Saints & Sinners

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One:

What the fuck did he expect me to do? Just let him stand there and spew his filth right at me? Well no. I wasn't just going to take his shit. He can be gay all his life, and I mean, well, good for him and everything, but that just isn't me. That isn't what I'm into, that's never been what I'm into.

And so what if I'd gotten a little bit out of control? Maybe I shouldn't have screamed so loud and made a scene, but he was asking for it, right? And maybe I'd crossed a line by outing him like a diva, but still. He pissed me off. And I was not going to apologise for standing my ground.

The last thing in the world that I wanted to be was gay. It was different, it was another pathetic thing about me, it was another reason for kids to bully me, it was a flaw, and God knows I already have too many of those. It would change my whole life, and everyone would see me differently. I'd become just another gay kid in the background, helping you go shopping, or being your punching bag, and I didn't want that. I just wanted to merge in with the crowd, and live life to the minimum. I wanted to scrape by on the sidelines until I could get out of here, leave all of it behind, and just settle down with a nice girl, maybe have a few children. I wanted to be a normal boy and do normal things. I wanted to be boring and plain, like everyone else.

As you can see, I'd thought about it a lot. Being gay. No matter how much I knew I didn't want to beit, and no matter how much I denied it, I'd still thought about it. Almost constantly. And every day. Not a day went by when I didn't look at a cute guy and curse at myself for thinking he was cute, and then spending the next however many minutes horrified at myself, questioning myself, hating myself completely.

I wasn't ashamed of gays, I didn't hate them. I actually liked them. Or, at least, I liked the gays that I knew. They were always friendly and sweet and, despite the whole stereotyping shit, they were my friends. But I couldn't picture myself being one of them. It wasn't a part of my plan, so I ignored it. Because something like that would just send my life tumbling into the mainstream, climbing up the grapevine, and then everyone would be talking about me, and everyone would hate me or love me or just notice me. I didn't want to be noticed. I just wanted to move by unseen, and that couldn't happen if I made a spectacle - like being gay.

So something inside me snapped, as soon as Tristan had said that brief, three lettered word. Something inside just came out to play, the fear in my voice, the darkest part of myself, and the worst part was that I let it out and I let it consume me. I let it get so mad at myself, and at him, that I became so enraged, so angry at everything, and all of that anger was pointed at Tristan.

I knew I shouldn't have acted the way that I did. But I did either way, and there's no turning back time to undo it. I'd gotten pissed and I'd angered him and he was never going to forgive me. And the thought of that alone, the thought of never being with him again, kissing him, feeling his fingers trailing down my arm and taking my hand in his, terrified me even more than the prospect of being gay. The idea of losing Tristan sickened me to my stomach. But what else could I fucking do?

It had alreadyhappened, it was over, and that was it.

I had to do something, though. I had to. I just couldn't leave things the way that they were, with him hating me, thinking I was just like everyone else. I wanted him to see me as something special, something better. I wanted him to like me above everyone else. I wanted him to love me more than anything on this whole fucked up planet.

And, no, those aren't even the most tragic and cliche things that I wanted from Tristan - what's even more tragic about this whole situation was that I'd finally decided that, yes, I wanted him. I wanted him to love me and to hold me, I wanted to love him back, I wanted to be with him forever, no matter how cliche and stupid and girly that all sounded. I wanted it.

I think I knew that I was gay in that moment. I'd never openly thought it, not even in the deepest folds of my mind, until right then. And I don't think I'd ever been more okay with it until that moment, sitting at the back of the school, hiding away in the darkness of its shadows, encased in a sinful kind of blackness. And in my mind, I knew that it was okay, that I was gonna be okay, even if I did like guys.

I smiled, too, because I'd been tainted, I wasn't a saint anymore, if I ever had been. That made me laugh, because now I was a sinner. I'd probably been one all along.

I thought for a moment. If the sinners were sinners and the saints like me were just sinners inside, then who were the real saints? I was thinking that maybe they didn't even exist. Maybe they never existed. (It's too late to rename the novel to The Sinners now, though)

I thought about something else, too. I'd royally fucked it up with Tristan, and I needed to fix it now before it was too late and he'd hate me forever for treating him like I never should. I treated him like the shit on my shoe, and that alone made me cower and hate myself even more. How could I do that to him, when all he'd done to me was be kind and sweet and so fucking lovely?

Maybe Tristan had been a sinner, maybe some people still thought he was. But in that moment, he wasn't. Not in my eyes. To me, Tristan was the real saint, the only saint, and everyone else were the sinners. I needed him back. My own little saint. I needed him back against my lips, back slowly running his fingers down my arm to take my hand in his, back where he belonged. I needed to apologise.

I'd went back to the library first, but Lisbeth had told me that he'd already left, and that he'd gone home for the day. Even she was giving black looks, because we both know that I had royally fucked up. Naturally, I ignored her, she was just an old woman and she'd be dead soon, so screw her.

I caught the earliest bus back into the town centre, ignoring everyone that I saw: the students in the halls, looking at me proudly, like I'd finally done something right by outing Tristan; the people on the bus, who kept giving me creepy stares (they probably knew Agatha); even the people on the streets were acting odd. But I ignored them all easily, because they didn't really matter to me at all.

The flower shop absolutely stank of flowers (duh) and pollen and pretty things. God, they made me sick, but I held my disgust inside as I planted my hands on the counter of the store, ringing the little golden bell that sat there. I heard ruffling out back, and a few seconds later, Tristan made his grand entrance.

"Ugh," he scorned. "What now? You come to rub it in some more?"

In all honesty, even when he was mad at me, he looked fucking gorgeous. His hair was all scruffy and his face looked sick of me, but he was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, even then, and that made me smile.

"No," I told him. "I was wrong."

"No," he barged in, "you weren't wrong, I was just right. As always." he crossed his arms. "But, go on, what were you wrong about?"

I sighed. "Us." We both paused, lettiing a horrid silence fill the empty space. God, I hated awkward silnces. I continued, "I... shit. I kind of like you." A smile tugged at his lips, but just barely. "Like, kind of a lot," I finished up.

"And? Keep going," he urged, smiling smugly.

"Dick," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Okay."

"I came to say something," I told him. "I was wrong. I know I shouldn't have did what I did, but it's scary, and I was so confused, and I didn't want any of this. but I've got it, and I'm okay with it. I just came to say I'm sorry, and I wanted to know if," God, this was so embarassing, "you'd forgive me."

He hesitated.

I started rambling. "I mean, you don't have to. Just think about it. Just. Shit. I'm just going to go." I turned to leave, but his hand clasped in mine from over the counter of the desk. His fingers trailed over my palm sweetly, and, in that moment, I knew that Tristan was the only fucking guy for me, and that was the end of it.