We Break Up At The End.
Here lies my repurposing.
After edit upon edit, I present my first ever fictional story.
I stand by my sexual education paper to this day, I feel cheated.
I decided to focus on the root of my passion for sexual education in this repurposing: my sexuality. Being gay in a small town never works out well, especially in the bedroom. I had to (somehow) learn everything people usually awkwardly learn in middle school, you know, when it's okay to do so. When it's normal.
I projected my frustrations onto two fictional characters: Connor and Lex. They're both gay, both in a small town, and both on completely different sides of the spectrum of "How Comfortable I Am Having Sex". Based on the title, this probably doesn't end well. Or does it? Check out the full scoop below:
I’m sitting in homeroom and I’m realizing my life is about to end. It’s 7:39am and my boyfriend will break up with me in approximately seven hours, 13 minutes, and 15 seconds. (Rough estimate.) How can I tell? Where did this incredible sense of prudence come from? Well, for starters, I’m in my usual seat (back left corner) and my boyfriend isn’t in his (next to me). He looks preoccupied, focused. He looks sad. He’s avoiding me. Why isn’t he sitting next to me?
I should probably introduce myself: I’m Jonathan, timid, nearly perfect GPA, currently pissed off. Why? I made a list for your convenience:
My boyfriend’s name is Lex. Pretty wild name for two Midwestern parents to give to their child, right? Wrong. It’s short for Alex. Self-proclaimed martyr and quite possibly the most self-absorbed prick you’ll ever meet. (But I love him.)
He’s not sitting next to me.
I see him so obviously checking out the guy in front of him, I’m surprised they haven’t go to the bathroom to fuck yet. Oh yeah, Lex is very sexual. And pretty open about it. But one small thing: we’re dating
I sound agitated, don’t I? It’s because I see this boy that I think I’m in love with get a raging boner when a guy asks him what the homework was. We all get horny, it happens, but what pisses me off is the fact that he bases so much importance off of sex, it’s unbelievable he isn’t constantly masturbating. We’re each 18. Why is he acting like he got his first hard on yesterday?
Is that normal? Is it normal that the guy I’m dating is sitting across the room checking out someone else? I’ve never been a relationship before so I don’t have the luxury of compare and contrast. Also every movie, book, song, television show I’ve seen, has been conveniently heterosexual, leaving absolutely no guidance for me, a gay virgin dating a nymphomaniac. (The modern day Romeo and Juliet.)
The issue is, clearly, we haven’t had sex yet. (The big buzz word it seems nowadays.) I know what a vagina is and what a penis is, I understand how sex works. The problem comes in when you add gay in front of it. Gay sex is not sex. I understand that gay sex must be different mechanically, but why is it that when that small, three letter word gets added on my heart sinks, I sweat, and I run? You’d think completely removing the threat of pregnancy would make gay sex at least a little less terrifying. Wrong. It’s 7:42am, we stand for the pledge of alliance, and my boyfriend’s dick is (thankfully) soft.
---
Let me reintroduce myself.
Fact: My name is Jonathan.
Fact: I’m a senior in high school.
Fact: I’m dating Lex (Formally: Alex).
Fact: I’m gay.
Fact: My friends know.
Fact: My parents don’t.
Fact: My brother’s gay.
Fact: My parents know.
Fact: They aren’t okay with it.
---
They never warn you how bad your first relationship will be. I mean, they might for straight people, but they definitely don’t for gay people. Actually, come to think of it, they don’t really tell us much. I’m gay. (I know this even if my parents don’t.) I know more about the female anatomy than how my own kind have sex. (Not sure about the word choice, but go with it.)
---
Sparring you the details, I know real gay sex isn’t the same as in porn. Just trust me on this. It is physically impossible to feel that much pleasure from that much force. Regardless, I don’t watch porn. My dad’s pretty homophobic and even the thought of him potentially seeing gay porn on my internet history terrifies me. It’s best to just not even watch it. Adding to that, I’m trying to get into Harvard. I don’t have time to really explore sex when I have essay after essay that needs writing. I’ll have sex after I take the bar exam.
“Jonathan?”
Someone’s calling me.
I remember. 7:45am. Homeroom. My boyfriend isn’t sitting next to me.
Mrs. Clarke just called my name for attendance.
It’s only been three minutes? This day will never end.
“Oh- um, here.” I mumble, sulking a little bit in my chair. I hate attention. I know if I had just said ‘here’ nonchalantly no one would notice. But my perception twists. I feel as if everyone is anticipating my next fuck up. Waiting to laugh in unison at the Class Dunce fulfilling his role yet again.
