Forbidden (BoyxBoy)

Chapter XXI: Carter, Dean, Frankie

Jason.

I spent my weekend hauled up in my bedroom, feeling free and numb and guilty and exhilarated. Hours were spent lying on my bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling. I was scared to leave the room, for fear of having to admit to my parents that I was, undoubtedly, a homosexual. And the one person I wanted to talk to, to confess my feelings for, was most likely figuring out the easiest way out of our friendship at any given moment. Of course, I didn't know that. But picking up the phone and speaking to him would confirm it, and I couldn't bear the thought of knowing for sure that he wanted nothing to do with me.

No, the only way I could manage to survive the weekend was to lie on my bedroom floor. I came downstairs for dinner, put on a vaguely pleasant expression, looked through my parents and Zach and Elijah instead of at them, and then retreated back to my bedroom to think about calling Alaric. I never did. I wouldn't have known what to say.

When Monday morning came around, despite my avoidance and denial the whole weekend, I hoped so purely and fervently that I would see him. That I would catch a glimpse of his tall frame, or a fragment of his woollen turtlenecks, or a passing glance at his pellucid eyes. I was convinced that seeing him would ease all the churning, uncomfortable feelings inside of me, and make all this confusion and adrenaline and staring up at the ceiling worth it.

But he was missing in English, and in History, and his tall, gracious body was nowhere to be spotted in the hallways. Not even a glimpse, fragment or passing glance. I was thoroughly crushed, and by lunchtime I was ready to lie on the floor of the school hallways and stare at the ceiling. God, what had I become?

Fortunately for me, I was afraid of what Frankie and Dean might suspect if I relegated to lying on the school linoleum like some depressed teenager rom-com protagonist, so instead I followed them to lunch. We sat in the cafeteria, at the small table we'd adopted near the emergency exit. From our spot we could see most of the student body milling around, completely oblivious the creatures among them.

Frankie and Dean were chatting idly about some girl in their biology class who kept asking Dean to be her study partner whilst I pushed tuna casserole around my plate distractedly. It smelled like fish, only much worse.

"I'm just saying, Dean, please just don't tell me you're going to go there. I'd like to maintain a slice of hope that you are capable of restraining yourself." Frankie furrowed her brow skeptically, resting her elbows on the table. Today she wore a wheat coloured dress dotted with dandelions, the frilled sleeves splaying out on the surface of the table.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean spluttered, looking only slightly offended, although he had a very obvious self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"It means that I know you, Rothchild. You find great pleasure in telling me all about your latest catch, which, by the way, seems to be any girl who makes eye contact with you. I find it hard to listen to that and call myself a feminist." Frankie explained matter-of-factly.

"That's crap," Dean's mouth hung slightly agape, his eyes filled with amusement and a pinch of hurt. "Isn't it Jason?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. Frankie did have a point. Dean did nothing in moderation, including flirt.

"I refuse to comment." I teased, raising my hands in surrender. "Although, if you were correct Frankie, that'd would mean Dean was coming for you next."

"Hah!" Dean laughed, suddenly looking giddy with victory. Frankie blushed. "That's my boy!"

With that exclamation, he reached across the table and gave my a congratulatory slap on the back. I winced slightly, but couldn't help but laugh.