June 30, 2016

Atticus knew that Chris was right. They'd had the same conversation hundreds of times. He was jealous and angry, and all he wanted to do was lean over and kiss Jake's plump red lips. But he couldn't do it, and not just because he thought Jake was taken.

Atticus bit his lip and looked down at their joined hands. Jake was lazily flipping through an old magazine, and he seemed so content with just sitting quietly next to Atticus and holding his hand. And Atticus hated that.

"We can't keep doing this," Atticus whispered.

"Doing what?" Jake asked. He looked up from the magazine, truly confused and taken aback.

"Whatever this is."

"Babe, what're you talking about?"

"That! I'm Atticus, Jake. I'm not your boyfriend." He pulled his hand away and stood up, running his fingers through his hair and trying not to rip it out. "Your actual boyfriend is out cheating on you. Just leave him!"

Jake's eyes widened in anger. He threw the magazine to the floor and stood. "You're telling me to just dump my boyfriend?" Jake asked, a scoff threatened on his lips.

"Obviously," Atticus said, crossing his arms like he was pleading his case to a Grand Jury. "He cheats on you. He doesn't care about you. He treats you awful."

"You don't know anything about him!" Jake yelled, suddenly defensive of the man he didn't love.

"You wouldn't be messing around with me if you were happy with him! You deserve better!"

"I'm not messing around! Better's standing right in front of me!"

The two men glared at each other. Atticus didn't want to believe him. Jake didn't want to like him.

"Would you really leave him for me?" Atticus whispered, eyes falling to stare at the floor.

"It's not like you want to date me," Jake scoffed. "I don't want to give up something good just for you to turn me down again."

"What you have isn't good. I'm not good, either. Don't be so fucking naive, Jacob."

"I'm not!"

Atticus ran his fingers through his hair as anger ran through his veins. "You drive me up the fucking wall! Do whatever the fuck you want! I don't give a damn anymore."

"Is it so stupid of me to want to be happy?"

"You'll be happy when you're not with someone who's putting you down all the fucking time! You deserve to be happy."

"Have you ever noticed how happy I am when I'm with you?" Jake yelled, crossing his arms. "Maybe not right now but every other day? Maybe I want to be with you!"

"Maybe you should figure out what you actually want!"

"Maybe I should leave!"

"Maybe you should!"

"Maybe I won't come back!"

"Maybe that's what I want!"

That killed Atticus to say. He only spit it out to mask his pain. Hurting Jake in the process was just a bonus. His brown eyes widened and watered up. The sneer on his lips quivered.

"You're such a jerk," Jake whispered, turning away.

"Oh, fuck off," Atticus snapped with a roll of his eyes. He hated Jake more in that moment than he ever thought was possible for someone so perfect.

"I can't believe I. . . I was gonna. . ." Jake muttered aimlessly, spinning around. Tears were falling down his cheeks and making his eyeliner run. Atticus froze in place, watching the way Jake unraveled. Atticus felt as though he tied the end of a piece of yarn to his finger before pitching the spool to the batter on home plate, ready to hit it out of the park.

It happened quick. Before Atticus could blink Jake's hand was cradling his jaw and a kiss was being placed on his lips. It took a second to get past the initial shock before Atticus let his eyes fall shut and be able to kiss him back. Atticus's hands found Jake's hips, and the younger man leaned closer. Within that second, Jake was absolutely perfect again.

Jake was the one to pull back. He let his fingers slowly trail across Atticus's jaw. Atticus took a step back when Jake's lingering touch was gone. Jake was fast to turn, being the one to run away this time. And no matter how hard Atticus tugged on the yarn tied to his finger, the spool wasn't anywhere closer to coming back.

Jake slammed the door when he rushed out. Atticus clenched his left hand, bit his lip, and punched the brick fireplace. He collapsed to the ground, knuckles bloody and vision blurry. He buried his face in his knees, fisted his right hand in his hair, and ignored the throbbing pain. He wasn't sure if it was his hand or his heart.

"Maybe I wish I knew how to love you."

*****

Atticus picked the lock on the red front door and swung it open. "Why do I let you convince me to do things?"

Chris jumped up from his spot on the couch, eyes stricken from the idea that someone just broke through his front door.

"Dammit, it's just you," he said, hand slapping against his chest. "You gave me a heart attack, Atticus. How the hell did you even get in here?"

Atticus shrugged and pocketed the paperclips in his hand. "You left the door unlocked," he said. "You know, crazy people can just walk right in."

"I know," Chris said, a smile pulling on his face. "One just did."

Atticus rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure Jake hates me right now."

"What'd you do?" Chris asked with a sigh.

"What you said to do."

"I'm sorry. I thought he would leave him for you."

"He would."

Chris just kind of stared at him. "I don't get it."

"I can't be with him."

"I thought that was what you wanted?"

"It's not."

"Then why—"

"Because I fucking can't, alright?" Atticus snapped.

