Chapter 25

Pens and Needles

(Unedited)

The first thought after waking up was; had I really told him that I had loved him? Didn't love have to be a feeling of compassion and mutual feelings towards one another? Granted, yes, he was my boyfriend, but I wasn't sure how the feeling of saying I love you had sounded out loud, then falling asleep.

That was a fictional propaganda.

Pens and Needles.

After staring at his New Zealand flag, I gathered I should get dressed, and start the day off as another day. The outside world didn't need to know what I had gone through or revealed last night. It was strictly between these four walls, Christian and myself. Unless, of course, he had told Linda, then it would include Linda as well.

"Anakin Vader awakes," I hear Christian announce to me, as I can hear Harry Styles echo out of his headphones, leaving me to wonder if he would ever get his Star Wars references correct, or if he likes getting them wrong to annoy me. Instead of pointing out that he was headed in the right direction with that reference, I just rolled my eyes, grabbing the piece of toast out of his hand.

"I slept well. Thanks for asking," I told him, though I could tell he had wanted to bring up what I had revealed last night. The scenario playing out in my head. It should have gone differently. Though I wasn't sure how.

"That was. Ahh, nevermind. I think," he begins, as he pops another piece of bread in the toaster. The ending of the sentence as Linda comes into the kitchen, cutting us off, knowing exactly what his next words were going to be. Linda, breaking in at the moment of what we were about to say.

"Luke, dear, you can stay as long as you'd like. Christian said you were having troubles at home," Linda mentions as she pours herself a cup of coffee into a cat themed cup. Had he only given her the short version of what had happened? Somehow I felt awkward and uncomfortable about that. It was like he had broken an invisible boundary I didn't want him to cross. Instead all I could do was smile and thank her.

***

"Now that we're alone," Christian tells me, as we sit alone in the jeep with silence and complete awkwardness between us. It seemed peaceful hearing yourself think, instead of hearing his music in the jeep for once. I had gotten used to it, I forgot what it was like.

"Is that about, you know?" I ask him, though we both know it was. We had left the house early just so we could talk about it. I was sure of it. Our free fall clematis love story, now being messed up between us. Though, was I sure this is exactly what this was? I really needed to learn how to control my overthinking. "You told Linda I had problems at home," I add redundantly, not helping the situation at all.

"Your parents will accept you, eventually, that's not it though," Christian tells me, his voice sounding depressed and broken. I had never heard him this way before. Had I crossed a line and struck a nerve. A part of me wanted to know, while another part didn't want to know.

"How do you know my parents will accept me? I'm the son that got outed online, and they found out before I was ready to tell them," I told him, the first time I had told him the blanks that I hadn't before. "I should have told them a long time ago," I add, the tears trying to pick their way through. I didn't cry last night, maybe I should have. Maybe I would have felt better and never said those three words.

"Because parents get mad, and they didn't push you off to some conversion camp in the woods in Vermont. You're still here. They didn't like me that night when they met me. Which is fine, because society is messed up like that, they'll get over it and accept you, hell maybe even look for an LGBTQ accepting church. I don't know, but you're still their child," he tells me, as one of the school buses drives by as we sit on the side of the road. This is now leading me to wonder if that had more to do with himself than it did me.

"Are you talking about you, or me?" I ask, the curiosity of Christian being so quiet and mysterious since I had known him. I swallow what little saliva my mouth has to offer as I wait for him to answer. I piece of the puzzle that had taken so long for me to want to know.

"I'm a former heroin addict, bisexual, who moved out to seek help. I haven't talked to my parents since. You still have a chance to at least try to talk to your parents," he tells me. "Plus, Hollywood movies fuck up the LGBTQ stories," he adds, as he finally turns on the music, throwing us back into our normal routine.

"That's why I shouldn't have fallen for a fuck boy like you," I tell him mockingly as Taylor Swift sings about a Lavender Haze. A song I picture Christian would have lyrics tattooed on his shoulder someday before he enters college for something to do with a doctor's degree. I'd like to picture him as a doctor helping people, as his aunt is.

"Ahh, so you fuckin' think of me as a fuck boy," Christian tells me with a feigned shriek, bringing back his smile from looking so depressed a few moments ago. Though, I wanted him. I wanted all of him. His depressed look, his backstory that had him enter my life. Maybe, I should have thanked my fathers robed figure for that. This was the Christian Matthew Day I wanted, right here in the moment.

They say at eighteen, you have no idea what love is, but who gets to say that. This is the love story that I would want James Paxton to direct someday. The Marigold that Dave Grohl had written about once. This was now a love story as we sat inside his jeep, realising first love is all different definitions, and affirmations as we through life. I'm gay, who gets to decide who is gay and who isn't? Why does society and life think that they make the rules, as to make and break as they reveal who and what they are into?

"That's exactly what I think Padawan," I tell him, as we carry on towards school, where I was sure that it would feel awkward after the kiss outing. If Christian was my fuck boy, as I just called him, wouldn't he be ready to face the music, like I was sure I was?

