Freed, page 3
Chapter Three
Dylan
I have no idea why I sat with Wes as long as I did. Hell, I have no idea why I asked him to coffee in the first place. I’ve known him a couple of semesters now and I think he’s a good guy. But it’s not like we’re friends. He and I run in completely separate social circles.
I run with the jocks and they’re not a group who’d accept somebody as openly gay as Wesley. I mean, he’s not one of the gays who run around in Speedos with a feather boa wrapped around his neck. He’s not flamboyant. He’s fit, athletic, and in most ways, he could pass for a straight guy.
But Wes is unapologetically gay. I’d never say it to anybody else, but I admire that about him. I admire the fact that he is who he is and makes no apologies for it. He’s comfortable in his own skin and is happy doing his own thing. He’s not intimidated by anybody. Lives his life the way he wants to live it – for himself.
I’m the exact opposite of him. I live my life the way my father wants me to live it. My life – my future – is the one he’s commanded me to live. It’s not the one I want. And as a result, I feel like I’m living a lie. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. I walk around feeling like a total and complete fraud.
Oh, I put up a good front. I’m supposed to be the alpha male jock and so, I am. I’m supposed to bang hot chicks at every turn and so, I do. I do everything required of me to fit in with my dad’s image of the perfect son – smart, I’m good in school, good athlete, popular, and have women at my beck and call. I’m a Captain of Industry in waiting and when I graduate, I’ll be ready to conquer the world.
That’s the image I portray for my dad’s sake but that’s not who I am. And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know who in the hell I am. I portray the image I do – and do the things I do – because it’s expected of me. But it feels more like a role I’m playing than anything. It’s a persona that I wear like ill fitting, baggy, and scratchy clothes. And no matter what I do, I can’t make myself feel comfortable in them.
Yeah, there’s a part of me that’s envious of Wesley for his ability to be who he is without regret and consequence.
“Hey, you with us?”
Spencer is snapping his fingers in front of my face and brings me back to the here and now. We’re sitting in the locker room after practice and I’ve been moving around on auto-pilot. I give my head a small shake and look up at him, trying to recall what he said but come up empty.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Spaced out for a minute.”
‘Obviously,” he chuckles. “You okay, bro?”
“Yeah I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
Spencer’s a teammate on the lacrosse team and is one of my frat brothers as well. Good guy but not the sharpest tool in the shed. He’s a pretty go with the flow kind of guy and doesn’t like to make waves. Spencer just wants people to get along and isn’t big on conflict. Oh, he’ll stand up for himself when needed, but for the most part, he just goes along with whatever’s going on and doesn’t question much.
But, truth be told, he’s probably the closest thing I have to a best friend and he always has my back, but I still don’t share my deepest secrets with him. I tend to keep everything about me and my life pretty close to the vest. What goes on in my head and my life is nobody’s business but my own.
But then, to be honest, I don’t really talk deeply or share my innermost thoughts with any of my buddies. Most of them are so wrapped up in their own bullshit and making sure they project that macho, tough guy image, that they couldn’t hold a deep conversation if they tried. Most of my frat brothers and teammates are pretty shallow and keep things close to the surface.
It’s not their fault – most of them are simply a product of how they grew up. And unlike me, they don’t feel the need to break free of those molds.
I shrug. “This and that,” I tell him. “I’ve got a paper due and I haven’t started it yet.”
He nods and seems to accept my answer. We finish getting dressed and head out of the locker room, walking toward the parking lot. The plan is to go get some food before I have to go study and work on my paper, and Spencer has to do – whatever Spencer has planned for the night.
“So what were you doing at the coffee house with Wes the other day?” he asks.
I look over at him. “Spying on me?”
He shrugs. “I ran into Mandy. She told me she saw you there.”
My stomach clenches hard and I feel the anger already beginning to surge within me. Despite the fact that she’s been ostracized from our group and I warned her what would happen if she opened her mouth, I’m suddenly worried she’s trying to worm her way back into the group by spreading her bullshit around.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time with some of these fickle as fuck people, it’s that they will turn on you like a pack of ravening wolves at the drop of a hat. And if they believe her bullshit, there are a few people – Mandy chief among them – who will use that to rally the troops against me. I know there are some people in our crowd who see being gay as some sort of crime against humanity and a social stigma – not that I’m gay or anything. But still, if Mandy was able to convince enough of those people that I am and get them to rally around her, I might be the one on the outside looking in, instead of her.
