57. Kaden
Kaden
It’s been an hour and a half, and I still haven’t left Seth’s street. I’ve been walking around in circles, trying to wrap my head around what the fuck just happened. I’ve never seen him like that. I’ve never even heard him yell before. He just lost it. He was fucking shaking.
My head’s going a mile a minute. I can’t just fucking drop this. What? Am I supposed to go home now? Pretend everything’s fine?
Well, fuck that!
I take the stairs two at a time, and stop outside his apartment door. It’s locked. Guess he really didn’t want me to come back.
I knock. And I think I hear footsteps approaching but the door stays locked. So, I knock again. And then again. The lock clicks and the door opens.
Seth stands in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at the floor. He’s wearing a hoodie, hood up, and sweats. And he smells like his body wash and almond.
“Can I come in?”
He turns around, letting me in and I close and lock the door behind me. I follow him into the living room, and he drops down on the couch, hands folded.
“I can’t drop it,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “I know you said you don’t wanna talk about it, but I can’t drop it.”
“It’s none of your business, Kaden,” he mumbles, shaking his head with his arms resting against his knees, eyes to the floor.
“You’re my business, Seth. And you promised me honesty.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, in this. I didn’t promise to tell you my deepest, darkest secrets. That’s not what honesty means. I don’t go pry in your life, do I?” He shrugs one shoulder.
“You know everything there is to know about me.” I frown.
“That doesn’t give you the right to know everything about me,” he says, turning to look at me. “I don’t owe you anything.”
I bite my lip, arms crossed, and he turns back to stare at the floor.
“I wanna know,” I say, knowing he’s right, that I don’t have the right to demand anything from him. He doesn’t owe me an explanation, or a background story. But I can’t fucking let this go.
He shakes his head again.
“Why did you hate high school so much?” I press.
“Kaden.”
“I know high school can be a bitch for some, but blowing off college? And your future, because of that? That just doesn’t make any sense. So, what—”
He slams a hand down at the coffee table, making me flinch and glares at me.
“You really wanna know?” he snaps, not waiting for my answer.
“High school was the worst time of my fucking life!
It was four years of a living fucking hell!
Everything I did, everything I said was wrong.
I was too gay, too feminine, too soft. I dressed like a fag.
I acted like a sissy. I walked like a girl.
Talked like a girl. My hair was too long. My legs too skinny. My jeans too tight.
“Every single fucking thing about me was wrong. And it all came down to me being gay. A fucking faggot! And I couldn’t change that, could I?
” He huffs a laugh that’s not a laugh at all, his folded hands shaking, leg bouncing up and down.
“So, I did what I had to do. I changed everything else. I stopped wearing tight clothes. I cut my hair, and dyed it. I changed my walk, how I talk, how I—” He shakes his head.
“I changed everything.” His voice breaks, his nostrils flaring before he pinches his nose and drags a hand over his mouth.
It’s like a dam breaking, it downright pours out of him, and all I can do is just stand here and watch it happen.
“Oh,” he huffs again. “And the reason I didn’t go to college?
” He looks directly at me with a weird-looking smile, eyes wide.
“Is because I couldn’t get in. My grades were fucking rock bottom.
I threw away my fucking future because I was just a fucking faggot loser anyway and I couldn’t go through another four years of that. ”
He’s shaking so hard, his shoulders are jumping. Wringing his hands until his knuckles turn white.
“So, there you have it,” he says, throwing his arms out. “I’m as fake as they come. Nothing about this is real! I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“Then stop—”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then tell me,” I say, shaking my head. “Fucking let me in!”
“I have let you in!” he shouts, standing up.
“You’ve seen more of me than fucking anyone!
Even Lou doesn’t know it all. You think I’ve told her that I get so fucking sad after sex that I’ve cried?
That I feel like I’ll break unless someone physically holds me together?
You think I want people to know that about me?
“You think I want people to know that I love musicals? That I used to wear makeup? That I’ve got a whole fucking box of tight fucking jeans, and crop tops, and shit?
