𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

touch

Jorge's POV:

I stare blankly at the wall in front of me. I am on Benji's bed, listening to the conversation happening outside of his bedroom door. I dig my nails into my palms.

I'm disgusting.

"Mom, please let him stay." Benji pleads.

I'm disappointing.

"Benji, we can't afford another mouth to feed." His mom replies, softly.

I'm a burden.

"And besides, where would he sleep?" Benji's dad points out.

None of this would've happened if I was straight.

"He can eat off of my plate and sleep on my bed. I- I don't mind." Benji begs.

I don't deserve Benji. I'm gross.

There is a short silence.

"He can stay for now. But this is not a permanent solution." Benji's dad says, sharply.

I zone out of the conversation, tears filling my eyes. I just want to scrub the filth off of me. The dirt of disappointment and the grime of failure.

I hate myself.

Benji creaks open the door, a small smile on his face.

"You can stay."

I look at my lap, unsure of what to say. Finally I muster up a small "thanks".

Benji sits beside me on the bed, causing the mattress to dip slightly. He reaches out to touch me, but I flinch away.

Being gay is what made this all happen. I can't let Benji touch me.

Or else I'll just disappoint more people.

Benji looks taken aback. I lie down, not facing him. He lays beside me, his body too close to mine.

I move my head to the other end of the bed.

"I'm sorry, Jorge. I don't know what your mom said to you but-" He gives up when he realizes I'm ignoring him.

My brain won't stop.

gross. failure. disaster. dirty. disgusting. stupid. loser. worthless.

Benji's POV:

I struggle to understand Jey's behavior last night.

He has every right to be upset, his mom just kicked him out of the house. But it's like a switch flipped inside of him on the car ride home. He didn't want me to touch him anymore.

I wonder if it's some kind of response to the trauma of being rejected by his mom. But why is it being aimed at me?

Had his mom made him feel guilty about being gay? To the point where he feels bad about touching me?

I'm not mad at Jey; I'm scared for him. I don't understand what's happening in his brain right now. He was always so needy. He loved my touch. And I loved his.

And now he recoils at the brush of an arm.

I'll stay beside him- No matter what. If it really is trauma, I will help him fight it. I'm determined.

I drive him to school in the morning. I have a billion questions itching to leap out of my mouth, but I don't want to pressure Jey. He's in a vulnerable position right now, and I don't want to abuse that. I'm honestly just grateful I got him in the car with me.

In first hour he sits next to me, only talking about the lesson at hand. I'm glad to hear his voice, but something about it sounds empty.

His words are hollow, lacking meaning. I want him to talk to me, not just churn out casual bullshit.

Benji, relax.

This isn't the same boy I knew before.

This boy has been hurt. Damaged.

This boy is afraid.

The bell rings, and I pack up my things. I linger in the doorway, waiting for Jey to catch up. He smiles at me, gratefully, and I feel a bit of hope.

But that hope is quickly shattered when I see his behavior in the hallway. He walks carefully, avoiding the touch of everyone.

So it's not just me.

He's scared to touch anyone.

My heart breaks looking at the fear flashing in his eyes. He looks claustrophobic in the sea of people.

"Jey, do you want to go to the bathroom? To get some space?" I ask, sympathetically.

He nods.

I walk with him to the bathroom, where he instantly goes to the sink. He starts scrubbing his hands with soap.

"What are you doing?" I ask carefully, not wanting to upset him.

Without looking up he responds, "I feel gross."

I don't understand. God, I wish I understood. All I want is to help him. I just don't know what to do.

After a minute or two of scrubbing, his breathing steadies.

I walk to the next period completely dumbfounded. I don't get it.

The rest of the day goes just like that. Jey's voice stays small and quiet. He waits until the halls are empty to walk to his classes. He picks at his lunch.

All I want is to hold him. Or touch him. Not even in a sexual or romantic way. I just want him to trust me.

I know I have to talk to him about it, but I need to wait until we're alone. I decide that I'll take him to the park after school.

I wait for him at his locker as he slowly picks up his books. The halls have pretty much cleared out by now.

"I was thinking we could go to the park." I suggest, leaning against the locker next to his.

He looks at me hesitantly and nods. I can tell he doesn't like the idea, though.

As we drive there, I mull over what I could possibly say. Or ask. Or do.

"What happened, Jorge?" I blurt.

He doesn't look up.

"I miss you." I confess, and without thinking I place a hand on his arm.

He convulses, flinging my hand away.

"Stop. Please." He whimpers.

I sigh. "How can I help you?"

"Just please don't touch me."

I decide against the park, and tell Jey that we can just go home. I can practically feel the relief radiating off of him.

I gaze at him, lovingly. He's beautiful. I'm going to make this all right.

[Thank you guys for 3k. Your kind comments and favorites are the only thing keeping me writing ❤️.

I'm sorry if my updates are slow right now, I'm going through a lot. My heart is beyond broken, and I've been too sad to eat solid food in days. So that means that all of my writing processes {brainstorming, writing, and editing} are taking ten times longer to get done. And they're also being done much less efficiently. So I apologize if my writing seems a little bit off.

I love you all so much, and I will keep on trying to update as consistently as possible. I'm a fourteen year old girl, so sometimes small things hit me really hard. I hope you all understand.

This story is not over yet, though, so don't worry.]