Oh Boy ★ Ryden

Chapter 5: A Corner Carved Out

Present day

What the fuck. What. The. Fuck.

I've been in the bathroom for the past four minutes. I couldn't be in that classroom for too long sitting next to him. Since it was the pretty early in the period and Mr. Way's bathroom policies are pretty strict as it was covered in the syllabus, "need to use the bathroom" was going to be a weak excuse so I stuck my copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest right back into my bag and asked Mr. Way if I could grab my book from my locker. Forgot it. And you know what? It's probably going to take a while to open my locker with having a new combination and all. That'll buy me five more minutes.

I'm pacing in the big stall of the bathroom. It smells heavily of cleaner; almost headache-inducing. Actually, the headache isn't the cleaner's fault. I just... fuck, what the fuck.

My hidden sexuality clashing with my real life was a lot, but this? This is too much. This makes it too real. Before this summer my concerns were clear. Change is scary. And I've been trying to convince myself that that hasn't changed and it worked, but seeing him again has just reminded me that that's not true. I hate this fucking city and I wouldn't say that I hate all the people in it or my school, the majority of them just make me unsettled whenever I'm around them; I don't exist with them, I only watch them exist with each other with their life issues that only have relevance in this public school bubble. Being consistently unsettled is tiring and it wasn't until this summer that I actually felt what it was like to not feel internal dread weighing on me all the time. That time felt sacred; what I did then and there felt sacred. Him being here— that part of me being here— isn't right. That fantasy does not belong here in this shitty hellhole— it's not right. God, and fucking San Diego. How could I ever forget?

I feel like I'm going to pass out. Jesus, everything just hit me at once when I saw that face. Those eyes and pink pink lips and— no. No, no, no. Not here. The plan still stands; no fucking this up, just one more year, and I'll be out of here and then— and only then— will I indulge in whatever. God only knows how rotten pleasure turns in Vegas. Indulgence is abusive.

The door to the bathroom opens and I hurry over to the toilet so it doesn't look like I was just standing around in the stall for no reason.

"Uh, Ryan? Is that you?" Goddamnit, I should've remembered that he's not one to passively deal with situations. Also, - if I'm being honest now - my exit wasn't the smoothest.

"Um... I'm trying to go to the bathroom," I lie panicked by his sudden presence, back in my life and in this restroom.

I hear the muffled echo of Brendon shifting his weight and can tell that he has his arms crossed right now. "Well, you might want to try a bit harder because you're standing up and you aren't facing the toilet." I shut my eyes and wish with all my heart that this isn't happening, but lo and behold I am still hiding in the bathroom stall of my high school from the boy I spent the past two months trying to forget, who I thought was 700 miles away from here only 12 minutes ago.

He steps closer to the stall and sighs, "Ryan, I was very obviously the reason you left class—"

"Brendon, come o—"

"When you saw me you turned visibly white and you had your book on your desk," he tiredly interrupts, almost sounding jaded, "listen, I'm pretty fucking surprised to see you, too. This is a weird situation and I think for the sake of both of our survival through this school year we should talk or something."

I am very literally backed into a corner and don't know what to do; I'll take a look at him and either fight or flight, but there are only so many boy's bathrooms in Clark County High.