Page 41 of This I Promise You
Why do I do this?
I close my eyes and try not to think about it. My breath stutters from my lips and I clench my teeth. I push the thoughts away, but they’re replaced by him.
It’s his fault.
Those green eyes, that hard chin, the tattoos. It’s been six days since he ran from this very room, but I keep thinking about him. No matter how many times I tell myself it’s just a stupid crush, a child thing, I can’t seem to rid him from my thoughts.
My phone dings quietly outside my sheets. Maybe. Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s decided he messed up and wants to talk. I throw the covers back and scoop my phone from the shared makeshift nightstand of plastic storage drawers. I deflate when it comes to life. It’s Sam, my sister.
SAMANTHA: You home yet?
A huff escapes my lips. I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to think about this, but if I don’t answer she’s liable to get the entire Charlotte-Mecklenburg police force out looking for me. I didn’t want to tell Aidan where I was going. Rebound sex isn’t a cool look and I know it worries him and he has class early tomorrow. So I told my sis instead. I might be stupid for loaning my body out, but I’m not stupid enough to do it without telling someone where I’ll be.
EASTON: Yeah.
In my defense, I hadn’t planned on it. DLStraight92sent me a message yesterday and I ignored it. I did good. But the more I thought about Paul, the way he ran out of the dorm when I kissed him, how it’s like I don’t exist to him anymore, and how much for some goddamn reason I give a fuck, the lower I sank. It’s one of those things your brain doesn't fully process in the moment, then it waits for you to fuck up before it pulls everything in and lets you reexamine your choices in full HD. So I messaged DLStraight92 back and I went over. Again.
Why did I go over again? My body aches, and I feel like a piece of rebar was thrust up my ass and pounded by a jack hammer. The way he threw me around and degraded me. And the entire time I felt like I deserved it, like it’s all I’ll ever deserve. But now it’s all crashing down.
I drop my phone back on the cabinets and curl into my blankets, covering my face and bringing my knees up into my stomach. I want to disappear, to not feel, to not be. I’d rather be numb, feel nothing at all than this grating guilt and the shit playing out in my head, the memories of being violated, but asking for it. What the hell is wrong with me?
I’d thought it was just a kink, a little fetish with being dominated and demeaned I’d discovered with Ryan my junior year in high school, but it’s become so much more than that. In the moment, I feel like I deserve it, like it appeases this guilty part of me that applauds who I am. It’s like punishment for all the things I couldn’t beandthat I am. If I’m honest, and I’m no therapist, part of me wants to blame my mom, that bitch who left when I was only fourteen, only months after I came out, and it was no coincidence. She made it clear she wouldn’t have a gay son and if that was who Ichoseto be, she didn’t know me.
I remember the day she walked out the door, the day Dad gave her his ultimatum. It was either accept and love me or pack her bags. I can still picture the jean jacket she was wearing that day, the red-and-white plaid scarf over her shoulder as I watched her walk away without ever looking back, without ever saying goodbye. That was November 12, 2014, just two weeks before Thanksgiving, over six years ago.
I pull myself back to the present and I don’t want to be here either. Why is who I am always a battle? If it’s not the literal person I was born and who I love, it’s the things battling in my head for dominance, and if it’s not that it’s a boy who can’t really see me, and if it’s not that it’s the disease that’s slowly wreaking havoc on my body.
I clench my eyes tight, willing myself into the darkness. I wrap my fists around the covers and squeeze. Tears slip between my eyelids and cross the bridge of my nose, dripping onto my sheets. I pull into myself and bury my face in my pillow as I let it all out.
Paul
I’ll Remember This Forever
I started masturbating again.
I don’t want to be scared of sex. Not anymore. I like sex, I do. Or I used to and I want to again. But I have to work my way up to it.
Baby steps.
Well, that is if he ever wants to see me again. He’s texted a few times. Even left me a couple more voicemails. I do really like him…I think? I’m not too sure since we haven’t really gotten to know each other past the bullshit. I’d be willing to. I’m pretty sure I want to. But I’m just… I don’t know what to do right now.
So I started masturbating again. I was on the verge of another panic attack after the first time, but I was able to work through it. The first time jerking off after three years going without was nothing short of glorious. Panic attack be damned. Since then I’ve tried to do it at least once a day with no panic attacks in sight.
Today, though, I just finished mysecondsession, and I’m very proud of that, thank you very much. No porn though. Porn is too addicting and I don’t want to go down that road. So I guess I’m working on this in the hope that Easton will still want me after I finally get my shit together.
I towel-clean myself and head to the bathroom to touch up my hair. I pull the forty-volume developer out from underneath the sink and get to work. Once my hair is freshly bleached I grab my clippers and give myself a clean new buzz, then hop in the shower.
I was able to land that job. I don’t start until next week, but I’m pretty stoked. Before I transferred schools and moved to North Carolina I was never allowed to have a job. My dad was well off, I think. But he was so incredibly controlling that we never really did anything fun as a family. The only extracurriculars he let us do were sports, but no jobs. So he gave us older kids an allowance “out of the kindness of his heart” once we each started high school. It didn’t feel like much at the time, but I saved and saved and eventually I bought my car from my parents and got my own phone plan “to show I was being responsible”. After that I just kept saving until the moment my dad decided to cut me off. I left Kansas City shortly after that. Gah! I hated how controlling he was. I could never do anything I wanted. Like, ever. Though I sure the fuck did take all I could outta him while I had the chance. I knew it would end eventually anyway.
Moving took a good chunk though, and I’ve been kinda reckless since I’ve been here.
So this is my first job. Part-time, but still a job.
I throw on some sweats—I don’t think Huxley is home, but in case she comes back I don’t wanna be flouncing around the house buck naked—and head to the kitchen to start making dinner.
I’m just about to finish up and fill my plate when there’s a knock on the door. Huxley wouldn’t knock unless she forgot her keys again, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone. I don’t know anyone here.
I go to my room and put on a shirt, then head back out to answer the door. I open it to find Easton. My chest hitches with the loss of breath. Damn he’s cute. But fuck, I’ve been avoiding him and now he’s here. He’shere.