“Jon, if you keep day dreaming like that, you might not wake up!”
Did my teacher just imply I’m going to die?
A few students laugh. Automatically, my face gets red. I glance at Lex. I can’t get a read on him.
“Sorry, Mrs. Clarke.”
Homeroom ends and I go to first hour.
---
I first met Lex in Physics this past Fall. He had just moved to our small town in Northern Wisconsin from Chicago. His mother is a pain specialist and she has relatives up near Duluth. Another pain specialist retired, she wanted to get away from the city life, and it just made sense. It was the first day and we had to pair up for the remainder of the school year for projects. Imagine a cool guy from Chicago interacting with a timid, rural white boy who gets excited about cheese. The perfect combination of confidence on one end and quirky on the other, leading to the best relationship the world has ever known. Well, not quite. Or maybe it was. I don't know. I'm exhausted. Why isn't he talking to me? Here's how it happened:
I look around hopefully and see no one I recognize. I hate this part of class. Like what better way to say “Hey guys! I’m a total fucking loser!” than showcasing I have literally no friends in my class. I mean, I keep to myself, but I’m not a total hermit. I do have a few friends, believe it or not.
Then I see him. He oozed confidence, I could smell it. It smelled like poplar and pine and gave the air a silver tint. I love poplar and pine. I was light headed. Who was this guy?
Knowing that nobody would come to my rescue, I'm forced to slowly look expectantly at this new kid. Or should I say man. He's built like a football quarterback and looks like he snorted whey protein in the bathroom before class. I assume he's on the team and he'll immediately call me a faggot or bro (either would be unbearable), and I’ll be forced to do each and every physics project for the both of us. Great. I truly didn’t think straight men could oppress me more, but here we are. They really have outdone themselves.
“Dude, you there?” Lex asks me quizzically.
Fuck, I was already zoning out.
“What? Oh yeah, sorry.” I have no idea what else to say. And I don’t care. I know he’s hot, he knows he’s hot, and I’m sure he knows my hearts beating fast, but I really don’t want to engage in a conversation with this meathead for a second longer than I need to.
He nods. He looks over his shoulder and back at me. He’s smirking. Why is he smirking? “Who’s that girl over there? In the purple sweatshirt?”
It’s Taylor. God, I met him five seconds ago, and he’s already trying to get me to be his wingman?
“That’s Taylor. But don’t waste your time, she has a boyfriend.”
He looks confused, then his eyes widen. “Oh my god, I keep forgetting I’m not in Chicago anymore. Up North is so conservative, God I can’t believe I live up here. Um, don’t know how to say this lightly but,” he leans in. I can smell his cologne, more overpowering than ever. “I’m gay as fuck. I just noticed she keep checking me out and I was going to ask you if I should tell her I swing for the other team. Or catch. I’m pretty open.” He winks and pauses. “I thought you would’ve realized I was gay. Gaydar exists up here, right? You know, using your Perception and Sixth Sense to figure out of a guy likes guys or not? You are gay, right?”
Holy shit. For years I tried masking my sexuality. Two years ago I came out to my friends. They all know not to tell my parents or post about it, but I never thought I was like in your face about it.
“Um, yeah” I cough and clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m gay?” I try and save myself. “I just thought you weren’t out yet, that’s all.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I get we all have to take our time to come out. I didn’t want to ask questions. You know, let you find yourself.” I feel like I’m in the clear.
“Okay. What’s your name again?”
“Jon.”
“Cool. Okay, Jon, can you read my shirt really fast?”
Oh no. I look down slowly.
GAY O.K. is printed in size 140 font across his chest.
He scrunches his nose. “Do I look closeted to you, bud?”
Oh god. I plan to go to the office after class and immediately drop out from school.
He just laughs. “I’m just messing with you, man.” His smile disappears and he lightly grabs my shoulder. The blood drains from my face. Who is this guy? “Judging based on my walk to class today, it looks like we’re alone. Us gays got to stick together, right?” He looks down at my crotch and back up. He squeezes me and smiles.
When exactly am I supposed to tell him I’m a virgin?
Before or after we build a catapult to test projectile motion?
