Just Wait » Boyf Riends

This Chapter Confirms What We Already Know: I'm A Dumbass

"Why did you break up with me?"

My voice gets completely caught in my throat and my lungs give out and I almost choke on the sudden rise of misery in my chest and I feel like someone's took a massive burning knife and stuck it in my chest and is just twisting it around the longer and longer I stay quiet—

Because it's the question I've been dreading my entire life. The question Chloe asked me, the question my moms asked, the question I asked myself.

The question I never had an answer to.

And my mind is racing miles a minute and the only thing that I can think of saying is absolutely offensively moronic.

So, I, Michael Mell, supreme moron, took the dumbass route.

"Woah. Haha, yeah, no! Let's not talk about that!" Was the only thing I managed to get out. I looked at Jeremy and he looked completely broken. It's like someone ripped all of the emotions out of him, said 'sorry' and then squeezed all of them back in, but they're all in the wrong places.

I bit my lip, thinking of a way to follow up the terrible thing I just said: "Unless you feel like, uh... a crush feeling on me or something because in that case we might have to talk about it—"

"No. I don't feel like that anymore."

My heart just kinda tears in half when I hear "anymore."

He speaks up again: "But... d-dating you gave me such an enormous self est-esteem boost, because I actually felt like maybe, somehow, some-someone actually liked me. And when you broke up with me it was obvious you never r-really did," his eyes got glassy, "I don't even think you wanted to be my friend, I-I j-just want to know why you asked me out if it was obvious you hated me from the start—"

"Woah, hey! Did you know that hippopotamus milk is pink? Like isn't that so cool? Crazy!" I say quickly, trying to change the topic, but executing said action quite poorly.

"Michael—"

"Woah, well would you look at the time? It's getting real late, probably past your bedtime, mister," I ticked him on the nose and he just looked completely devoid of any positive emotion, staring at me confused.

"It's only 2:30 and you've been here for fifteen minutes at most—"

"Oh yeah, I'm really really tired. Anyways, yeah, have fun with the cancer and stuff! I mean, like, uh, not that you can really have fun with canc—YOU KNOW WHAT, I AM GOING TO LEAVE NOW, GOODBYE. I AM DEPARTING." I close my eyes before I can see Jeremy's probably sad expression, and opened the door a bit more viciously that I expected, stepped out, and slammed it so loud that the paintings on the walls jumped.

I heard a heartbroken "Oh," from the other side of the door.

Oh my god, I am such a dick. What the fuck am I doing. I am going to have a fucking seizure. I shouldn't have listened to mama. I'm a fucking idiot.

I stared down at my hands, and my knuckles were a lot paler than usual, something they usually did when I was anxious. And oh boy was I on a near anxiety attack. I also realized that I couldn't really control my breathing, and I was hyperventilating and—

"Not go well?" I heard a voice. I almost snapped my neck from jotting my head towards them in fear.

"M-Mr. Heere?"

"Really? Call me Paul. Calling me Mr. Heere makes me feel all old," He shrugs, taking a sip of his can of beer.

"I might have made your son really sad—"