That I use ridiculously expensive skin care products?
That’s what you smell on me, by the way,” he says, wiping his nose, nodding.
“That smell right here?” he points to his neck, right under his ear, where he always smells like almond.
“The one that turns you on? That’s the secret fucking skin care cream I don’t let anyone see.
Sometimes my legs hurt so bad, and all I wanna do is cross them, and I hate fucking man-spreading but I can’t let anyone know that I’m a little faggot twink who likes to cross my skinny little gay legs.
” He’s all out of breath, his chest is heaving, and his eyes are glassy.
He’s falling apart right in front of me, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say.
So, I take a step forward and then another one. He shakes his head like he already knows what I’m about to do. But I don’t stop until I wrap my arms around him.
“Stop,” he says, trying to push me away. “Kaden!” His voice breaks on a sob, and it fucking hurts seeing him like this. Hearing it all. And I’m fucking helpless in this. I don’t know how to help him.
He shoves me, trying to fight me off but I hold him tighter until he melts against me, clutching my hoodie and hiding his face against my shoulder. He’s shaking so hard, I feel it in my bones.
We stand there for I don’t know how long. His breathing evens out a bit, and he’s hugging me back. He’s still shaking though, so I don’t let him go.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his hair.
“Don’t,” he shakes his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
I don’t answer that, and we stay quiet for a moment longer.
And then he lets go, wiping his face as he turns around.
He walks into the kitchen, fills up a glass of water and drinks it all in one go before he shuffles back to the couch, dropping down.
He looks tired, like he’s just been to hell and back.
“I don’t know what to say, Seth.”
“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head.
“Of course, it’s not fine!” I snap. “I can’t even… Fuck!” I rake my hands through my hair, tugging at it. Placing my hands on my hips, staring at him like he’ll have any answers. But of course, he doesn’t. It’s fucked up! All of it is so fucked up!
“So, we should probably quit this, right?” He licks his bottom lip, glancing at me. Quit what? Our friendship? This night? It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about.
“Is that what you want?”
He scoffs. “I don’t want you to pity-fuck me, Kaden.”
“Is that what we do?” I frown. “Pity-fucking? Is that how you see me? You’re just fucking me ‘cause I’m such a paranoid idiot who can’t get it elsewhere?”
“No, but you’ll see me as this fucking loser from now on. And I don’t want you to fuck me out of pity ‘cause I’m a weak little bitch-boy who cries after sex.”
I walk up and drop down on the coffee table in front of him, making him look at me.
“I fuck you ‘cause I like it. ‘Cause it feels good. ‘Cause you turn me the fuck on, Seth. And because I trust you. So, no, I wouldn’t fuck you out of pity. Nothing’s changed. I fucking hate what they did to you, and I could fucking kill them for doing that, and for making you think that you were anything but fucking perfect. But I can’t change that. So, if you’re still in, I’m in.
But I need you to trust me, too, Seth. And if you don’t wanna keep doing this—”
“I do. I just—”
“Then don’t hide from me. I can take it. You want me to hold you after sex, I’ll fucking hold you.” I shrug. “We’re in this together, man. It’s a give and take. And if that’s what you need, then I’ll do it. And if you wanna wear skinny jeans, or a crop-top, or whatever it’s called—”
“Or laced panties?” he says, giving me a challenging look. “You’d still fuck me then? If I wore laced panties? Or a jock-strap?”
“Do you wanna wear that?”
“No,” he states. “I don’t.” He shakes his head, sighing. “I just—”
“Yeah. I’d still fuck you. You’re still you, Seth. I don’t give a fuck about how you dress.”
He looks up at me, biting his bottom lip, wringing his hands together.
“As long as you don’t change what’s in here—” I say, tapping his temple. “—or here,” I tap his chest, right over his heart. “Then we’re good. You and I are good. It’s you and me, Seth. Okay? ‘Cause I need you. You’re my person. My best friend. Okay?” I sound desperate. And I am.
He closes his eyes, drops his head and scratches his eyebrow.
And then he nods, whispering, “Okay.”