---
8:00am. Back to reality. As I walk to English I make a list. I think of every possible thing Lex could be upset about. Did I do something wrong? Am I not satisfying him? Is he just sick? The anxiety is suffocating and all consuming. I verge on complete panic as I sit down in class. You see, I’m not trying to be dramatic. It’s just my brother, Sam, is also gay. When he was a senior, about four years ago, he had one too many shots at the Senior party after graduation. He came home, came out to my dad, threw up, then my dad punched him. Hard. Hospital ER Room hard. My dad gave my brother two options: either shut the fuck up and don’t tell anyone what happened, or I don’t pay for your college tuition. Old Sam would have succumbed. He would have gone to UCLA and walked right back into the closet he walked out of. But this Sam was different. He told our dad, our dad, he was gay. He was bold. Rebellious. Free. Sam chose Option C: leave. They haven’t talked since.
I mean, we still do. But it’s different. It’s like someone put this screen between us. I mean, Sam gets me, he does, really. I was forced to come out to him about four years ago, when he cut off ties with dad. He didn't want me panicking about what happened between him and our dad and developing anxiety for when I would come out. (Whenever that would be.) It's not worth getting into, but just know he handled in the best way possible. He knows what it’s like to be closeted, especially with my dad. He knows what it’s like to want to go to college. It’s just, I guess I want to go to college more than he did. (And I’m rarely drunk, so the luxury of coming out impulsively is nonexistent.) And he gets that. The thing is, you could write that on my forehead (YOUR BROTHER LOVES AND SUPPORTS YOU) and I still wouldn’t believe it. Here’s this guy, my literal brother, who I look up to for everything. I mean, he came out to our dad. That’s definitely not something you can do without prepping for or just being drunk as hell. But… I feel this pressure. Even if he doesn’t mean it, I feel this need to come out. Like he won’t be proud of me unless I do. When sexuality comes up or he mentions his latest boyfriend, I can see it in his eyes. Jon, why haven’t you come out yet? Although it’s said lovingly, it still stings. And then a second later, oh yeah, because of dad and you want to go to college. He completely understands. Completely. But that brief second, that lapse of his façade kills. Kills.
Like I said, we love each other. But we’re definitely not alike. I’m not rebellious. Bold. Free. I’m Jonathan with a nearly perfect GPA and a prospective student at Harvard. Once Sam left, I shut down. I stopped watching porn, I didn’t think about sex. I knew that if my dad even suspected I was gay the wrath would be ten times greater. I became a functional student at home that focused on nothing else. I had no personality and felt safe that way. But at school? I was myself. I was still Jonathan with a near perfect GPA and a prospective student at Harvard, but I got to tag on the “gay-” prefix before all of that. Not that it makes a difference, but it was my version of having control over my life. Over my dad. Over everyone.
Then Lex happened.
He was the catalyst that would have destroyed everything. The cyanide that would have stopped my heart and brain from functioning long enough to let him find out about Sam, tell my dad, and ruin my chances at college. Trust me, he never did. (Or at least I hope.) So the cataclysmic conversation of Lex v. Dad hasn’t happened. (Yet.)
Even though I slowly fell in love with Lex over the past four months, there wasn’t enough time in the world to make me feel comfortable telling him about the real reason Sam left. If he even suspected it had something to do with my brother being gay, he would have murdered my dad. He understands my natural hesitation, but if he knew the hesitation was because of how my dad physically abused Sam and gave him that impossible ultimatum? Lex’s rage would have been limitless.
---
I’m terrified. I can’t lose him. It’s 9:30am and I can’t lose him. Never in my life has someone so perfect and cool graced my presence. He basically dropped into my hands and made me feel things I didn’t even know I could feel. And he doesn’t even try. He could just walk into a room and I melt.
I’m at my locker.
Someone closes theirs. I flinch.
I go to my next class.
---
I can pinpoint where I fell for him to the second. It was the first physics project and I was at his house. Or should I say mansion? I didn’t know houses came that big up here, but there I was, in one of his many living rooms, eating organic kale chips.
In walks Lex from right stage. “Ugh, God. J. Crew looks good, but dude, it’s so restricting. I can’t relax when my dick feels like it’s literally being pushed back into my body.” He was wearing a Lululemon athletic tank top and shorts. I was having trouble focusing.
I snap out of it before he notices. I cannot let him know I’m horny. “Yeah, I feel that. Um, okay so let’s get started?”
A long, exasperated sigh and one dramatic fall later, he’s sprawled on the couch. “Dude, the project isn’t due for a while and we just got back from school. Let’s relax for a bit.” He glances at the beer fridge. “You want one?”
I’m uneasy. I’ve had my fair share of alcohol before but 1. not during the week 2. not when I have to drive home in a few hours and 3. not with a hot, super sexual guy that I am not ready to have sex with. So naturally I said, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
God damn it.
