Straight Boys

Straightness

Corbett's POV

"You're right. But the problem I see with this is that you think other people are the ones to blame for everything. Don't you think that the person is also partly to blame? Because what I've gathered from all of this is that, yeah sure, other people judge someone they don't really know, but how else are they gonna come to a sound conclusion about someone? It's really also the person's fault because they choose not to help those people understand. They are the ones who let people judge them. The trick is whether they believe the people's judgement over their own because that's really what it comes down to. Realizing that this - what you're saying - doesn't matter unless we allow each other to understand. So please, help us understand. No, help me understand because I have no clue what the heck any of you weirdos are even talking about."

My body was buzzing. My fingers felt like stiff nails I wanted to drag across the surface of a chalk board to create some kind of grating friction, or curl them into fists and pummel them into the face of Zachary Rogers, I couldn't quite pick. I couldn't feel the break in my knuckles, the bones shifted in odd positions from hitting the brick wall, but my brain vaguely registered the blood trickling from the scrapes on my infected hand, the thick, red, platelets warm and dripping in patterns onto the dirty concrete. My legs were quivering with the adrenaline and anger I was feeling, the intense emotions literally drawing each of my breaths in painful fire.

Annie's stiff ministrations were not helping, but I was too focused on the two boys across from me, my humbling head cracking at the situation before me, to push her away from me.

"Zachary. . ." My eyes briefly snapped to the boy who spoke up, to Andrew's face, and I saw that hopeless look in his eyes, that downward tip to his lips that made me hate what I was just bullshitting from my mouth even more; but I ignored my own self hatred, his own helpless avoidance, and I set my sights on the biggest fucking dick I had ever met, the one guy I could honestly say didn't deserve Andrew more than me. And that was saying a lot.

I took in his confusedly furrowed brows and pursed lips and felt my idiot problem growing at the back of my throat, that lump I got when I didn't want to say shit, but knew I couldn't control myself. And before Andrew could finish any part of what he was going to sugar coat to Rogers, I opened my god damn mouth. "I've got it. I've got the both of you," I violently pointed at him and Andrew, "on tape. Kissing. I'm just wondering what I should do with it." I wasn't really. I just couldn't decide whether to spew the shit covered truth that plagued me every waking day of my life, or stir the pot even more. I knew I shouldn't have, but I was just a burnout, wasn't I?

I was a kid going to a therapist trying to solve his problems, but doing a shit job at it. I was trying. I really was; I just couldn't fucking help it. I needed to have the control in this situation. I needed to have the upper hand so that I wouldn't lose. I didn't want to lose.

I just didn't feel like I was winning when I said what I did, though.

Andrew's face turned an ungodly shade of red, the kind of red I only saw in one of my most intense bursts of anger, as he spluttered, "Why are you so goddamn smug? About everything! Why? Why are you even doing this, Connors? Huh?"

Why? Why am I even doing this? I don't fucking know! I just wanted control! I wanted to have you as my own! I wanted you to notice me! I didn't fucking want to turn into this mad freak!

I could feel it. I could feel my insides igniting, my organs bubbling and frying and seering the walls of my skin with that white sort of static only TVs must have been able to feel. It was that trailing numbness that tickled the back of my neck with goosebumps and made the end of my toes curl. It made me feel awful and nothing all in one.