"I don't understand what your problem is!" Chris exclaimed. He met his friend's eyes and found himself taking a step closer. It was, after twenty years, second nature for him to notice the change in Atticus's thinking. It was as if he could see the cogs stop and turn the other way.

Atticus's reddened eyes narrowed, his crooked fingers collected, and the only sound in the room was his fist colliding with Chris's jaw. Chris stumbled backwards. He was almost surprised that Atticus lashed out, but their friendship was a time bomb. He knew he wasn't supposed to fight back, but they were both too aggressive for their own good.

Atticus let Chris punch him back. He wanted to feel the pain. He hoped the hurt could jolt from his heart and fill somewhere else.

His knuckles ached, and his lip busted open. His blood was between Chris's bruised fingers. Chris didn't want to fight him, but he punched the side of Atticus's jaw anyway. Atticus was a fighter, and Chris was a reliable target. Atticus was always an angry kid, and Chris loved confrontation. Chris could see the blistering anger in Atticus's eyes, even though his bloody bottom lip was quivering.

They wrestled each other to the ground, Atticus coming out on top to land a final punch to Chris's face. He grabbed Chris's fist in the air, closed his eyes, and twisted his hand back down.

"Dammit," Atticus muttered.

"I scratched your lip open," Chris whispered, "but you really fucking deserved it."

"I know." Atticus climbed off of him and sat on the floor, pulling his knees against his chest. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Chris slowly sat up, holding onto his jaw. "Dammit, this hurts."

"I don't feel anything anymore. I hate how much I want him."

"Then go get him."

"He doesn't want to talk to me. I should've kept my mouth shut." Atticus looked over at Chris, and they smiled at each other when he said, "That probably won't be too hard, now." Atticus's breath huffed, and blood dripped from his lip and stained his Converse.

"You look like a vampire," Chris said, getting up to grab the box of tissues from the table. "I'm sorry I gave you any advice. I should've known you would royally fuck it up."

Atticus held a tissue against his lip and sighed. "Do you still like me?"

Chris smirked. "Punching you in the face is the highlight of my year."

Atticus sighed and laid back on the cream colored carpet, stained red from years of fistfights. He sucked his bloody lip into his mouth so he wouldn't have to say anything. He rested his cheek on his shoulder and stared at the floor.

"Atticus," Chris whispered, "please."

"What am I gonna do?"

Chris rubbed Atticus's arm. "You'll get over him."

"I don't want to get over him. But I can't. . . I'm such a fucking mess."

Atticus scratched at his wrist, but Chris grabbed his hand.

"You're not," Chris promised, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go.

"I mess up everything."

All Chris could do was let him complain and try to convince him otherwise. But Atticus was never easily convinced of anything. And just because Chris was a lawyer didn't mean that his persuasion was strong enough. Conversations with Atticus ran in circles. You couldn't win.

"You'll find someone else."

"I don't want anyone else."

"Atticus—"

"Someone else isn't him," Atticus whispered. "I'm just going to be alone until I die."

"That was always what you said you wanted," Chris said, trying to rile him up.

"Shut up," Atticus growled.

Chris recognized the fine line they were walking on. Atticus wasn't biting, and he wasn't going to admit to anything.

"Let's take a break," he suggested, sitting up. "I have ice cream."

Atticus looked up at him and sighed. "Can't we play roulette with vodka or something?"

"No, and if you sigh at me one more time tonight, I'll knock you out."

"Fine." Atticus rolled his eyes and got up to follow Chris into the kitchen. "Is it at least vanilla?"

"No, I bought the kind you don't like," Chris said sarcastically, pulling the tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer.

They stood at the counter, a tub of ice cream between them, and spoons in their hands. Atticus stared at the granite counter tops as he scraped the spoon around the carton, actually telling his friend what happened. He couldn't look Chris in the eyes as he asked, "Do you think he'll ever want to talk to me again?"

"You were kind of a douchebag to him," Chris said. "But I think it'll be okay. Just a lovers' quarrel."

Atticus's green eyes shot up. Chris pulled the spoon from his mouth and smirked. Atticus wasn't amused, and his lips twisted into a frown.

"What?" Chris asked innocently. "That's what it's called when you get into a fight with your boyfriend."

"I'll punch you again," Atticus muttered, dropping his eyes back down to stare at the counter top.

Chris knew that, at that point, Atticus was completely harmless. To him, to himself, to anyone and anything.

"What do you really want with him, Atticus?"

The attorney stayed silent.

"To hold him?"

Atticus bit his frowning lips.

"To kiss him?"

He shrugged a lazy shoulder.

"To make him your boyfriend?"

Atticus turned his head to look across the room. He was silent for a moment. Didn't move and didn't say a word. Chris was about to give up for the night. He went to put the lid back on the ice cream, but Atticus grabbed his hand to stop him and secure his attention again. Atticus still refused to look at him. Instead, he stared out the window over the sink with the ugly green checkered curtains, and whispered, "All of the above."