Copyright 2006 by Orfeo Sunstone
Disclaimer: Subject matter of this fictional short story is of homosexual nature, if this offends you or it is illegal to read in your state or country, please leave immediately. All individuals depicted are a figment of the imagination, and any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between. Write to orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com
I, Roberto Aleman
Chapter 5
Summer has come and going and I'm still here. There have been days where nothing happens as I watch the restless deconstruction of my existence.
Three weeks after the kiss and, you know, the other "stuff" that happened, I received an email from David Wentworth informing me that what had occurred was a mistake, the side-effects of alcohol, that he was not, you know, "different", that the letter I had received was not true, he was not my secret admirer, he did not love me, and that it be best if I forgot everything.
If I recall, he was not drunk, Sofia told me; I asked if anyone drank alcohol at her party besides yours truly and she said no. The kiss was not a mistake, he wanted it and I certainly did too. I didn't reply to his email.
I made as if nothing had ever happened. I worked all summer long, went here and there like a hummingbird, engaged the mind with trivialities, and let my heart spend many sleepless nights thinking of him that too often it cried itself to sleep. Sleep with the moon, awake with the sun, and still an empty heart.
Sofia met with me several times where she related her relationship with Scott. They were now a couple. A couple of idiots for believing in love.
During our get together, David came up in her stories, and it appears he has a new girlfriend; a girl named Annabelle who had recently moved to his neighborhood and would be attending our school. I continued my indifference. No one will see the adamant suffering of my eyes when they close and think of him. Sofia also told me she was going on vacation to Australia for a whole month and that Scott and David were going to Hawaii. I wish I could take a trip too, but that's never going to happen. I wouldn't be able to afford it even though I've been working since I was nine years old every summer.
One late afternoon when the sun was winding down and the voice of a snail was ahead of me, I witnessed myself talking like the crazy wind, and in that discourse I suffered an unpleasant surprise, an uncomfortable thought almost assaulted me: two strangers, on a park bench, holding hands, touching lips, David and another guy. But then reality smacked my thoughts away and there on the park bench were Annabelle and David kissing like I will never be able to. A tear rolled down my cheek and a flayed sigh escaped from within.
Her cell rang interrupting their contact. She answered and David turned to where I stood. His gaze held my eyes for a mere second and it felt like they held the world. I stood watching the seconds pass by, watching the minutes laughing in my face, watching love escape from my heart. My blood seemed to run a little slow. Another lonesome tear dropped from my eyes but my left hand swiftly wiped it away, then I turned around, bowed my head to the ground, and retraced the steps I wish I had never taken. Life was just not for me.
When school commenced, dear Reader, I was only half human. I masqueraded a joyful face and played a marionette to please those around me, yet, I was lost in the streets of my skull, sleeping with my naked thoughts. The horror kept repeating itself: Annabelle and David. But I smiled at defeat. I, Robert Aleman, will not surrender. I too will find happiness.
It turns out that David and I share the same classes again this new school year, so I went to the counseling office and requested that my classes be changed. And they did, except for the last class, which was English, again; the other classes were too full already so I had to endure the pain that the presence of David contributed to my being by sitting next to him in class. He didn't acknowledge my existence and I played indifference to his.
All seemed to flow smoothly until right before winter break. That's when fate decided to manifest its spiteful face. As I was pulling out my economics book from my locker, I heard my name screamed from across the hall. I turnaround and running toward me was Sofia Hayes, exasperation denoted her features.
"I'm really sorry, please forgive me, I didn't to mean to blurt it out, I don't know what I was thinking..." I certainly didn't know what the heck she was talking about, or what she was thinking.
"Hold up," I gestured with the palm of my hand. "What are you talking about? Forgive you for what?"
"I revealed your secret."
"Wha...what...secret?" I panicked. Don't let it be what I think it is.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Scott and I were talking and one thing lead to another and I told him that you're gay and that you're in love with David."
"No..." I whispered. No, this can't be. "Why?"
"I'm sorry—"
"Sorry isn't going to help me much here, Sofia. What the hell were you thinking?" I was angry. How could she disclose something that no one was to know? I don't reveal to the world when she has her period, or what she uses to masturbate.
