Chapter 8
Darko's POV
"I love you Charlie," the character on my laptop screen says, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'll always love you."
Ping wraps a hand around Charlie's jawline, thumbing a bleeding scratch across his skin. With his last ounce of strength, the dying soldier smiles up at Ping. The gunfire and explosions happening around them fade into the background, the battle meaningless to the pair.
"I... love you too..."
The light fades from his eyes, and he lies still, facing the sky with a vacant, unmoving expression. Ping tugs at Charlie's shirt, bawling his eyes out, unable to form words. The screen pans out to a scene of carnage, battleships on fire, tanks ablaze, and bodies strewn across a battlefield. It fades to black, and the only thing I can see is my reflection - tears spill down my cheeks.
Holy crap, this is a good movie. Charlie refused to acknowledge his feelings for Ping, in fear of the rest of the militia alienating them. In the end, he doesn't care. I don't understand why he doesn't care - the fear of other people finding out is terrifying. The fallout was immense – he could have been saved if his friends didn't leave him exposed to gunfire. Yet, I'm still crying.
Reaching for a tissue on my bedside table, I wipe my face, catching tears that had spilt. Thank goodness my entire family is downstairs getting dinner ready; if either walked in on me sobbing like a child missing his mummy, they'd have a field day. Well, Stefan would have a field day. I can practically already hear the masculinity jokes pouring from his mouth like an overflowing sewage pipe.
I shut my laptop and push it away from me, lying back on my bed, eyes glossing over as they watch the ceiling.
Would I ever come out?
A part of me knows that I'll probably never come clean about my feelings towards Taylor, but that same part knows that I'll have to come out to him eventually. The dude's my best friend and whether I'll like it or not, he's going to be in my life for a long time after university ends. The same goes for Bella and Lyra.
I suppose Taylor's more left-leaning than most. He's certainly not racist, and I don't think I've ever heard him make fun of gays or theys. Plus, he never followed any religion – Mr Ferguson was Buddhist, but he never made any of his kids follow his beliefs.
So, surely, he wouldn't care. He'd probably be grateful and proud that I told him, like any friend should be. I just hope that if I ever do tell him, he won't hate me for not telling him sooner.
I sit up on my bed, popping open my laptop, a photo of my dirt bike painting the screen. I know I won't come out for a while, but it would be nice to have a rough plan on what to do. Right? Right. Politicians pre-write their speeches, doctors study their craft all the time, and authors plan things to a T, I guess. Coming out is probably one of those things you can't anticipate, but it gives me comfort knowing that I would know what to do or say if I ever chose to come out.
Taking in a breath, I open a word document, the blinking black line flicking at the start of the white page. Cracking my wrists, I place my fingers on the keyboard, and start writing.
Okay, so, Bella. She'd be cool with it. No doubt at all. Don't even need to go into any depth there. Her uncles are gay, and she adores them. Maybe I should come out to her first. She'd be the most understanding and the easiest to tell.
Lyra. She's a sweetheart - she wouldn't judge me. If anything, she'll just be confused, which is a fair enough reaction to a secret like this. She might think I'm joking. Then again, why would I joke about that?
Taylor. We went through this.
My parents, and Stefan. Stefan, Stefan, Stefan.
I stare at the document. It's two pages long. The cursor next to my family member's names keeps blinking, and for the first time tonight, I start to worry. How the hell would any of them react?
Well, I know for certain none of them will take it well. If we were American, they'd be Trump supporters. None of them like gay people.
Stefan always butchers the LGBT acronym, thinks non-binary people don't exist, thinks trans people are doing it for 'attention', whatever that means, and constantly degrades feminine gays. He's that fuckwit that says 'I identify as an apache helicopter' while snorting and giggling to nobody but himself. And I think he's tried 'converting' a lesbian, saying she 'just hasn't been with the right guy yet.'
If you're looking for the definition of bigoted, just look at my older brother.
My parents on the other hand are just religious nutcases that think gay people are sinners that need to repent, or they'll be condemned to hell, yada yada. That old chestnut. Dad has one of those religious fish stickers on the back of his car, and my mother does that hand-chest-cross gesture thing whenever something unorthodox happens. Pious to a fault, those two are.
I shake my head and sigh to myself. 'Stay closeted to them' I write next to their names. I just — ugh, I don't know. I'm sure many gays out there are only out to a select few people and hide away from their parents. If I did, I can bet for sure that I'd be kicked out of this house. My parents may disown me, or try to get me sent to a conversion camp. My brother may just cut me off entirely, which would be awful for so many reasons.
