Truth is a funny thing. What you perceive as true is not always what really is. I constantly double guess myself about how other people react to me. "Did he act that way because he likes me? Or is he just being nice?" It is a constant struggle to see the truth of what I see.
Chapter 1, "A Friend from Pain"
I had a crush on this extremely cute guy. He was 5'10", had brown hair with blonde streaks, had the most beautiful icy blue eyes, and his smile; it made me melt. The braces on his teeth only made him that much cuter. The only problem was that he was a jock, and in my school, no jocks could be gay. It just was not possible.
We had the same P.E. class, and therefore had the same study. In P.E., I did not look at him too much. I was not perverted. Do not get me wrong, I glanced at him once or twice in the shower, but dignity (and possibly fear) kept me from gawking. I would stare at him longingly in study. I would study his beauty. I would catch glimpses of his eyes (such deep pools) and his stunning smile.
Occasionally, I would get up the courage to talk to him. He was friendly to me. He chatted and included me in his circle of friends. I just thought the world of him. He was great. I started hanging out with him. He would invite me over for a party he was throwing, and he threw them often because that was "the jock thing to do". Overall, I really had fun with him.
Eventually, I told him. We were alone, and I just came out to him. What came next was not at all what I expected. I expected one of two things: either he would reject me, throw me out, and never speak with me again, or we would embrace and share our mutual "gayness".
However, neither of these happened. Instead, he asked me to come nearer to him (I had been standing some distance away). I slowly, step by agonizing step, walked closer. His face had never changed its appearance until I came close. Just then, when I was within reach, his usually happy demeanor changed into utter rage. He grabbed hold of me and started pounding me all the while screaming obscenities.
How could I have been so stupid? How could anyone that I have longed for like me, as I like them? How could anyone even accept me as I am? I felt worthless then. I felt I should be beaten for presuming too much. I even beat myself mentally for such a mistake.
I had phased out all the pain. I could not tell if he was still hitting me or not, or even if I was still in the same place. My eyes were closed and I was lost in my own thoughts. I was in a place where only I could cause harm to myself. I was my only enemy. Danny (the boy) was not at fault. It was all me. I deserved it.
I awoke later. I had no idea what time it was or where I was. I was lost. This guy, who I could only vaguely recall at the time as one of Danny's friends, was approaching me. I could not think. I could not act. The kid, once he spotted me, walked quickly over to me. He asked what had happened. He asked if I was ok. I could not answer. I did not want to.
I guess I blacked out again because when I woke up, I was on someone's couch and was still feeling as lost.
I slowly sat up. Just then the pain that was there all along, I guess, hit me. I groaned, but I continued to sit up. When I was upright, the pain lessened a little, but was still there.
I looked around slowly, as not to aggravate my condition. I noticed it was a nice living room, but I did not notice anything else, until the same boy that I had seen earlier walked over to me from another room. He was carrying a washcloth and bowl. He sat down next to me, and I just stared at him puzzled. I still could not place his face with a name. I guess my mind was still in the blender. He started talking again.
He asked me if I knew what had happened to me. I nodded. He asked me if Danny had done this. I nodded again. He continued to just talk to me. He was worried that I might have a concussion. He talked about this and that, much of which just passed right over me. All I could tell from him, was that he was caring about me.
He proceeded to wipe away the corners of my mouth with the washcloth. I was surprised about the redness on the cloth when he dipped it into the bowl of water. I did not know that I had bled at all. I hurt all over, but it did not occur to me that I might be bleeding. He wiped my mouth, and then my entire face. He went to what I assumed to be the kitchen, and freshened the water, as it was completely red by now.
The bleeding had stopped a while ago, but he had wiped away my dried blood. I was finally beginning to hear, understand, and respond to what he was saying. We started talking about what happened. I started right away by telling him it was my fault; that I should not have told Danny that I was gay; that I would not blame him for doing the same thing as Danny.
He was appalled at this. He scorned me for blaming myself. He told me that it was in no way, shape, or form my fault. That Danny was just and asshole stuck in the stone ages, and that people like him and I did not deserve such treatment. I was definitely not expecting this. I was confused. Did he just say what I think he said? I doubted my own hearing. He giggled at my puzzlement. "What? You don't think one of Danny's jock friends can't be gay?" This was definitely not expected.
We talked about everything that night (I finally figured out what time it was). We talked about how we knew we were gay, when we knew definitely that we were, and if we told anyone. We both had pretty much the same stories. We always knew we were different, we just accepted it when we started dreaming and thinking about guys instead of girls, and we had not told anyone (except each other, and Danny knew about me).
I felt luck then. I felt lucky to finally have someone to talk to about all the stuff I wanted to talk about every day. I had forgotten about what happened earlier. I had forgotten about the pain, which had actually died to a dull ache. I felt happier than I had in a long time. Who would have thought that getting the, for lack of a better word, crap beaten out of you could leave you with a new friend, a new ally.
I noticed it was late. I said that I would have to get going. He said his name was Taylor. I told him my name was Luke. He said he knew.
That night, I slept better than I had in a long while, and, except for the slight soreness, awoke happy and beaming. I got ready for school in a sort of a happy daze. I floated to the bathroom, showered, and looked in the mirror. If it were not for my reflection, I would have just put off my remembrance of the other day as a dream.
I had bruises all over my face. I dared not look at the rest of me, as I knew it would appear the same. It seemed Dan had great aim when it came to landing punches. With the memory of Dan, came the memory of Taylor, and none of the bruises seemed to matter. I would just tell people I got jumped or something and just deal with the stares. I could go on living, especially since I had a friend now.
Please give me some feedback on this. I have received some on my other story: "Luke, Unrequited", but I have not received much. E-Mail me at SmTwnBoi@aol.com. Later all.