Chapter 13 Beck
BECK
My lungs burn, my heartbeat is a frantic mess, and my legs feel like they’re going to collapse. And none of it has anything to do with the sprint I just made around campus to get back to the dorm. The sticky mess in my shorts is an acute reminder of how completely fucked my head and body are.
As expected, Cade and Fish are in the kitchenette, looking like they rose from the dead barely five minutes ago. Cade’s hair is smooshed on one side. Fish is blinking like the sun is a personal attack on his retinas.
Except they both seem to be awake enough to notice that something is off, if the way they’re staring at me is any indication.
“Dude,” Fish says. “Did you go for a run?”
“Yeah,” I gasp out. “Morning run.”
It’s technically not a lie. There was a lot of running involved. It just wasn’t a casual, planned jog like it normally would be.
Cade leans his elbows on the counter, smirking. “We saw you and Brody walking around the courtyard,” he says, nodding his head towards the one window in the living area. “What was he saying? You looked… I don’t know. Weird.”
My stomach free-falls. I shrug hard enough to seem annoyed. “Just talking shit. He’s always talking shit.”
“Yeah, but you don’t usually look like you’re about to pass out when he bothers you,” Cade says, ripping open a protein bar with his teeth. “Are you sick or something?”
“I let my dad get in my head last night,” I mutter. It’s an excuse that’s easier to believe. “I don’t really want to talk about it, though.”
They exchange an understanding look, then change the subject. They launch into a recap of the intra-squad showcase, which also happens to be high on the list of things I don’t want to touch with a thick, nine-inch pole.
I last maybe ninety seconds.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I announce abruptly. “And then meet Caty at the library.”
Cade blinks. “On a Sunday morning?”
“Yes,” I snap, unfairly annoyed. “Some of us have grades to worry about.”
My two best friends exchange another worried look as I slam the door behind me.
I don’t go to the library, but I do head straight to Caty.
She’s the only person I have to talk all this mess out with.
I have the decency to text her on my way this time, so she’s ready for me.
She greets me at the door with an iced coffee and a look she reserves just for my particular brand of bullshit.
She hands me the coffee and gestures for me to come inside, plopping down in the middle of what looks like the makings of a conspiracy theorist’s manifesto, but I know are her study notes.
She’s a visual learner, so she tends to write out her notes on cards and stick them to the wall. “Alright, spill it. What did you do?”
I drop into the chair that faces her small sofa. “Okay, so, don’t laugh.”
“I will absolutely take your request into consideration and give it the level of effort it deserves. Go on.”
I tell her everything, starting with last night’s meet up and ending with my embarrassing reaction to his words in the courtyard.
I don’t give her all the filthy details, much to her dismay.
I don’t think I could stomach it. Instead, I give her enough detail that she has a basic understanding of my pain.
She listens thoughtfully. Her eyes widen and then soften, then widen again at various parts of my sordid tale.
By the time I’m done with my embarrassing ramble, she’s fixed a flat, neutral expression on her face.
I think of it as the face an older sibling might give their errant younger brother when they’re beyond exasperated but trying not to show it.
“First,” she says, pointing a green highlighter at me like it’s a dagger, “you do need to open your mind a little. He’s right about that.”
“I’m open-minded,” I grumble.
“Maybe when it comes to other people, but even then I think you’re a little na?ve.
Being into one thing or another says nothing about the type of person they are.
There are plenty of big, strong, manly leaders of the world that like to crawl around on all fours and get their dick squished by a dominant half their size and pay grade. ”
My eyes blink several times. “What?” I can’t even tell if she’s serious.
“The people that give into their kinks and comforts are probably stronger for it,” she says matter-of-factly. “As long as your kinks don’t involve hurting someone against their will, there’s nothing wrong with it and it doesn’t change who or what you are.”
“I don’t have kinks,” I say too quickly, then amend my statement. ”At least I don’t think I do.” Also a lie and you know it, Beck.
“You’re allowed to be curious, Beck,” she says, because she knows I’m a liar. “And if you’re curious about Brody and his list of fun things to try, maybe you should give in a little and experiment.”
Am I curious about Brody, or is it what Brody has to offer?
“I’m not sure what I’m feeling is curiosity,” I mutter. “Not exactly. It’s just—I don’t know. Easier.”
“What is?”
I swallow. Hard.
