Dear Simon,

Chapter Seven

     Forewarning: This chapter contains curse words and if that makes you highly uncomfortable, I recommend that you not read this.

     I spend the rest of the night crying. That fucking asshole. I hate him. I hate him so much. My insides are boiling and I want to scream. How dare he threaten to out me to everyone? How could he threaten to rip me out of my closet when I'm not ready? I wish I never existed. I wish I'm straight and I certainly wish I wasn't born a female. Then, none of this would even be happening.

     Rays of sunshine force their way through my window curtains. It leaks into my eyelids and consciousness finds me. I feel like I've been hit by a semi-truck; maybe it's because I fell asleep crying on my bedroom floor though. There's a knock on my door.

     "Who is it?"

     The door opens, "it's me: Harry."

     "Get out! I don't want to see you now or ever!"

     He rolls his eyes and invites himself into my room. "Your mom invited me to breakfast yesterday."

     "You should have told her that you have plans."

     "But I don't."

     I grab a pillow from my bed and hurl it at him. "Well go make some!"

     He catches the pillow and shakes his head. "We need to study, remember?"

     "I hate you!" My face is hot again. My vision is blurry and my eyes are stinging. He doesn't say anything. His jaw is tight and his eyes are hard. He throws his bookbag on my bed and empties the contents. My composition book is missing. My stomach drops. What did I expect? For him to carry the only incentive I have to not disassociate myself from him entirely back to my house? "You know what? You want to study? Fuck it. Let's study." We spend the next couple of hours only speaking of Algebraic equations and I haven't eaten breakfast. I'm not hungry. There's a knock on my door.

     "Hey Study Buddies, you two have been studying for a while now. I brought you some lunch." Mom invites herself in with two plates of sandwiches and chips.

     "Can you set mine on my desk? I'll eat it later."

     She nods and hands Harry's plate to him, "have fun you two." She then points at us with raised eyebrows and a finger pointing in our faces, "but not too much fun."

     I roll my eyes. I'd rather do anything else before I "have fun" with Harry Walters. He eats his lunch and I avoid mine. I don't think I could scrap it down if I tried. After he eats we work on Algebra for the rest of the day. We speak of nothing but Algebra. Harry leaves at seven-thirty in the evening and promises to return tomorrow. As he leaves I catch a dark purple spot on his wrist. I've been finding a lot of those recently. I hope it isn't what I'm suspecting. I feel my heart drop at the thought alone. I rush upstairs and I throw myself onto my bed. A sigh escapes my lips. Math has killed my brain. I pick up my phone and start scrolling through social media. After an indiscernible amount of time, I find myself on the Creeksecrets Tumblr. As I scroll, I recall the Ferris Wheel story from when I was in middle school.

     I shake my head. I have no idea what I'm going to do. My hands swipe down my face slowly and I want to scream. I don't. What am I going to do? If Harry doesn't pass then I'm fucked. I search the name Simon Speir on Facebook. We relate only by high schools. The profile picture is of two men; one has brown eyes and a dark complexion. The other has blue eyes and a jacket over a hoodie. I don't know which is Simon so I scroll through his photos. This isn't considered stalking, is it? After ten minutes of looking at pictures, It's blatantly obvious that Simon is the man with a jacket over a hoodie. I don't see why he'd want that many layers though. I send him a friend request.

     My insides jolt. I doubt he'll even accept it. Even if he did, what would I say? "Hey, aren't you the guy who was outed to the whole school? Yes? Oh, same here if my classmate doesn't pass his exams." That sounds like a very pleasant conversation. Not. I put my phone on its charger and spend the rest of my conscious night watching Glee and trying not to overthink.

                                                                                            (0.0)

    

     My sleep was interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door. I put a pillow over my ears. I am not dealing with Harry right now. I'm going to sleep in for once in my fucking life. "Sierra? Are you up?" Pause. "Sierra? Ethan?"

     I jump to the door. "Don't fucking call me that in front of people." I pull Harry into my room by his shirt collar. "What if someone in my family heard you?"

     "Chill. Nobody heard me, I checked the hall first." He pulls himself out of my grasp and straightens his shirt. His wrist bruise is still there. "Now, if you'll be so polite and not try to ruin my shirt again, we need to start studying."

     I roll my eyes. "Not until I get my coffee. I can't function without my caffeine fix." I go down to the kitchen while Harry dumps his school supplies on my floor. He might as well leave his belongings here all break. I brew a cup of coffee and get out two mugs. He might as well have some, too, even if he is an asshole. I pull out some bacon and pancake mix.

     "What's taking you so long? I thought you were making coffee, not a whole coffee shop." Harry stalks towards me. I presume he got bored of waiting for me.

     "I decided to make breakfast. Can you get the eggs and the milk out of the fridge for me?"

     He rolls his eyes but complies, "we need to study."

     "And I need to eat." I take some pancake mix and fling it at him.

     "What was that for?" His turquoise eyes sparkle mischeiviously. His shirt is white with pancake mix powder.

     I shrug and start mixing the eggs, milk, and pancake mix into a bowl. "I don't know."

     "You don't know?" Suddenly, there's pancake powder flying in my face. I didn't realize he took the box from the counter.

     "Give me that!" We're wrestling over a box of pancake mix and I can't help but giggle. He's laughing as well. The next thing I realize, we're wrapped up in each other's arms and covered in pancake mix. He smells like cinnamon.

     I'm gonna get a pan for the bacon," I awkwardly cough.

     "Yeah, you do that. I'm gonna go get a broom for the floor." He pauses, "where is your broom?"

     I point to a supply closet under the stairs. "It's in the cleaning supply closet; over there." For a micro-second, I think to myself: maybe Harry isn't so bad of a guy. Then I remember that he's blackmailing me.