"Well sorry to disappoint, but I don't think you say I love you to fuck boys," Christian tells me. "Then again, I guess you could be. If you want your heartbroken," he adds as his Spotify turns to Selena Gomez again. (Damn him, and his catchy pop queens.) He had caught what I said last night, here I was hitting the rewind button on what had happened twenty four hours ago, after just thinking that he was my first (and only) love of my life.

"I never heard you say it back. I mean, if you're not ready, I get it," I tell him, in case he needed encouragement that I wasn't rushing him, and this wouldn't make an awkward expectation or indentation between us. Wasn't there a song by Taylor about this? Didn't all the teenage movies and TV shows fall apart at this moment. Here's looking at you, John Hughes, who should have kept the original ending to Pretty in Pink. (Team Ducky by the way, because Andie should have ended with Ducky and everyone knows it.)

"We should get to class," he tells me as he looks at his phone, seeing how long we had talked about the subject. The unannounced confirmation on where he stood on the decision, stood between us. "First though, hold my hand," he adds as he reaches his hands out towards me, placing an earbud in my ear, the echoing lyrics to the song we were listening to earlier playing in our ears.

The hallways flooding with students not in class yet as we enter the school holding hands, seems weird. Something I'm not comfortable with yet, this was our all the way to Red Hook, Baby moment. Yet, I'm not taking my hand away from his yet. I don't let go until we both reach my locker. Maybe I was brave. Maybe I was stupid. I had a great melody of emotions, though I couldn't figure it out yet. Maybe that was what love is. Maybe another teenage love story of Saint Embers, but it was also a broken barrier.

"Here's your earbud back," I tell him as I take it out of my ear, and place it in his direction. He could listen to Harry or Taylor later if he wanted to. Some students pass, giving us looks, but it was what it was. The only one I was sure I would have to worry about was Dryden, though I knew I could handle whatever conflict he so dramatically desired. Maybe, it was time for me to Taylor Swift him, and cut ties with him. Since I was a child, he had been a part of my story, if I had to cut him from my story, then so be it. Not all childhood friends stay friends, though I would still have many childhood friends adventures with him, what we already know is that in high school we outgrew each other. We were forced to be friends, brought together through the forces of my parents.

Dryden was the idol friends my parents had wanted me to stay with, not the "freaks" like Dryden, or myself. They had wanted to stick in my own circle, and truth be told, I think that Dryden had been trying to tell me throughout high school. In teenage stories, I could be wrong though.

"Nah. Keep it. You have art today, don't you?" Christian tells me. "Taylor helps," he tells me, as he grabs my phone adding Taylor's newest album to my favourites, then handing me back my phone as the bell for first class sounds off. My brain is counting down the minutes until I see him again. Only to mentally remind myself that sounds like something a stalker would do, and shut down the mental countdown.

***

In art class, I try to draw out his face, however it doesn't seem right. The pencil outlines don't match up to how I want him to look. I tried his gauges. That didn't work either. After getting overwhelmed I search YouTube for anything that would help.

"Did you ever finish your last project?" I hear Simon, as he stands behind me. I tried to imagine how to explain to him what I had, however it was too personal to turn in for a grade. My art seemed to have been dancing with the devil. Then that was when what Christian had told me about listening to the album. Christian and my art were my midnight, with that, I placed Christian's earbud, and began to draw.

"Simon, I know exactly what I'm going to draw," I tell him, as I grab my pencil, and open up my sketchbook. If I was going to go down kissing Christian, I may as well draw him. Again.

"Wait. Is that?" Simon asks, as Christian's outline starts to come in form. I smiled a little, for the first time I had finally realised I had never wanted to attend MIT. Scientific elements and works on technology hadn't been something I wanted to do. Being it was still in time for another school, I had time to change my mind. "Damn, you draw him wonderfully," Simon adds, after realising he knew who it was.

"I'm drawing entirely how art is meant to be. Feeling," I tell Simon, as though he had been Ms Jones. Maybe Taylor Swift was meant to be a queen, help you feel energetic, and help you with your mental health. If so, would I be able to mention how she helped me be inspired to finally pick up a pencil and start drawing from memory of a boy with blue eyes and lavender dyed hair? I'd think of that later, for now, I just wanted to finish what I had done so far. With that, I take my phone out and take a photo of the drawing so if need be, I could finish it later. I was sure drama of some sort would explode later, but hey, I was ready to defend my art, my personality, and heck, maybe even at some point send the finished product to Christian. My reality is wondering if he would love it, or hate it. I wasn't sure. Either way, I would think of that later.

At the end of the chorus of a repeated Taylor Song, I had received the infamous ping. My stomach dropped, wondering what it could say. Holding the phone in my hand, another ping.

"Just answer your text, you know you want to," Simon tells me. Maybe, I could consider him a friend. "In the cheesy movies he'd just broadcast over the intercom," he adds with a wink, and then exits the art room.

Christian: I love you. 🥰🥰

With that, the last thing I remember is dropping my phone.