Chapter 2
brENT MITCHELL
Rafe hadn’t known about my shitty family life because it’s not something I like to talk about. Thus far, I’d been able to avoid any discussion. Any time family is brought up, I manage to turn the conversation to his family or away from it completely.
When I first came out to my mother at twelve, my entire world changed.
They knew I was telling the truth and not going through a phase.
But they weren’t willing to accept it then.
Maybe they thought they could bully me or bribe me or maybe even guilt me into being their perfect straight Christian boy.
It was still crushing to think that the only person in my entire family who still spoke to me was an old aunt who had taken me in once my parents kicked me out at seventeen. The summer before I went to college, she had a stroke and is now in assisted living. Everything she’d owned was liquidated.
The only other family I have that acknowledges me is an estranged ex-family uncle. I think that’s the relationship. But yeah, we talk sometimes. Quick texts. Always promising to stay in touch more, but somehow never managing to do so.
I literally have nowhere to go anymore. This frat house is my home. And during the few months when I’m forced to leave, I wander around town, pretending I’m not homeless.
Everything in me wants to take Rafe’s offer. I desperately long for a family, for the love and support they’re supposed to give. That I had until I was twelve. But I’m afraid. Not least of all, afraid to be that close to Rafe for that long. Winter break is nearly four weeks long.
When we were assigned rooms together, I told him right away that I’m gay. Preparing myself for his snark. For him to demand of the frat bros who hold the rooming power to change his room. I was ready to face bullying, subtle or outright. This fear carried on toward the whole of the Omegas.
I got none of that. Ever. From any one of my frat brothers, but least of all from Rafe. He’s always supportive of me in whatever direction I go and whoever I hook up with. He asks me how it went and will listen to me talk about it if I want to. He’s the friend I’ve always longed for.
I’m not a closet gay, but I’m not a stereotypical gay, either.
I’m open about being gay. However, looking at me, talking to me, or spending time around me, it’s not overly obvious.
I’m a hardcore sports fan. I spend a considerable amount of time at the gym.
My clothing generally consists of jeans and hoodies or jerseys. And I’m not flamboyant.
These were all points my parents liked to point out for why I’m choosing to be gay instead of actually being gay.
Clearly, I’m masculine; therefore, I’m straight.
It’s all just nonsense, and I need to choose the right path and follow God.
I tried to explain that those were all just stupid stereotypes.
Not every gay person is feminine and flamboyant.
According to my parents, I’m wrong about that. They should know, experts in gay culture that they are, apparently.
Rafe and I go to dinner at the café tonight and sit with his classmates, Marvin and Dallas, as they talk about the new librarian, Alice.
I roll my eyes several times during that mindless conversation, waving them off when they try to bring me into it, commenting on the calculus professor that all the girls drool over.
“I’m not a girl,” I tell them for the hundredth time. “Just because pussy freaks me out, doesn’t mean I like what girls like.”
Dallas raises his hands in defense, laughing. “Sorry, Brent. No offense meant.”
It wasn’t meant to be offensive. I’m not truly offended either.
Is it annoying that I’m lumped into the ‘girls’ by some guys because I’m gay?
Yes. So much fucking yes. It happens so often because the straight people who are tolerable or accepting of gays don’t know what to do with them.
Where to classify them in their black-and-white minds.
And since girls and gays like dick, they are one.
Rafe and I play football on the GameStation for a while when we get back to the room before crawling into our separate beds.
I’m thinking about what it might be like to be a part of Rafe’s family as my eyes drift closed.
A cozy house with his parents and siblings.
His siblings’ extended families. I’ve heard him talk to his siblings from time to time.
Listening to their banter and playful rivalry always makes me nostalgic for something I never had.
I must fall asleep. When I open my eyes, the bed is shaking as Rafe sits over me, shaking me awake.
“What?” I ask, grabbing his arm so he’ll stop rattling my head. “Fuck, Rafe, what’s wrong?”
“My parents keep trying to set me up,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. This is something that he needs to talk about now?
In the middle of the night? “Unless I bring someone home. A girlfriend.” He grins.
Even being illuminated only by the moon, I can see the wicked glint in his eyes. I shiver. “Or a boyfriend.”
