Two Birds, One Stone

1. Bad Blood

So I did a big ol' stupid.

The last part was meant to be a prologue and this the first chapter, but my dumb ass forgot to change the title when I uploaded. It's not that important, but the POV changes to first person, so I feel like it's more appropriate to have the distinction. This is the technical first chapter of Two Birds, One Stone.

Also, sorry this update took like four years. It's been a motherfucking journey. I went through a major block with this story for a while, but story recommendations from a friend and my tendency to stalk my commenters' reading lists got me all inspired again (this time it was @zeeadaj -- sis has good taste). My timing was shit though, and I didn't get back into it until school was about to start, and now I'm drowning in homework. This story has been going through some major plastic surgery, so I need a lot of editing time, and now I can't even edit on the go because editing on my phone gives me a headache.

So yeah, I'm a mess. But we still here. Anyways, story time.

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I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. I didn't even try.

The next morning, I was out of bed far before my alarm went off. I started getting ready extra early but moved as slowly as I could, as if the combination would somehow make the school day take longer to arrive.

I ate breakfast in slow motion. I stretched out brushing my teeth, shaving, and showering for as long as I could. I went through three different clothing combinations before deciding on one, which was absolutely pointless, because my school enforced a uniform policy; each "outfit" was virtually the same. Still, I was desperate to take as much time as possible; and besides, if I was about to walk into my destruction, I needed at least a shred of confidence.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, though, I knew that that shred would never come. I looked like week-old horse shit. My normally tanned skin was pale an sickly. An attempt to force a smile just turned into me grimacing back at myself, only the dimples in my cheeks standing to prove that the muscles in my face were working right at all. I even seemed smaller somehow, as if a day of nonstop stress had taken from my height and my build.

I turned on the faucet and cupped water in my hands, bending down to splash my face several times. "Get a grip," I muttered to himself. "It'll all be okay."

But that was more of a weak question than a statement. For all I knew, everything wouldn't be okay. Maybe I would be pushed face-first out of the closet before I even got to school.

When I arrived on campus, however, I quickly realized that nothing had changed. My friends greeted me the same as they always had. Though I knew they weren't homophobic -- or at least, the one that mattered wasn't -- I also knew there would have been some form of reaction if the news had leaked that I'd hooked up with one of three openly gay kids at school. I was safe. For now.

And, it seemed, for the rest of the day. I felt the balloon of stress that had been growing in my chest since Sunday morning slowly deflate as more and more time passed.

In my sixth period, my calculus class, I involuntarily shuddered at the sight of Jamie sitting at the back of the room, looking as unimpressed with the world as usual. He stood, and for a moment I tensed, fearing the boy was approaching my desk. But Jamie continued past me to the side of the room to sharpen his pencil, not sparing me as much as a glance, looking much more relaxed than I felt. Either he wasn't bothered, or he refused to acknowledge that he was. He simply continued back to his seat, where he promptly folded his arms over his desk and leaned into them to sleep.