Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninetenELEVEN.

man, i am SO sorry.

i'm having so much trouble with this whole thing! my computer is being spazzy and wattpad doesn't want me to post this any everything. (they threatened me in my sleep!)

holy dinosaur boobies! over four thousand reads!

i know, i know. i'm looking at all these really popular stories where like every chapter has four thousand reads, but still.

YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING.

so, i guess i gotta give this to you, huh?

here it is!

(PS: I'M SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU GUYS WAIT SO LONG)

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"Truth or dare?" Timmy asks with a wicked grin.

"Dare."

"I um...I dare you to...to lick your elbow!"

I groan.  "You know it's humanly impossible to lick your elbow."  

His dares are becoming more and more ridiculous.

 "Cut me some slack," he whines, "you've only picked dare this entire game.  I'm running out of ideas."

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Unlike me, Timmy's a little less scared of answering questions.  So far I've learned that his favorite color is purple, he used to live in Wisconsin, and he has an irrational fear of snakes, the stove, and detachable showerheads.

It's time to figure out something a little more serious.

"Who's Zachary?"

"My boyfriend," he states clearly, and then corrects himself.  "Ex-boyfriend."

"What happened to him?"

"One turn, one question.  Don't push it."  He smiles sadly at me.  "Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Gosh darn it Damian insertmiddlenamehere Owens!  You're killing me!"

"Alexander."

"Pardon me?"

"My middle name is Alexander."

Timmy thinks it over before speaking, an uncommon habit for him.  "I like that."

"Thank you."

We sit in silence.  Timmy opens his mouth to talk a couple of times, but his attempts never go any farther than sucking in a breath of air and losing his train of thought.

"What happened to Zachary?" I ask again.

He looks up at the ceiling and then back down to me, his green eyes locking into mine.  "I don't know."

"But, he's gone, right?  Is he dead?"

"No."  It's an uncomfortable struggle to watch him keep his emotions down.  "He's not dead.  He went missing.  One day, I woke up and he wasn't there anymore.  Nobody had seen him leave.  Nobody knew where he went.  I looked everywhere for him, every place we'd ever been and every place we hadn't made it to yet.  He left no clues, no signs.  There was no trace."

"What do you think happened to him?"

"I think..." is all Timmy can get out before he chokes on a round of tears.  His entire body shakes with pain-filled sobs.  He scoots across the floor and sets himself down in my lap.

It's too sudden for me to do anything but pull him as close to me as I can.  He sniffles into my shoulder, moisture soaking through to my bare skin, but I couldn't care less.

"It's okay.  Don't think about that now.  It doesn't matter anymore," I lie to him.  "The past isn't going to hurt you."

That only makes him cry harder.

"I've got you," I tell him.  It's the same thing Justin always used to tell me when I lost it.  "I've got you.  It's just me and you."

"Where's that from?" he asks through a stuffy nose.  It comes out sounding like, "whurr dat frrum?"

"Justin used to say that to me when I felt like you.  When I'd crawl onto his lap, and shut my eyes and just let the world get to me."

"Where'd Justin go?"  His eyes sparkle, no, they glow.  It steals my breath right out of my lungs.  His blue hair fades to brown, and falls just past his shoulders, wavy and bangs messy.  Timothy-Edward transforms into my ex-boyfriend.

"He went to heaven."

"Did he fly there on seven foot swan wings?"

I picture Justin with swan wings, tearing their way through his shirt and arching high above his head.  He flaps them with a burst of energy and soars high into the sky, leaving us all behind.

The body laying six feet under isn't my boyfriend.

My boyfriend is somewhere in the clouds, looking down on us all, and praying for me to get over him.  I'd want him to move on if it was me dead too.

"You betcha cute little nose he did.  He's up there right now.  If you wave, maybe he'll let us know he's watching."

Timmy waves, enthusiastically, with a smile crossing his tear stained face.  He doesn't stop when the strain in his muscles sets in, just keeps on waving.

I join him too, and we're both sitting there on the messy floor of my room, waving at the ceiling like a couple of maniacs.  And then we're laughing, shrieking and sides throbbing with the effort.  We're rolling on the ground.

Almost as though he's letting us know he's listening, a burst of sunlight breaks the cloud cover and shoots directly in through the window.  It spotlights us in gold, two teenagers laughing just for the hell of it; laughing because they're alive and healthy and they can.

"Hey, Justy," I greet the sky.