I’m tired and a little sluggish. Therefore, trying to figure out why he’s mentioning a boyfriend when he’s straight is not something my sleep-foggy brain can make sense of right now.
“What?” I repeat, rubbing my fingers into my eyes.
“Your invitation to come home with me always stands, even if you don’t want to agree to my scheme. And I will be insisting over the next couple days—fair warning. But my parents will stay off my back as long as they think I’m involved with someone. That someone can be you!”
I stare at him dumbly. “What?” Pretty sure it’s the only thing I can manage at the moment.
Rafe laughs. “Come home with me. Pretend to be my boyfriend. They’ll see that you’re real, and we’ll pretend to be together. We can work out the details of our relationship on the drive home. And then we can carry on as per usual.”
Blinking several times, I determine I must be asleep. He’s talking about weird things. Maybe he’s drunk. Or high? Popping pills?
Whatever look I give him has Rafe laughing. He leans in, his face right in mine as he grins. My stomach flips. My heart thuds. My eyes widen.
“It’s fine to say no,” he says, smiling that easy smile.
His voice is quiet. Sexy. “I think we could pull it off better than if I asked someone else because we’re good friends.
But if you’re uncomfortable with it, I can accept that.
Promise.” Effortlessly sexy. Why can straight men pull that off so easily?
“I’ll think about it,” I answer, hoping it doesn’t sound as though I’m all squeaky and nervous.
Rafe beams. “I’m choosing to find it encouraging that you didn’t immediately reject the idea.” He places his hand in the middle of my chest, over my heart, patting me like a bro as he gets back to his feet. “Sorry I woke you. This definitely could have waited until morning.”
I watch as he jumps and lifts himself to the top bunk with his arms. Watch as he lifts a leg, the bulge of his cock in his shorts bouncing slightly at the movement.
Am I crushing on my roommate? Arguably, my best friend? Fuck yes.
“Sure,” I answer, closing my eyes and rolling to face the wall. “No problem.”
Sleep doesn’t take me, though. I stare at the wall as I think about what Rafe just woke me up to suggest. My heart continues racing.
Even if I were considering going home with him this holiday, it can’t be in that role.
There’s no way in hell he won’t see right through me.
He’ll figure out that his gay bestie is a cliché and has a crush on him.
Although, can I still call it a crush when it’s been nearly three years? Somehow, I think it’s moved beyond a crush. Graduated into… what, though? What comes after crush?
It takes me a while to finally fall asleep, but I do eventually. Once again, Rafe wakes me, though it’s morning this time. I grunt in acknowledgement.
“Get up. You’re going to miss breakfast.”
I grunt again, and he sits on the edge of my bed. Maybe to put on socks. He’s not sitting still, so he’s doing something. Our shoes are downstairs. Mo’s rule of no shoes in the house remains.
“You think about it?” Rafe asks.
“What?” I grumble. Dude, I’m not awake.
He laughs. “Be my fake boyfriend. It’ll be fun. I promise.”
There it goes again. My heart races. Fake. He said fake! “Yeah… I don’t know.”
Rafe sighs. I feel him shift, and then he’s lying beside me, his arm pressed against my back. I try not to shiver at his touch when he’s freaking lying in bed beside me.
“Have I told you about my family?”
My eyebrows knit together. This seems like a strange early morning conversation. “No,” I answer. “Not in more than passing conversations, I guess.”
“I’m the youngest boy but the second youngest child.
We have a baby sister. Baby is being used generously since Ryanne is eighteen.
Our family practices some really old traditions that aren’t widely seen anymore in the U.S.
One of which is setting up marriages for their children.
My older brothers both went this route, and I’m next. ”
“Arranged marriages?” I ask, dumbfounded.
He hums. “We call them contract marriages, but yeah, I suppose they’re the same thing, more or less.
Rice, my oldest brother, married Annie right after high school.
They have three children. Royal married Beatrice right before he graduated from college.
He wasn’t as readily willing to go along with a contract marriage as Rice, but eventually gave in for whatever reason. Now it’s my turn.”