"I know. I'm very, very sorry. I didn't mean to, honestly. I'd take it all back if I could." Tears were emerging from her eyes.
I let out a heavy sigh: "What else can I do now...?" Defeated, I left with the presage that my life was going to suffer a few blows in the next couple of hours that would last for the rest of my life. Eyes, they were everywhere, glancing, questioning, drowning me with their stares.
The classroom was empty as I made my presence known. I took a sit and waited for the inevitable. There, on the desk, staring at the hands that encompassed my body, turmoil began to brew in my head. But my thoughts galloped away and I was left with the silence of hope.
Minutes lingered in the air, the class began to fill, and Scott Huntington treaded in. For a mere instant time was suspended as he walked toward my direction, halted at my desk, placed both hands on top of it, leaned his head to my right ear and whispered: "Hey fag." I just stared straight ahead at the blackboard and he continued, "Expect a visit from David." A hidden, indefinable, floating in the air fear gradually began to encompass rapture me.
At the end of the school day, there was still no sign of David, and word had not spread, yet. As I stood in front of my locker stuffing books into my backpack, a sudden chill struck my skin. I kept my eyes on the inside of the locker as a voluptuous shadow fell on my right side. I closed my eyes and sought asylum from the silence that awaited my destruction.
"Roberto..." I heard him say as a perpetual busing resound in my ears. The seconds that followed were asphyxiating. David grabbed my arm, twisted me around, but my eyes remained fixed on the carpeted hallway. "Look at me." I couldn't lift my gaze. "Please." I shook my head. He let out a heavy sigh and I felt his breath on the tip of my nose. "What are you afraid of?" he whispered to my lips.
"Everything," was my only answer.
"Don't be. Scott won't say a word, I made him promise. It's your secret, prohibited knowledge to all. No one will know unless you offer." I resisted the urge to raise my pupils and stare into his. "Is it true?" he rubbed his nose against mine. "Do you really love me?" I didn't want to answer, my voice had gone dried. What would I gain from telling the truth? "Please say something...anything," he pleaded.
"I'm afraid of you." And it was true. I had become terrified of him. He now knew my secret and I disgusted him.
"Why?"
"I..." and I paused for the wind that was listening to rush through. "I'm going to be late for work if I don't leave now." I turned around, closed the locker, swung my backpack over my shoulders, and walked away.
Chapter 6
"In the middle of the night, when my eyes grow tire and it seems that sleep will take over, your face remains resilient. I can silence the voices in my head, but I can't stop hearing yours. I can calm the mind, empty its thoughts, but I can't stop yearning for you."
That, dear Reader, is a note from David Wentworth that Scott Huntington gave me on the last day of classes before winter break. Scott also apologized for all the derogatory names he called me in the past.
I forgave Sofia Hayes for disclosing certain classified secrets to her boyfriend, Scott. She was not at fault for the error I committed in carrying that journal around school, material of that sort should be hidden in the privacy of the brain. But I've remedied that problem: the journal has been turned into ashes.
The note. I slipped the note that David sent back into his locker. I was not going to play his game. First, he makes me belief that he might be interested in me, maybe that was just in my head, second, he beats me up, and it hurt too, third, he tries to seduce me but it blows up in his face, literally, fourth, he rejects me and gets a girlfriend, and now he wants me again. Time for I, Roberto Aleman, to find myself a new attraction.
In the middle of the day, a note was slipped into my backpack, apparently when I was not looking. It read:
"Please be my boyfriend.
David Wentworth"
Wow. He signed it. Impressive. I decided to go to the main office to find out the mailing address of David Wentworth in order to respond to his message, but before I was able to walk through the door, I heard my name hollered from two opposite directions. To my right was Scott Huntington rushing up to me. On my left was a gorgeous girl, more beautiful than Sofia Hayes, waving her hands up in the air.
Scott reached me first and asked: "David want's to know if you have an answer to the message he left you." Ah, the messenger. I wondered if he was aware of the information contained in the note.
"Yes, please tell your dear friend that it's a big definite `no'," I replied with a smile on my face.
