible things, things I've avoided for so long. Slut. Whore. Homo. Faggot. My personal favourite text that I receive? Hey, whore, how much did you pay him? I swear, no one would want to fuck you for free. But that guy seems like a creep, so I can see why he did it. When did I get to the bathroom? I walk in, and it's worse. People are surrounding the urinals and the stalls, watching the video. From their phones, I can hear my moaning. I don't know what's worse; the fact that they're enjoying the video, or the fact that they're seeing it at all. "Hey, look! It's the freak!" One of the guys says, laughing, punching his mate's shoulder and pointing at me. Still sobbing, I run out and make my way to the exit. I don't care how much trouble I get in for leaving the building like this. It won't matter for long. I trip over my own feet, stumble, but don't fall. I keep walking myself home. My brain's sending prayers to Snake, rapid-fire, wondering why the hell he hasn't shown up to save me yet. The entire school is against me, now. I have nowhere to hide. The texts keep coming. More slut-shaming. I've never wanted to be held so badly in my life. I feel small, helpless. My skin goes cold. I run the rest of the way home. I start to get calls. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. I can hear my heart beat in my ears. Or is that feeling? Or taste? Or is that the blood from my nose? Am I really bleeding, or am I hallucinating? I'm in my bedroom, pacing, pulling on my hair, sobbing. I call George Daniel. I leave a message. "Hey, George. It's me, it's Matty. I just, I want to tell you how sorry I am. I want to tell everyone how sorry I am for whatever it is that I did to them but I only have your number. Everyone hates me, Georgie. I don't know why, and I, I feel so alone. If you ever listen to this, I hope..." I choke on a sob, "I hope that you can forgive me someday. Thanks for being my friend for as long as you could." I hang up the phone, and lock my window, something I've never done before, and pull the curtains closed. I pace some more. I move to the bathroom, close the door. I look in the mirror. My hair's a fucking mess, my face is red, puffy, wet. I've lost myself. I exit the bathroom and return to my room. I'm a mess. I don't know what to do first. I grab a notebook and scratch something on a piece of paper with pen. I don't know what I'm writing, it's just happening. It's all happening so fast. I crumple the paper up, and I'm back in the bathroom. I'm opening the medicine cabinet, then a bottle of Nana's sleeping pills is in my hands. I hear someone coming through the front door. The damn bottle won't open. I'm screaming, words I don't know because I can't control it. The bottle opens, and I'm being tackled. Pills scatter across the floor. Is that George's voice? I hear George Daniel, I feel hands on my face. I pass out.
"Overall, he'll be all right. I just want to keep him overnight to be sure." A faint voice is saying. My vision's blurry, but I can make out at least three people. Two are sitting by me, one's walking out of the room. My hearing clears, and I can hear beeping behind Nana's voice, and George Daniel's. They're talking about something, I don't know what. Wait, I think I can make it out. "I found this paper on the bathroom floor." George says, uncrumpling a piece of paper. I remember writing on that. "It says Jesse."
"Thank you, George. I'll ask him about it." Nana says, taking the paper like it's a sickly animal, and throwing it in the garbage once Daniel's gone. I want to leave this place. I don't like it.
"Hey, Matty." Nana says, noticing I'm awake. She places her hand on my forehead as my vision clears. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." I lie. My head's spinning, my chest is pounding. I'm tired. Ah, the familiar smells of the hospital. "So, who's Jesse?" Nana asks, suddenly. Ah, right to the point, I see. I try to mentally form a sentence good enough to explain it, but the only thing I can get out is a stuttered echo of the name. "J- Jesse..." I know I didn't take any pills. Why am I still here? Maybe it's the fact I can barely speak or breathe. I feel my face with my hand. There's tubes in my nose. Lovely. "Is that the boy from the photos?" Nana asks. Ah, she gets it. I watch her pull my phone from her pocket and she types a text to someone, and hits send. She's here alone; I can't help but notice that Grandpa isn't here. He's either pissed that I failed, or he feels guilty for giving me so much shit. "It's all gonna be okay." Nana whispers before kissing my forehead. "Get some rest, okay?"
I don't know how much time has passed since I passed out, but Nana wakes me up, and when I'm awake, I find my voice and my vocabulary again. I feel much better. I wonder what meds they gave me to make that happen. George Daniel's standing next to her when I open my eyes, guilt sprawled out across his ugly face. "Matty, someone's here to see you. He's just outside." Nana says. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, Nana." I say, this time not much a lie. I feel fine, just as fine as I could be. Without a word, Nana and George Daniel walk out, leaving me in my confusion. I strain to sit up, and I remove the oxygen tubes from my face and toss them aside. I believe I call them a cunt as I do it. Suddenly, I smell something comfortingly familiar. Like roses, mint, vanilla, all smoked together in the same skillet. I find myself frowning, and thinking, no, it can't be. I look up.
