Blurred Lines [BxB] COMPLETED

0.11

0.11 - Monday 6:17 p.m.

Maverick Bale

Every time I shut my eyes Rhys's face appears and his voice tells me that I don't understand. He's right, there is something I'm not getting.

When I play that moment back in my mind, all I can think about are his eyes. The sun had amplified the flecks of gold in his green ones, making them seem almost hazel.

"You don't understand—"

"Understand what?"

We locked eyes then and his were swirling with such conflicting emotions of pain and longing, desperation and despair, that I couldn't speak or move to stop him once he turned and left.

I pass a hand over my face, trying to squash the memory. Thinking about it won't do me any good.

The shower head above me starts to spray cold water. I must've been standing in the shower for a long time. Come to think of it, I haven't heard a single one of my teammates talking for the past fifteen minutes.

"Anyone here?" I shout, just for the fun of it. My words echo in the locker room, the only response to my question.

I turn the shower off and grab the towel I placed over the curtain, drying my hair and body before securing it around my waist. I pull back the curtain and step out to an empty locker room, towels draped across benches, a forgotten Gatorade bottle, and someone's school backpack peeking out from an open locker.

After finding my locker and twisting in the combination, I take out my phone from my sports bag to see eight missed calls from my mom. Shit.

I press her phone number and send a quick prayer asking for mercy. My mom picks up on the second ring.

"Maverick William Bale! What is going on? I called you ten times!" my mom shrieks. I grimace.

"Eight," I say under my breath.

"Eight what?" my mom asks demandingly. I didn't think she had heard me.

"Oh. Um, you only called me eight times. You said ten," I clarify and regret immediately. My mom sighs.

"Not the point, Maverick, and you know it. You were supposed to be home thirty minutes ago," she says.

"I lost track of time," I say vaguely. "I'll be home soon. Please chill out."

"Don't tell me to chill out!" my mom snaps. She sighs again. "Just get home quick. Don't forget, we have family dinner tonight."

I groan internally. "Okay, bye mom."

"Bye honey. Love you," she says.

"Love you too," I reply quickly before hanging up.

Really? Another family dinner? It seems like we just had one yesterday, even though it was last week.

My parents have decided that we should have a family dinner every week, Monday's usually. It's the first day of the school and work week, and according to my genius parents, the perfect time to catch up and organize the family agenda.

Why do we need to catch up? We see each other every day. And family agenda? Since when do we ever plan things days in advance?

I hurry up gathering my things anyway, not keen on angering my mother more. She's not really a strict parent, but she values communication and punctuality, two things I coincidentally lack very much.

By the time my Uber drops me off in front of my house, it's almost seven o'clock. I use my spare key to get in and follow the aroma of crisp chicken to the dining room. My parents look up when I enter, my mom narrowing her eyes and my dad with an apologetic smile. Rachel doesn't look up from her plate, continuing to take bites of her pasta.

"So, how was practice?" my mom asks as I settle into my chair.

"Uneventful," I say, knowing that's the only answer that prevents any more questions from coming my way. After my mom frowns at me, she starts asking Rachel about her dance class, and I start to pile chicken and pasta on my plate.

"Hey Maverick, aren't you and Rhys going to that fair next weekend?" my mom asks. Startled, the glass of water that was halfway to my lips slips out of my fingers, the water quickly spilling on the tablecloth and the glass clanging against my plate.

"Maverick!" my mom screeches. "Clean that up right now! What was that for?"

"Sorry, mom. I didn't do it on purpose," I say, pushing out of my chair noisily and stomping to the kitchen. Once out of sight, I lean back against the counter, my breath rattling in my chest.

I can hear my dad trying to talk reason, and Rachel chiming in calling me clumsy. They have no clue. I try to imagine walking out and saying it. Hey mom, dad, Rachel, I'm bisexual. Or I'm pretty sure I am. And I think Rhys hates me for it. Want me to put your plate in the dishwasher?

No. Just, no. If Rhys reacted the way he did, how would my parents? The very thought made my knees weaken.

"Maverick, what's taking so long?" I hear my mom ask from the dining table. With a sigh. I grab a towel and head back.

"Sorry," I mutter before drying the tablecloth and sitting back down. No one really spoke after that except for the occasional remark from either of my parents. I notice that Rachel is staring at me, but when I shoot her a questioning glance she quickly looks away. Weird.

"Okay I'm gonna go upstairs," I say when I finish the last few pieces of pasta on my plate. My mom nods at me and I get up, quickly putting my plate in the sink.

"Don't forget to do your homework!" my mom calls after me as I walk up the stairs. I open the door to my room when Rachel says my name. I hadn't even realized she was behind me.

"Wait," she says quietly. Curious as to why she's acting so secretive, I hang back, waiting for her to finish climbing up the stairs.

"What?" I ask. Rachel hurries up the last steps and comes close.

"Are you gay?" Rachel asks, a bit too eager for comfort, and I suck in a breath. It's not like she's too young to understand the implications of her accusation. She's only three years younger than me, in eighth grade. So how can she ask me this so abruptly and with such casualty?

"No," I say with a scowl, then because I can't help myself, "why are you asking?"

Rachel shrugs. "Someone posted a photo of you kissing a guy on my Ask.fm page."

"You guys still use that?" I ask, hoping the disgust on my face weighs out the blush tinting my cheeks. Rachel frowns. "And that was a joke when I was super drunk, okay?"

"I was just asking. Well, whatever. I knew you weren't gay," Rachel says dismissively before prancing off down the hall to her room.

It takes me a moment to digest Rachel's words, but when I do, I have to stifle a laugh. Because she's actually right. I'm not gay—just definitely not straight.