"Okay." And he left running out the front doors. Then I was viciously attacked by a pair of arms that surrounded my waist.
"Hi Beto, long time no see." I turned around to face the culprit that had the majority of the student body staring at me; I despise being the center of attention. Black eyes and lushes red lips smacked themselves on my face. I still didn't know who this girl was. "Don't you remember me?" I shook my head. "It's me, Citlali Bracho. We were neighbors when we were little, very little." Now I remember.
"You're the one that made me drink my piss when we were five," I said with disgust in my voice while wiping away her smudges. "You're despicable."
"Yes, but you made me drink your piss too. I should hate you more." She had a point.
We chatted for several hours in the parking lot on top of the hood of my car, almost froze to death. I won't bore you with the details of our past lives, dear Reader, but I will inform you that she guessed that I am, well, you know, "different", and I found out that she is "different" too. Small world.
Trapped. I was trapped in the mall elevator. Trapped with David Wentworth. With a seething David Wentworth. The hostile silence was almost perfect. Perfect for my destruction. I was up against the railing, clutching it with both hands for dear life. For an enormous moment I felt his eyes on my skin, touching it, listening to its thoughts.
"Who is she?" he questioned. I didn't answer. "Why was she kissing you?" he demanded. I wanted to run away but the darn elevator was stuck between the 4th and 5th floors. My silence was making him more irritable. So I answered him.
"That girl that had her lips wrapped around mine is Citlali Bracho, my...girlfriend?" I guess I really didn't answer, more like asked. His eyes flared and I thought for certain he was going to go ballistic. Citlali and I were only practicing the art of kissing. Nothing else. At least that's what it was to us. But I didn't want to justify my actions to him.
"When did she fall in love with you?" No, she wasn't in love with me. She had a crush on one of the cheerleaders—maybe all of the cheerleaders as she kept ogling at them—from our school and she wanted to perfect her kissing.
"You mean when did I fall in love with her?" He had the audacity to smirk at me.
"I know for a fact that you aren't in love with her." His body began to move towards mine. The warmth from the faux shearling jacket I wore was asphyxiating. My hands became clammy. "You, Roberto Aleman, could never, ever, be in love with a girl." Now his hands were placed on each side of my head and his face bending towards mine; I was only 5'9" tall against his six foot stature. I made to scoot, but his right leg prevented me from moving. He kept smirking. "You're very handsome. Your soft black curly hair begs to be caressed by my fingers." A soft smile appeared on his lips. "And your dark brown eyes, oh, Roberto, you don't want to know what they arouse. I go crazy seeing another mouth drink my honey." His lips kissed my closed eyelids. "May I kiss your lips?" No, say no, I told my brain, but my head nodded in affirmation.
His lips were soft and sweet, and I ravaged them without mercy, squeezed them with my teeth, licked them with my tongue, and bathe them in saliva. His hands roamed my body like wild ivy, groping here and there, trembling with appetite. Our breathing became heavy, but our mouths continued to attack each other. As our clothe bodies rubbed against one another, it became apparent that we were both in the pinnacle of a climax. And we erupted with a flayed sigh as the elevator door slid open.
Still embracing, we slowly turned to the open door and were confronted by Sofia, Scott, Citlali, and a couple of firemen looking at us. David quickly disentangled from my arms, gave me a disgusted stare, swung his fist in the air and struck me on my left temple with such force that I fell to the floor. "Fucking faggot," my ears heard David shout as darkness touched my forehead and gradually began to overpower my being.
The doctor informed me that I had suffered a concussion, so I was kept 48 hours in the hospital under observation. Evidently, many individuals who suffer a concussion experience short memory loss, but in my case, I remembered it all, especially the fist that belonged to David Wentworth. I guess I'm becoming a masochist.
Christmas was spent in a hospital bed in the silent night wrapped in my room with the invisible, constant, presence of fear My parents, dear Reader, found out what happened, including the kiss with David. A couple of words were exchanged in repugnance and as of tonight, I have no home, no family, no one. Alone, I'm left facing people and the sun.
I kept quiet as my thoughts began to runaway with the wind that blows them over and won't return them, and I surrendered to sleep.
Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between. Write to orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com