[Featured in FreetheLGBT: Diverse Literature reading list and Humor: Young. Dumb. Full of Fun list]
Colin Mitchell, a photographer at a well-known store, Snapshot, is openly gay--mostly. His ideal experiences are sexcapades that are always subtle, n...
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Colin managed the social media pages of Snapshot and today, for some unknown reason, the notifications were blowing up. He traced through the comments and mentions which kept popping up and eventually, he found the cause.
It was about some party that Dakota had been to, thereby the mentions. She was referred to as "an upcoming model whose rise to fame started from (at)Snapshot", this puzzled Colin and he decided to find out what the buzz was about even though he knew clearly that the business account wasn't meant for tracing gossip.
He followed the trail of tags and mentions and badly taken photos until he found a video he wished he hadn't seen.
All of a sudden Colin could feel a weight on his chest as his eyes took in the figures that moved about in the blurred recording. He couldn't identify the blond guy in the video-- the one wiping blood off his lips-- but he didn't even have to blink to tell that the other guy was Peter.
For one thing, the flannel shirt the skinny guy was donning was eerily similar to the one Peter had left the apartment in. For another, he could recognise the scowl that was plastered to his face-- he had seen that same expression so many times he could picture it in his sleep.
Colin's eyes couldn't take the sight in as the fight got even more serious, yet his eyes wouldn't budge from the screen. Peter was screaming with his eyes screwed shut, arms pulled behind him. The guy yelled out, blood-stained teeth bared.
"Bet you're a fucking fag too, huh? A faggot."
It was the pain which cut raw in his palm that made Colin realise he was holding onto the edge of the counter too hard. He had been such a fool playing with Peter's statement, brushing it off as mere play. This wasn't play.
Colin looked away when his roommate started his assault. But Peter's voice still blasted out of the phone.
"Say it again. Say. It. Again."
Static crackled as the video's focus shook, before it finally went black.
Colin's legs gave out and he found himself on the couch.
The video automatically replayed, the same words pulsing out.
Bet you're a fucking fag too. Say it again.
Over and over, he listened. Over and over, his hand gripped onto the arm of the couch, until the foam under the material covering compressed from the force.
Several moments passed before his legs carried him to Peter's door which hung open, as if inviting him in.
"Why didn't you call me?" The older boy stood with his arms crossed, eyes shooting daggers at Peter who sat in his bed with his guitar and a notebook.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Is everything fine upstairs?" Peter's head remained bowed as he wrote something down, black hair framing his features like a curtain. It was the sound of his own voice, distorted and loud and filled with rage, that got him to look up. In Colin's hand was the device steadily revealing the events of the previous night.