“All of it. It’s the way he talks to me. Like he’s compelling me, making me do stuff.” My face heats. This is humiliating, even to myself. “Because then… whether I’m curious or not, it’s like the choice is taken out of my hands.”
She softens. “Oh, honey. It is your choice. Always. If he does anything you don’t want, you tell him to stop, and if he doesn’t—”
“You’ll fuck him up?”
“Don’t underestimate me because I’m smaller than you,” she says, pointing the sharp end of a talon-like nail at me.
“I’ll absolutely fuck someone up. But if you like it, then go with it.
Tell yourself whatever story you need to make it all fit into your square narrative.
Just don’t lie to yourself about it being your choice. I don’t think that’s healthy.”
“He gave me a safe word,” I assure her. “And I’m not square,” I say defensively.
She bursts into laughter. “You are the squarest person alive.”
“I’ve done stuff with guys,” I blurt.
She scoffs. “Because being anything other than straight is promiscuous?“
“I didn’t say that.”
“It was heavily implied. Being gay or bi or anything else isn’t a kink, Beck.
It’s just who you are. I’ll concede that getting a blowy somewhere you shouldn’t have could qualify as promiscuous.
But the identity of the-other person involved isn’t a factor unless you’re specifically seeking them out because of some concept of it being forbidden.
Which is an entirely different conversation. ”
My lips turn down in a frown.
“Am I an asshole?” I ask Caty, my voice low enough to let her know I’m being serious.
“Sometimes, but I think you’re redeemable.” She smirks, but I know her well enough to know she’ll always tell me the truth. “I think you have some very backwards ideas that you need to unlearn. But I also think that maybe you’re on your way.”
“Your parents aren’t any better than mine. How did you become so wise?” I’m grinning, but it’s an honest question.
“Lots of people struggle with identifying or coming to terms with their sexuality or identity. For whatever reason, I didn’t. I knew from a young age, and I’m stubborn, so my parent’s attempts at redirecting my crush on my third-grade teacher Ms. Colleen did nothing to deter me.”
“Stubborn or spoiled and used to getting your way?”
“You know what? I hope Brody puts you in your place one day. You’re the biggest brat I’ve ever met.”
“Takes one to know one.”
She glares at me. I glare back. She grins. I hate her. I love her. And I definitely need her in my life forever.
I roll my eyes and grin back, pulling my phone out of my pocket when it buzzes. There’s a text from Fish.
“Fish and Cade and some others are heading to the Wolf Cafe for dinner later, you want to go? I’m not sure I’m in the right mind for a group outing without a leash.”
“Wanna help me organize my sociology notes?”
“Only if you promise to give me very long, boring descriptions of each and every concept you’re learning about.”
Caty cackles. “This is why I love you.”
I should have texted Fish back and told him I wasn’t coming after all when Caty got too involved in the concept of eliminating social bias in data collection.
I also should have turned my ass around the second I saw the table, where my traitor roommate is sitting next to Brody of all people, animatedly chatting like they’re best friends.
Calm down Beck, there are plenty of other guys here to buffer any interactions.
I sit as far away as the table allows, eyes fixed on the menu like I haven’t been eating here regularly since freshman year and don’t get the same thing almost every time I come.
It takes exactly thirty seconds before I feel Brody looking at me.
I glance up when his gaze starts to burn, planning to get him to cut it out and quit staring.
If he notices my glare, he doesn’t acknowledge it. His face looks entirely earnest when he mouths, You okay?
Heat crawls up my neck, spreading over my face too rapidly to talk myself down before it’s too obvious that there’s something very, very wrong with me. I shove back my chair and head straight for the bathroom.
Cold water. Cold water. Cold water.
I splash my face and bend over the sink, gripping porcelain like it’s an anchor and only straightening when the door opens.
Of course it’s Brody.
“You good?” he asks softly.
He looks apologetic. Which is disarming. I don’t know what to do with soft Brody. Frustrated Brody I can deal with. Angry Brody. Even teasing and smug Brody is easier to deal with than this.
Soft, apologetic Brody? I can’t handle it. Nope. I need to get out of here.
“I’m fine,” I snap. “You can go about your business,” I say, gesturing to the stalls.
The bastard walks right over to the urinals and unzips, hips angled just enough for me to see everything in the reflection I’m trying so hard not to notice.
“Watching people pee is not on the list of things I’m curious about, so you can quit trying to get me to look.”