“I… don’t have any words for this.” I roll onto my back so we’re lying side by side.
“I don’t want to get married right now. Not even in the next several years. Unlike my two older brothers, my parents truly don’t care who I settle down with. It’s more about doing so within a time frame, but I just don’t want to. I’m not ready or interested.”
“It’s not fair that they’re forcing you.”
“They’re not forcing me,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re pressuring me.”
“That makes it better,” I deadpan.
Rafe laughs. “I love my parents. They’re really great parents and good people.
They want what’s best for their kids, and I know they’ve taken a lot into account when choosing my brothers’ wives.
It’s not like this hasn’t worked out historically.
Both of my brothers are stupidly happy. Royal absolutely adores Beatrice.
My parents love each other deeply. Even my cousin, who was sort of tricked into marrying a man when he’s straight, is almost sickeningly happy and in love with his spouse. ”
“You’re just not ready,” I comment.
He sighs again. “Yeah. Exactly.”
I chew the inside of my lip as I think about this. “Can I ask you something about your family?”
“Mhm.”
“How will they feel if you come home with a boyfriend?”
“Convinced that I was, in fact, hiding someone. There will be gloating. Teasing. But it’s all in good fun.”
That’s not exactly what I’m fishing for. “I mean… you’re not just bringing home a hidden love affair. You’re bringing home a boyfriend. Not a girlfriend. They’re just going to accept that you’re suddenly gay or bisexual? There won’t be any… negativity?”
Rafe turns his head to face me, and he’s looking rather amused. “I did just tell you that my aunt and uncle tricked my straight cousin into marrying a man, right?”
“That’s your cousin. Not you. Not your parents.”
“Ah. Three or four generations ago would be a different story, but my family now—including my extended family—won’t care who you love.
My grandmother has a doctorate in gender studies.
She still teaches, but the generations under her are raised to acknowledge that gender is a social construct.
Which means sexuality and orientation are as well.
Nothing in nature is binary. Why would nature choose humanity alone to be binary? ”
“I suppose you haven’t gotten the memo that God created Adam and Eve,” I muse.
He laughs. “Which means everyone is a product of incest, so are we really going along with that as the argument for God’s supposed views on this?”
“Oh my god. I wish I’d thought of that years ago.”
“Furthermore, the word homosexual wasn’t found in the Bible until the early 1900s when translators mistranslated a couple words.
They even admitted as much years later. But the damage has already been done.
If you actually read the damn Bible, God and Jesus—neither actually says anything about homosexuality.
Not once. In fact, they’re all about loving your neighbor.
If you pass judgment on others, you’re committing a grave sin.
Peace and all that shit. Yet, look at all these Bible thumpers out here passing judgment and spreading hate.
Forcing their opinions on people. I recently read a statement from a Bishop that said something along the lines of ‘if we have to force our doctrine on anyone, in any place—state houses, schools, libraries—then we’re in a lot of trouble because that would indicate that Christianity is dead. ’”
“Wow. I didn’t know any of that.”
“Again, grandmother is a gender studies professor. She knows all.”
I grin. “That sounds really cool.”
“You say that not having been an eight-year-old and being gifted a biology book that explains the binary system that actually makes up what is labeled gender for Christmas.”
I laugh. “She didn’t.”
Rafe grins. “She did. It was one of the most interesting things I’ve ever read.
To this very day. I also love her mantra that if you’re of the mind that gender is black and white—male and female—you’ve never moved beyond middle school biology, and that’s not something to be proud of.
Imagine a high-class, elegant woman looking down her nose at you as she tells you this. ”
“I love your family,” I say, grinning hugely.
“They’re pretty great. But to answer your question before the derailment, my parents won’t care. My family won’t care. Furthermore, I think you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Rafe winks and pulls himself up using nothing more than those damn abs he’s hiding under his tee. “Get up.”
You don’t know me as well as you think you do. Those words stream through my head like an old-school screensaver on a marquee. What does that mean? What have I missed?
I sit up, my eyes following Rafe as he moves throughout the room, pulling books from his backpack and setting them on top of his desk, replacing them with other books. He flashes me a smile and leaves the room.
You don’t know me as well as you think you do.