Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
I wake up this morning a nervous wreck, wondering if Gray's read my letter yet. According to my phone, it's past 11 AM, which means Gray has probably seen the letter in his mailbox by now.
Crawling out from under the covers, I stare out the window and look out on the cul-de-sac. Gray's truck is backed into the driveway, the truck-bed loaded with suitcases. Naomi and Gray walk onto the driveway, hand-in-hand, both looking excited about the day ahead. Tessa follows close behind them, panting wildly with a great big smile. Gray's sharp jaw turns to check on her, but his attention is drawn away by Naomi planting a quick kiss on those bubblegum lips that have entranced me since I met him.
Gray actually looks content with Naomi, more content then he'd probably be with a lonely boy who's desperate for someone to pull him out of the endless hurricane in his mind.
A boy who likes another boy, maybe even loves him.
***
It's a little after 3 PM now. My fingers are bloody and raw from worry, wondering if Gray has merely ignored my letter. I've chewed all the skin around my cuticles and bit my nails down to stubs. I still remember when my mom would chastise me for gnawing my fingers and tell me to stop. I never listened to her. It was a nervous habit, something I did without even knowing. Anytime I grew anxious or upset, it would take me over. It was my body's twisted way of trying to calm myself down. If I managed to focus on one thing; if I did nothing but peel at the skin a little bit more, I could be in control. Anxiety is always about control.
I've never been good at control.
I perk up at the sound of an engine starting, the headlights of Gray's truck blinking as he pulls out of the driveway. Relief surges through my chest, my heart beating rapidly as I watch Gray and Naomi drive off, his parents following close behind them in a separate car.
My bottom lip bleeds as I peel at it with my sharp teeth, salty crimson blood pouring from the wound, spilling out like a broken sprinkler. Another nervous habit. Another futile attempt at gaining control when I have none.
I'm not sure how long they'll be gone, or where they're going, but I'm just glad that they're gone. Hopefully by the time Gray returns he'll have forgotten about my letter and stay as far away for me as possible.
Unless...
What if he shows the letter to Naomi? She'll probably laugh at it and send it to everyone at Santa Barbara High School. I'll be labeled the clingy gay freak who ignorantly spilled his feelings for a straight guy.
I can already see it now. First day of junior year. Everyone is staring at me as I walk down the claustrophobic halls. My earphones are in, drowning out their collective whispers with Lady Gaga's booming vocals. Out of nowhere, some jackass rams me into the lockers, maybe even Gray. Everyone starts to laugh as they watch him fuck up my face with his fist and a few even cheer him on as the blood drips down my neck. I let them, too weak and feeble to put up a fight. A teacher or faculty member eventually breaks us up, but it's too late. I'm lying on the ground, bruised and beaten, wishing I'd never put that letter in Gray's mailbox.
I feel like I may throw up or pass out or both. My head spins and dizziness overcomes me.
I'm such an idiot! How could I be so careless?
Without warning, wet burning bile bubbles up in my throat and spills out onto the floor, leaving a puddle of mustard yellow acidic vomit. The smell nauseates me even more. I press my hand tightly against my forehead and fall backward onto the bed, letting the sheets envelop me in their soft grasp as I lay there helpless, my vision turning hazy.
My eyes shut and the world goes dark.
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