“Yeahh, there’s the Jonathan we all know and love.” He opens the beers and hands me one. “So, what shall we call this new and improved Jonathan? Fearless of A-’s and alcohol before 10pm? How about,” he pauses for dramatic effect and then, “Jon?”
Before I continue, I have to say I hate the name Jon. It feels incomplete and common, two things that I am not. I have skills and values that far exceed a three letter name. But for some reason, I was okay. Maybe it was the lululemon (I’m a capitalist, sue me), maybe it was the perfectly styled black hair, maybe it was the beer, the hospitality, the smirk, the poplar and pine scent, the soft toned skin, whatever it was, I threw all my preconceived beliefs and values out the window and I smiled.
“Yeah, I like that.”
He smiles, too.
“Jon,” he affirms.
“Jon,” I respond with a note of finality.
A bond was formed. A pact. I was falling in love. Let the rollercoaster begin.
---
It’s lunch time. 12:30pm. (Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much.) I’m sitting in the cafeteria that kind of looks like it functions as a chapel. There are these God awful stained glass murals that run along the ceiling and I’m pretty that one is the crucifixion.
Lex doesn’t sit with me.
---
I remember the first time I told him I didn’t want to have sex. We were at his party, naturally, alongside 300 other people. (Give or take 15 frat wannabes.) We had just started dating a week before and he convinced me to at least drive to the party. Timeline? A month and a half after we met. We’ve had two physics projects since classes started.
I looked at my watch. It’s 10:30pm.
I entered into a sea of people. I felt suffocated and panicked. Where’s the door? I need air. Where’s the door? On the verge of passing out from the fear of social embarrassment, I saw him. And he saw me, too. He gave me this look like he’d be waiting for me to show up. It made me uneasy.
He made his way through the crowd to me. Shouting over the music, “Hey! I didn’t think you’d show up.” He grabbed my shoulder and traced his hand down to mine.
“Yeah, I told you I’d come.”
He rolled his eyes. “Wait, are you sober? Babe, you look rigid. Come take a shot!”
“But what about my car?” I was almost screaming; the music was so loud.
“What?”
“But what about-” It was no use. I had no idea where the exit was and I was being pulled to potentially die from alcohol poisoning.
We made our way from the large living room, up the stairs, down the hall, down another hall. My stomach dropped. I knew where we were going: his room. I had to get away, but how? “Wait. Why is the alcohol up here?” Maybe he forgot his offer and we’d go back downstairs to the sea of people. To safety.
“What? Ha. I thought you said you were sober? Dude, this is my room. You lucky bitch get to sample my premium collection.”
“Um, ha, alright.” I grabbed my arm. Was he able to tell I was uncomfortable?
“Holy shit, you are sober.” He was able to tell.
We entered. He pointed to his bed. I sat.
“Okay, so, are you more of a wine kind of gay or a liquor kind of gay?” He turned back and smiled at me. God, even when he’s drunk, he’s so charming.
“Liquor?”
This is the point I realized I made a mistake. I should have said no, left, and never spoken to him again. I wasn’t that attached and I certainly didn’t have to go through with this night. I’ve suppressed my feelings my entire life, what was one more year? But I made my decision. I said liquor and my fate was sealed.
Muffled hip-hop music was seeping from under the door. We took our first shot. “You know, I actually hate hip-hop music. I mean I get it, I respect it, but it’s just like, relax, you know? I want melody, and chord progressions, and music. Like I just want to dance sometimes.” God, he was drunk. Lex is usually super personable, but he doesn’t open up that often. I saw my opportunity.
“Yeah, I totally agree. What kind of music do you like?”
Another shot.
His face lit up and he went to his laptop. “Oh my god, let me play you stuff. I’m really into indie music that’s mixed with jazz. I love when genres clash. But wait, this song is amazing.”
I sighed. I loved seeing him like this. Passionate. Engaged. In love with what he was doing. Focused on me. Trying to impress me. I felt honored.
“Okay lay down, look out my ceiling window, and just… listen.” I wipe the alcohol from my chin.
He lays next to me. “Okay, this song is called Second Summer (RAC Remix) by YACHT. Okay, now shut up.” I laugh.
“I wasn’t even talking!” I burp.
“I said shut up, you’re missing it!” I relent and listen.
The song is amazing. The alcohol’s starting to kick in, the stars are amazing, I notice how close he is to me, and I want nothing other than to take off his clothes.
