Obsessed(23)

“You’re such a typical guy, Aston.”

“No, I’m not, El.”

No, he was not, but he was too. It was hard to define Aston. He was so layered and filled with more questions than answers. He hid himself so well.

I lay back, and he dropped down too, until we were shoulder to shoulder, our normal position under the night sky since we were kids.

As the silence consumed us, my thoughts raged on, and the questions continued mounting. It was too hard to bottle them up. Aston was a puzzle that just wasn’t fitting together in place. I needed to know something…something impossible, maybe, but something that had been on my mind for a while. And it would destroy my hopes into a million tiny pieces if it were true.

“Aston,” I murmured quietly, my eyes transfixed on the twinkling stars.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re eighteen and…Well, you say you like girls but you’ve never had a girlfriend. The girls talk a lot about it. They think you’re hiding something, and… I mean, you don’t talk about girls ever, and…”

He turned his face to me. “And what?”

“It’s just odd. I want you to know I would never judge you or anything. Nobody would, unless they’re totally conservative and live at the church and eat pages of the bible for breakfast, and I know there’s some of those assholes around, but seriously, nowadays it’s normal for people to be…”

Silence. I couldn’t say the word. You had to wait for someone to be ready to open up about it, right? Was I pushing it? Was he even?

He exhaled heavily. “You think I’m gay?”

OhGodOhGodOhGod.

I turned my head and finally looked at him. He appeared shocked. Was it shock because I’d discovered it? When the girls at school began to ask me if he was gay, my first reaction was panic. Not because I cared about someone’s sexuality, but because that would mean the way I felt for him was entirely one-sided. Those looks he’d given me throughout the years, it would have meant I’d completely fabricated them in my desperate mind.

In a way, it made sense that he was gay. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a truck at the likelihood. What eighteen-year-old guy never had a girlfriend? No, to better word it, what eighteen-year-old guy that looked like him never had a girlfriend?

He licked his bottom lip and looked away from me. I watched his nose flare as he digested my words bitterly. “No, El,” he finally said in a disappointed tone, “I’m not gay. I like girls. I like girls a lot. Cocks don’t do it for me, okay?”

Relief. Relief. Relief. “Then why aren’t you interested in going out?”

He huffed, infuriated. “Fuck, seriously, El?”

“Watch your tone, jackass. I’m just curious!”

“I’m not going to waste a second of my affection on somebody I don’t care about,” he explained sharply. “I could go out and be the biggest man-whore that ever lived, but why demean myself? I don’t care about using girls. I don’t care about getting laid, or going to parties. That’s never been my scene. You know that. I’m going to be myself at my own pace, not be somebody else to impress others. Alright?”

I blinked. “Oh.”

Yeah. Oh. Because there was no intelligent response I could come up with against that. He was too mature, even for me, and I was playing catch up.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Aston,” I apologized contritely.

“Don’t be sorry.” But I could tell he was pretty shitty. He sat back up and I stared at his smooth back, at the random long scars from another lifetime ago in the hands of a monster, at his long blond hair plastered to his skin, at his broad shoulders as he kicked his leg up and stared ahead, lost in his own head.

“What about you?” he suddenly asked me, turning his head to the side, profile in view. “Why aren’t you dating guys already? They tell me you’re hot all the time.”

“They’re jerks,” I replied as casually as I could. “Most of them are meatheads.”

“They’re not all jerks.”

“Yeah, well…” my voice drifted off. I was uncomfortable. Was this how he felt when I demanded answers? I needed to consider the tables turning the next time I blurted shit out.

“Well what, El? Come on, spit it out.” He was doing this on purpose now, pressing me, that bite present in his tone. “You haven’t been with a guy. Not that I know of. What kind of crap are you into? You can tell me now, you know. I’m going to be gone for your final year.”

“Look, I said I’m sorry, Aston,” I retorted.

“Sorry for thinking I’m gay when all these years I’ve…”