"It's fine," I say to myself, releasing a breath of air. "Just, don't think about your family."
My fingers scroll me back to the top of the document, and I start reading. By the time my eyes scan down to just above Stefan's and my parent's paragraphs, my mouth is grinning from ear to ear, my chest buzzing with warmth and excitement.
Maybe this won't be so bad.
I'm about to tell myself to do it, to message the group chat, but something passes in my mind. Nicole pops into my head. I don't care that much for the girl, but I'll still feel terrible. She really likes me – and I still owe her that date. Connor would never forgive me if I came out before I was meant to date her – and I would have given her one hell of an insecurity complex. Would she think that she 'turned' me gay after the prospect of a date comes up?
I shut my laptop. No. I'm not doing this. I can't. I just can't.
I bury my hands in my face. Angrily sighing, I swing my legs over the edge of my bed, gripping the edge of my mattress, looking into my lap. Okay, brain - never let me think about coming out again.
My door swings open as I stand up. It's Stefan. He nearly knocks over my racing helmet that's balancing on the edge of a shelf beside him. "Hey D! Food's nearly done — can you smell that Borscht? Holy fuck. Mum and Dad have outdone themselves."
I force a smile. "It does smell nice. I'll be down in a minute."
He arches an eyebrow. "Hm, something doesn't feel right. What's wrong, man?"
I shake my head no. "Nothing. Look, don't worry. It's just, uh—" I look to my left, and see unfinished notes from class. "—food science! Yes, I'm just sick of watching this lecture, none of the info is sinking in. Macros, am I right?"
Stefan furrows his eyebrows. "Okay, Mr. Weirdo. You forget that I, your dear brother, am a graduate with the same degree as you. You looked up enough to me to copy the degree I took – is there something specific I can help with?"
I shrug. "It's fine. Just note taking. Will power through it eventually."
"Sure thing man. Oh, by the way, you so missed out. There were these two chicks at the gym and, ugh, so fine. I swear yoga pants are God's gift to men all over the globe."
"Right? What would we ever do without those tight pants?" I say back, forcing out a laugh. He smiles, looking away as if he's trying to remember the curvature of those poor women he leered at. I can bet that he cat called them – he's the kind of person that would.
"Oh, one more thing, sorry remembering everything at once," he says, inching into my room, shutting the door behind him, "There's something I gotta discuss with you. Bro-to-bro, man-to-man."
I roll my eyes. Here we go. "What is it?"
He sits on my bed, leaning back, using the palms of his hand as support. God, I don't think he's showered yet — his body odour is repulsive, like someone managed to cram the scent of the university's entire gym into his armpits.
"Okay, so, you know that party Lyra's throwing? The one for her campaign?"
"Yeah..?" I arch an eyebrow. "What do you want?"
He leans in closer as if someone's going to listen in. "Can I be your plus one? I've been out of uni for like, less than four months and I miss seeing her all the time."
I fold my arms. "Right. What happened to those gym girls you were talking about just then? Or, literally any other female, such as ones at your work that you say wanted to date you? I thought you told me you were going to move on from her."
He sits up, his voice rising. "I am! I just, ugh. I want one more shot with her. I know this is weird for you because she's your best friend but... well, I think I love her, and with her becoming recently single..."
My eyebrows knit together, confused. "How the heck did you know about that? Their breakup was so recent!"
Stefan taps his nose. "Not to quote Hercules, but people," he points to himself, "do crazy things when they're in love. I have my sources."
I groan. "I'll think about it. But, no promises."
Beaming, Stefan shouts a happy Yes! at me. "Thank you! You're the best brother ever."
He tousles my hair, making me shudder back. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
"Ah, but I know you well enough. You'll fold and say yes."
I chuckle as he wraps me in a bear hug. Sure, he knows me well enough... but not as well as he should.
"Now, go finish helping Mum and Dad get dinner all prepped. I'll be down in a minute."
Walking towards the door, he stops as he grabs the handle. "Thanks again bro, you're doing me a solid."
I go to shout to him that I still haven't said yes, but he's already out of my room, rushing toward the kitchen. I turn back toward my bed.
Picking up my laptop, I put it on my desk next to my bed, sweeping away the lecture notes I absolutely meant to do instead of watching that sad movie, and open up the document. Stefan's conversation plays out in my head, and I underline Stay closeted to him. It's too risky, and I'll need to think of a way to tell him without him hating me the moment he finds out.
Ah well. That's a future-me problem. I close my laptop - I have Borscht waiting for me.
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