But I don’t. The second I have that thought I panic.
“Let’s take another shot.” I say.
I think a part of me wanted sex. I had been suppressing it for so long and there was this absolutely gorgeous man waiting for me to just unzip his pants. I could have gone downstairs; I didn’t have to take another shot. Why did I take another shot?
“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses,” he closely manages to sit up, “don’t drink too fast. I don’t want my boyfriend puking the first time we drink together.”
I give a mock offended look. “Me? Puking? I can hold my liquor. Can you?”
“Jon has an attitude!” He runs to the door and opens it and shows downstairs, “Everyone, Jon has an attitude!” His epiphany is drowned out by the music. He looks at me accusingly, “What have you done with Jonathan? How has he already been destroyed after three shots?”
I shrug playfully and pour another.
And another.
I tried to take account my situation. Things were getting blurry. How long had we been in his room? 30 minutes? Two hours? All I knew was I was in his room, on his bed, trashed. And he knew I was, too. It was time. The next logical step? He grabbed my knee. “Dude, you’re so funny.” He pauses and looks at me. “I’m so glad we became physics partners.” He smiles. “Also glad we’re dating. I mean, two birds with one stone, right?”
“You’re not just dating me for the A, right?” I say before I even realize I’m saying it.
“Oh! Looks like Jon does know how to flirt. Or at least he tries.” Lex nudges me.
This is the moment where everything connects. This is why I’m saying all of this and why Lex isn’t talking to me, I’m sure of it. It’s because I didn’t fuck him. It’s because I’m not enough on my own. He tried to kiss me. I let him. Then he tried to grab my dick. I didn’t let him. What it boils down to is fundamentals: I wasn’t ready and he was. And he couldn’t fucking wait. (No pun intended.)
I didn’t have sex with my boyfriend, it’s been three months since we started dating, and now he’s going to break up with me.
It’s 2:46pm and school ends in four minutes and I will be single in 10.
---
I see him before he sees me. That’s usually how it works. He’s standing by my car and I approach the inevitable.
“Hey, man. Can we go for a drive?” He says. He won’t look at me. Why won’t he look at me?
I’m pissed and shaking. I bite my lip. “Why haven’t you talked to me all day?”
“Can we just go for a drive?”
Exhausted, I sigh, relent, and drive. We ride around for five minutes without talking. I reach my threshold. “Oh my God, what the fuck is going on Lex?”
“I just- I just thought I could do it.” He’s crying.
“What?” I am beyond exasperated.
“I thought-” he regains his composure, “I thought I could be exclusive but I can’t. I thought I could deal with you not wanting to have sex but I can’t. I went back to visit some friends in Chicago last weekend, and because we can’t post about our relationship on Facebook, not all of them know about us and I know I should have told all my gay friends right away but I didn’t. We went to this gay club on gay night and the music was just so loud. This guy came up to me and started grinding on me and I didn’t stop him and I didn’t know where the line was and if I crossed it with you or not at that point so I kept pushing it. It’s just been so long since I’ve had sex and masturbating and kissing you only does so much and I really wanted to tell them to leave, I had so many opportunities to tell them to leave, but I didn’t I just let them push more and more and then I caved and we had sex.” He breathes and looks at me. “Jon, I cheated on you.”
I slam on the car breaks. A car almost rear ends me, honks, and flips me off. I barely notice because I am seething. There are so many things I want to say.
“You said you were okay with us not having sex.” I feel pure white hot rage. “You fucking slut.”
He flinches. He knows there’s no going back. I know it, too.
“I get you didn’t want to have sex, but it’s been three months; I don’t understand why you don’t trust me yet. We’re eighteen, we can’t be abstinent forever. You know you can trust me, why don’t you trust me, babe-”
“Don’t.. call me babe.”
He breathes in. He’s crying. I realize I don’t care. It’s amazing how long it took to break down each other’s walls and trust each other and how quickly we went back to square one.
“I don’t know what to say, bab-” he corrects himself, “I don’t know what to say, Jonathan.”
He didn’t say Jon.
Good.
I hate that name.
“What else is there to say? You fucking cheated on me.”
He pauses as if he’s making a decision. Is he going to get out of the car? I realize at this point I don’t care. “You know what, Jon? Fuck you. Fuck you and your pretentious ‘I can’t have sex’ bullshit. I don’t care at this point if it’s insensitive, but honestly you’re the asshole here-”
I am livid. “Excuse me?” Speechless. “Excuse me?” At a loss for words. “You cheated on me, remember? Or are you that fucking stupid, you forgot?”
