Becoming Brett

19. But You

Usually I don't mind the silence. I actually prefer it.

But not right now, not with James rigid in my front seat, neither of us saying anything.

How did we get here?

I watch a butterfly dance along in the air, it's iridescent wings shimmering in the sunlight. It lands on the wiper of my car, flapping its wings gently before it closes them shut. It looks so free and instantly I'm jealous.

How I wish to be free to do the things I want. To love who I want to love.

Instead I'm left sitting here with a pit of despair in my chest. Wanting nothing more than to reach out and promise James everything but knowing that I'll break all those promises.

"I don't want to fight." I mumble to the silence that surrounds us.

My voice hitches, emotions at the forefront threatening to spill out of me because I don't want James to give up on me. On us.

James let's out a heavy breath, I catch the movement of him shifting his gaze out the passenger window and it only makes him feel farther away. Like it's not just the weathered beige console of my wagon between us.

"Then trust me." He finally says.

"I do." I blurt the words, full of need and too eager because I just want to slap a bandaid over this. I want to stumble my way back to neutral ground.

His head shakes, eyes locked on something outside. But not me, I'm focused on him. On his dark hair meticulously cut and styled, his lashes that graze the tops of his cheeks every time he blinks. The way his lips are pursed and the tension that he holds in his eyebrows because I've frustrated him.

"No you don't."

A knife stabs me right in the gut or maybe in my heart, possibly both. Sadness the driving force behind it, shoving it in farther until pain seeps through me.

I do trust James.

I don't trust anyone else.

"Yes I do." I urge but I know how it looks.

Piercing gray eyes meet mine, determination dancing in the metal flecks that catch the sunlight.

But I can't hold his gaze. I can't admit how insecure I am when he's looking at me like that. With all the self assured confidence that swims in his eyes.

"Please don't break up with me." I have to close my eyes again.

"What?" James barks the word at me surprised. "I'm not breaking up with you."

God has my heart stopped beating? It only takes 20 seconds before someone is rendered unconscious and four minutes for the brain to die.

I don't think it's beating.

But then James' hand finds mine, peeling my fingers off the steering wheel that I've been gripping so tight. Trying to keep myself tethered to something solid and real. His skin is warm, palms slightly calloused still from the summer where he spent time doing yard work for people from his church.

Spending money, he said. But he also snuck away for secret make out sessions in my wagon more often than not. Anytime I had a moment to escape my parents predetermined itinerary they provided me at the end of junior year. It was a lot of music lessons and family outings. Well the family they like anyway.

"What're we doing?" He asks reaching for my cheek as he tilts my face toward his. "We're wasting valuable time."

But I can't let him smooth this over like he always does. I know it makes him mad. And I know I make him mad.

"I'm sorry J." The breath I took before does little to settle me.

I love the way he always trails the pads of his fingers across my skin with the gentlest touch. Tender and loving and full of care. And the way his fingertips push into my hair, splitting the strands and tangling themselves in my curls. The way his hands are always warm, even when it's cold and how he looks at me. How he seems me, how even if I want to I can't hid behind a mask.

He sees right through it.

His lips part slightly and I feel my heart leap in my chest. At least it's still working. For the time being anyway.

And then he slowly starts to close the distance between us. His eyes flutter shut, sealing off the steel gray but I can't do the same. I have to take him all in. His thick lashes that brush the tops of his cheeks curling upward slightly at the ends and the hint of the pink that grazes his cheeks, flushed from the sun that beats through the windows. And then his lips meet mine, soft and innocent causing me to melt right there in my seat.

This can't be wrong. Why would the universe or god or whatever create something that felt like this, wrong? It can't be.

This desperate need blindsides me, filling me up until all I can think about is how I need him close, closer. I need every breath of air to be gone between us as I fumble for my seat belt with my free hand. James never changes, he's always steady, always gentle. But as soon as I feel the seat belt release I tug my hand from his and pull him closer. My fingertips clawing at his shirt, at his neck, at the back of his head until I'm somewhere between my seat and his, my chest heaving, our mouths smashed together, exploring one another with a frenzied need. His hands land on my hips, pulling me the rest of the way over the console and even though it's awkward, the roof low and the quarters tight I don't protest.

I need James. Right now. All of him.

I need him to be here. To tell me this is okay. That I'm not crazy. That a boy can kiss a boy. That there's nothing wrong with us.

Tugging at his shirt, I feel his smile against my mouth, the rumble of a laugh and the feelings that overtook me moments ago come to a screeching halt. I pull back hard, my head smacking the ceiling, uncertainty filling me not because James and I haven't don't this before but because I shouldn't be kissing a boy.

I shouldn't be falling for a boy.

It's not right.

I'm not right.

I start to shift, about to retreat back to my side of the wagon but James still has a hold of my hips keeping me rooted in his lap. My face flares, probably the brightest shade of red, like a stop sign.

"Don't leave." James smiles up at me. "I was enjoying that."

Now that the thoughts are in my head they're screaming. They're loud and obnoxious and demanding and I'm filled with shame.

"Sorry." I stare at his chest.

His very solid chest, that's covered in smooth milky skin with just a handful of dark hairs dotting it. Thank god it's covered by his T-shirt.

"Hey." His hand leaves my hips, raising to play with one of my curls that sticks out like a haphazard mess from my head. "Don't shut down on me like that."

He knows me too well.

"I-I didn't." I lie. "This is just a little uncomfortable."

"I'm comfortable." He muses.

But I can't find the same humor because James is comfortable. He's comfortable with who he is. Even with his fear. He's already offered to come out first. And then there's me. Forever stuck in a closet, hiding who I am and the person that I'm with because I'm not comfortable with who I am. Not in the slightest. So I'm left to live a life full of lies and insecurity, festering in jealousy because I can't just openly love another boy.

I'm too busy spiraling down a pit of despair, reading from a list of all the things I'll never have when James cups my face in his hands, my eyes go wide.

He's as steady as always.

"Just trust me Brett. There's no one else but you."

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Oh James 💙.

Someone come hold my hand and be my assistant.