Unless (LGBTQ+ BxB Completed Novel)

9: Heart-shaped box.

I used to think my friends overrated first kisses...

I remember sitting with them after school, sneaking smokes on the wall that overlooked the park, listening to how they had made out with girls and how incredible the experience had been. They talked about tongues, lips and shivers, wanting to continue kissing and hopefully touching everything they could touch if they were allowed—wincing inwardly all the time.

They gesticulated and laughed—howled would be more accurate—and I... I stayed as if stunned, trying to hide my what-a-load-of-crap frown that died to come out.

Butterflies in the stomach. Yes, of course.

A kind of weakness in the knees, they said. What was wrong with them? Did kissing aged you prematurely?

Bullshit—that's what I wanted to scream at them while remembering my first kiss.

It happened in the middle of my friend Ethan's twelfth birthday, in front of everyone, while we were playing the famous spin the bottle game. Sitting in a circle, girls intermingled with boys. We took turns to turn it, and whoever pointed it, had to kiss.

After Tyler had kissed Amanda—something really graphic and uncomfortable to see—between nervous giggles and expectant looks, it was Maureen Adams's turn. She was an exchange student, really beautiful, with her long auburn hair and almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with mischief.

She stretched out her hand, rattling a dozen colored bracelets, as she determinedly gave the bottle a spin that would soon point at us both. I swear when the damn thing stopped twirling and pointed our way, I just stood there, for ten seconds, pressing my lips against hers, feeling nothing in particular.

Fireworks, where were they?

And the famous butterflies? They never bothered to show up. To my surprise, Maureen wanted to deepen the kiss. Her mouth tasted like strawberry milkshake.

When the seconds were up, I saw the greed in the eyes of my classmates: they all wanted to kiss her, she was the new class novelty. They made faces at me, silent questions, they wanted to know if it had been amazing, as it should be. I gave them what they were looking for: an imperceptible movement of my head, which was preceded by whistles and whispers.My eyes sank into hers, with her rosy cheeks, and her dreamy gaze, and the guilt of having been the lucky bastard who stole her first kiss without feeling anything in return, hit me like a boiling iron in the chest. 

"Noah, was it as nice for you as it was for me?" she had asked me later that night. She had approached timidly, resting her hand on my back. The party had moved to the backyard, on a huge wooden deck overlooking the lake.

I turned around, part to face her, part to get her hand off of me that had already started caressing my right arm. Maureen looked like a movie star, the breeze rippling her hair almost in slow motion.

"O-of course it was," I lied blatantly. "It was incredible. Thanks." Those ridiculous words I said to her still ring in my ears. What a complete idiot. The truth is that I didn't have the heart to be honest with her, to confess to that sweet girl something that I still couldn't explain to myself.

"Don't thank me, silly." She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing, ready for kiss number two. My whole body tensed, taking a few awkward steps back as if she were radioactive. "I'm sorry, Maureen. I didn't mean to..." I tried to hug her, but it felt stiff, manufactured. She just nodded sadly.

"Don't apologize, nothing's wrong. Would you like to go out for ice cream with me tomorrow? It took her two seconds to lose her smile after asking me out. Two more to understand that we were never going to kiss again. She adjusted her dress uncomfortably, trying to hide the trembling in her hands, and with every minute of awkward silence that followed, I sank deeper into despair of not being able to repay her. I choked on fake talk, couldn't utter any more lies. I ended up walking away from her, like a total coward, without looking back. To make matters worse, unfortunately, my friends took my refusal as a triumph. I had dumped the most coveted girl, leaving her behind as if nothing had happened. I tried to explain to them that it wasn't like that at all, but it only made me more popular. I ended up refusing any more dates, kisses, and bottle games. I didn't want to break any more hearts, all that had left me more than confused. Then Candace appeared, with her whirlwind of raging hormones and sensual curves. By then, my own hormones didn't give a damn about my confusion. So, defeated, I let them take the initiative. I became an expert in hiding my restlessness, keeping my heart in the most hidden drawer of my closet. I welcomed more empty kisses, and sex without strings attached. Necessary pleasures to drown the nothingness that was already growing inside me. I should have realized the damage I was causing, not only to her but to myself. I've been living under false pretenses, building crafted walls of excuses to escape from the genuine issue here—how fucking wrong I was to think my cardiac muscle was just a heart-shaped box. All that time, I thought there was something wrong with me. I blamed myself for not being able to give and commit.