“Don’t interrupt me.” I’m about to punch him in the face. “I understand not having sex. Sex doesn’t make a relationship perfect, but I know it makes it better. You could argue sex shows you trust a person. Did you even trust me to begin with? We’ve been dating for over three months, and you still don’t trust me? And don’t fucking pull the morality card. Like you’re too scared and you’re waiting for the right person. How do you think it feels to have to constantly be proving yourself for three fucking months that you’re the right fucking person. Make up your fucking mind. Also? I know you watch porn. I know you get hard. I know you jack off. I get you think you can hide your gay porn from your dad, but I’m your boyfriend.”
How did he know I watch porn?
He continues.
“I know you. So what’s the big fucking deal? Yeah, I get anal sex is scary at first. Bombarded with a dozen new feelings and a dick at the same time isn’t always a fun accessible experience right away, but clearly there’s no mystery left considering how much men.com I’ve seen in your internet history. Yeah, it looks like you forgot to clear your history just one too many times. So, let’s get this straight, you’re comfortable enough to enjoy with sex, you can watch strangers do it, and you don’t trust your own boyfriend-” he laughs, “or should I said ex-boyfriend - enough to even explore a little. Like, yeah, I fucking caved. What did you fucking expect, asshole? And you know what? I could have not told you, I could have kept it a secret and moved on. But I trusted the strength in our relationship and I trusted us. Don’t you see how much I love you? I made a mistake, yes, but going through this conversation shows how much I want this to work out."
He pauses, breathes, and recollects himself.
He looks me dead in the eye. I've never seen him look at me that way. I've seen him naked before, I've seen him vulnerable. But not like this. For a second I think I'm going to forgive him.
"And not just that. I know you don't trust me. You not only put on this 'I can't have sex' bullshit, but you also tell me nothing about your life. Like, dude, it doesn't take much to figure out about your brother. You think I didn't connect the dots? Why didn't you ever talk about your brother and dad to me? Am I that reckless and overconfident to you that you honestly think I would jeopardize your future by confronting your dad? I know when and when it's not my place to step in and do something. You underestimate my ability to understand, to care because I'm, what? Laid-back? Cool? Don't seem smart enough? Not up to par with your flawless GPA-"
"Okay, I've had it. Whatever chance you had at forgiveness is gone. Whatever, I fuck up. I misjudge character. I'm not some psychology major. I'm an eighteen year old in high school. But, does that mean you can attack that and try to victimize yourself? And oh my God, are you kidding me? My intentions for sex are none of your business and just because you’ve dated me for three months doesn’t give you an all access pass to me whenever you want. I wasn’t ready, I’m not ready. And, yeah, so what I watch porn. Like what a monumental discovery, Alex. Also seeing someone get pounded on a themed set is way different than experiencing the event for yourself. Yeah I’m fucking confused and scared, but I know that dating someone for three months and not having sex isn’t super unheard of. It’s not my fault that you need sex to feel loved or validated.
“Also? Just because you made a mistake and tricked yourself into telling me doesn’t make it you a good person. It means you don’t like feeling guilty and you want to be congratulated instead of shamed for what you did. Don’t manipulate me and try to invalidate my feelings about this. You knew what this would do to me before, during, and after you fucked that guy. You didn’t talk to me all day. You cried when you told me. You knew you fucked up. What, so you’re saying it was all theatrics? Suddenly you’re pissy because I’m not telling you that you’re brave? Being horny doesn’t give you immunity to its repercussions. You fucked that guy clearheaded and don’t tell me otherwise. What did you expect? Me to forgive you, and have things go back to normal? I can’t do open relationships and with everything going on with graduation in a few months there’s no way I can ever trust you again. What’s stopping you from having sex with someone before then? Tomorrow? Right after this? You cheated on me. End of story. You took my trust, shat on it, and gave it back expecting tears of gratitude.”
I pause. I’m shaking and I’ve never been this mad in my life.
Should I say it?
Yes.
I went for it.
“Rather than wait until I was ready, you fucked someone. You made your decision and now I’ll make mine. Alex, get out of my fucking car.”
---
In my Health class Freshman year there was a section on homosexuality. It said “If you feel yourself attracted to the same sex, don’t worry, it’s completely natural. The attraction usually occurs during puberty and goes away eventually.”
God, I hope that’s true.
I can’t do this anymore.
Sam.
My dad.
Lex.
Don’t I get a happy ending?
---