Chapter Five Your Penis Uses She/Her Pronouns? #3
There’s that pressure, right at the nape of his neck.
It’s not quite a pang, just a . . . a feeling, a tension that blossoms slowly.
It’s the same feeling he’d get when his parents stared at him for too long, before telling him that no excuse was good enough.
When they told Owen that he needed to make an effort to look “more like a girl.”
Owen feels a fluttering in his chest as he presses the nails of his thumb and index finger together, feeling relaxed by the
numbing pressure it creates, almost connecting him back to a moment that he can feel himself slipping away from.
“You’re not dancing?” Jacob asks, his attention still solely on Owen, almost like he’s trying to distract Owen from something.
Himself, maybe.
“What makes you think I want to dance?”
“You used to like to,” Jacob reminds him. “At least, you did with me.”
For the briefest moment, Owen’s heart swells with warmer memories. Owen getting home late from the shop, Jacob in the kitchen
reheating one of the meals that Owen prepared ahead of time for the days when they both got home late. They’d spend hours
spooning food into their mouths while they caught each other up on their day, filling the room with laughter. One of Owen’s
favorite memories is the night some jazz album that Jacob was waiting for finally came out, and he played it for Owen, taking
Owen’s hand in his own during one of the slower songs.
“This is one of my favorites, they played it on their last tour,” he’d said, pulling Owen toward him, letting him rest his
head against his chest as they swayed back and forth, Owen listening to the steady rhythm of Jacob’s heart beating in his
chest.
“You should get out there,” Jacob says. “Kaitlyn and Abby are having a great time.”
“I’m good here,” Owen says, eyes going back to the tattoo, to Jacob’s chest, which only seems to have gotten bigger over the last year.
Maybe he’s been hitting the gym harder post breakup.
Owen forces himself to avert his gaze. “You don’t have to babysit me.
I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. ”
“I just wanted a drink,” Jacob says to him. “I know that things are a little . . . tense—”
“Did Kaitlyn put you up to this?” he asks, venom in his tone. “Or is it just out of the kindness of your heart?”
“My sister doesn’t have to ask me to check in on you, Owen.” There’s frustration in his voice. “Believe it or not, I’m capable
of caring about you outside of our romantic history.”
“Okay, well, I’m fine! See!” Owen holds out his arms as if that gives Jacob a better view of his body. “I’m not sitting here
stewing in my own misery, I’m not in pain or anything. I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say that you weren’t.”
Owen closes his eyes, growing angry with himself. I thought you would’ve fought harder. That’s all. Owen remembers Kaitlyn’s words.
Did she say the same thing to Jacob?
For a moment, Owen hesitates, his eyes meeting Jacob’s. His stomach stirs with shame, embarrassed by the childish nature of
his words. “I didn’t ask you to be nice to me,” Owen says to him.
“No,” Jacob admits. “You didn’t.”
“I’m not the one—” Owen starts to say, before letting go of the words, realizing they’ll only make things worse.
Jacob still finishes the thought for him. “—who left. I know.”
“Well, at least you’re kind enough to admit it.” Owen’s body feels electric, tightening around him as the DJ shouts something,
changing the song and pumping the volume as the crowd cheers. A few more people hop into the pool, water lapping around Owen’s
thighs as his shirt starts to cling to his back, sweat pooling on his skin uncomfortably.
He needs to leave, he can feel it.
“I just wish you’d talk to me,” Jacob continues.
“What do you call what we’re doing now?”
“Deflecting,” Jacob says plainly.
“I’m over it, okay?” Owen says to him, catching the eyes of a few nearby guests who no doubt are eating this up. “I’m over
you, Jacob.”
The way Jacob’s name comes out of Owen’s mouth is foreign. Sharp, cutting, like he’s using it as an insult. “I told you I
could be civil, but that’s all I want. Okay?”
Jacob’s expression twists, his feelings hurt, and Owen feels like such an asshole. There’d been times when he’d accidentally
wounded Jacob. Once, when they were goofing around, Jacob’s fingers digging into Owen’s armpits to tickle him, Owen’s elbow
came around too fast, hitting Jacob right in the nose, blood pouring out of his right nostril.
Or when he accidentally snagged the elastic strap of Jacob’s windbreaker, the plastic piece that hung from the end snapping
to hit Jacob’s brow.
But he’d never done anything to hurt Jacob on purpose.
That’d changed the night of their breakup, when Owen said things that he wanted to hurt Jacob with. Words that he can’t take back, words that he had to force out because he couldn’t believe them himself.
It’s easier now, and the idea of that makes Owen sick to his stomach. “I need to go back to the room,” Owen says flatly. “Alone.”
Jacob had always given Owen the space to be honest when he felt overstimulated. When they were out at the grocery store or
shopping, Jacob always promised Owen that if he ever needed to leave a situation, then they could just leave.
And if Owen needed to be alone, well, then that was okay too.
“Okay . . .” Jacob hesitates. “I’ll tell Kaitlyn and Abby if they ask.”
Owen opens his mouth to say something else. A dozen different thoughts come to mind. But none of them feel like they’re enough.
So he doesn’t say anything at all.
He just leaves.