I know I shouldn’t care what people think of me – regardless of whether what they believe is a bullshit rumor or not. I shouldn’t let it faze me. But I’d be lying if I said the idea of being a social outcast didn’t bother me. I’m used to running with the top dogs and being part of the popular cliques on campus. It’s been that way since I was a kid. I honestly don’t know how I’d react to suddenly being frozen out and labeled a social pariah.
“Did she say anything else?” I probe tentatively.
He shakes his head. “No, not really,” he replies. “I didn’t give her the chance. Nobody does my brother dirty like she did you.”
“Appreciate you having my back, man.”
“It’s what we do, brother.”
We walk on and I feel a bit better about things knowing Mandy kept her mouth shut and wasn’t spreading her ridiculous theory.
“So what were you doing with Wesley anyway?” he asks again. “I mean, you know he’s a fag, right?”
I bristle at Spencer’s use of the word “fag” but suppress the urge to lay into him about it. I find that it’s dehumanizing and disrespectful and isn’t any different or better than calling a black person the “N” word. I try to avoid being so narrow minded and judgmental – it’s one of the very small ways I rebel against my father because he is such a bigoted prick. I generally try to take people as I find them, opting to get to know them as people first rather than label and dismiss them out of hand.
“He’s the TA in one of my lit classes,” I offer. “He was helping me with a paper.”
Spencer glances over at me with a smarmy, knowing smirk on his face. His expression – along with his pressing need to know what I was doing with Wes – makes me wonder if he did give Mandy more of a chance to talk than he let on.
“You my social director now?” I quip.
He shrugs. “Nah. I just didn’t know you two were friends.”
“Wes is a good guy,” I reply. “He’s good to talk to.”
“Uh huh,” he grins.
I stop and turn to him, my face burning with heat and a white-hot anger surging through my veins.
“You got something to say?” I growl.
For his part, Spencer looks genuinely taken aback by my outburst. I know I’m probably only throwing gas on the fire by defending Wes but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Dude, I was just fucking with you,” he stammers. “I wasn’t –”
“Good. Then shut the fuck up about it,” I cut him off. “Who I hang out with isn’t anybody’s fucking business but mine.”
I let out a long breath and run my hand through my hair. Spencer is standing there looking like I just cold cocked him for no reason. Giving each other shit is part of our friendship. It’s just what guys do – we fuck with each other. And if he’s heard Mandy’s rumor, I know I’m only making it more plausible with my reaction to him questioning me about Wes.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I say. “Wes is a good guy and somebody I consider a friend and I just don’t want shit getting twisted.”
Spence nods slowly. “I got you, man,” he replies. “No worries. I get it.”
I give him a tight grin. “So are we good?”
“Yeah, of course. All good,” he tells me, then a look of concern flashes across his face. “What’s going on with you lately, man? You’ve been so keyed up about everything.”
I shake my head. “I wish I knew, man,” I admit. “I really do. I’ve just been on edge and I can’t get my head on straight.”
“If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you.”
I nod. “And I appreciate that, man.”
We cut through a small grassy area set between the parking structure and known unofficially as Burnout Park. It’s somewhat secluded and the school’s security staff never really comes around which means it’s pretty private and the students take advantage of that fact. It’s kind of an unspoken agreement – the school doesn’t give us shit about this place and we’re discrete about what happens here.
Burnout Park is where we all come if we want to cop a smoke or do a little daydrinking between classes. Most of the time, there’s a cloud of pot smoke hovering over the park thicker than the cloud of smog on the LA skyline. You can practically get a contact high walking into the place.
Spencer and I see a couple of guys from the team kicking back underneath one of the trees so we head over and drop down beside them. Tony hands the joint he’s holding over to me so I take a deep hit off it and hold it in for a long moment, slowly letting out a thick plume of smoke. Almost instantly, I feel my entire body start to relax and my head taking on a subtle, fuzzy feeling. All the tension I felt just a few minutes ago starts to dissipate and I begin to mellow out.
I’ve been smoking pot since I was in high school. It’s always been a means of coping with my stress and how I dealt with the pressures I faced at home. When I first got to college, I experimented with some other, harder drugs – coke and Oxy mainly. But I didn’t like the out of control feeling and jitteriness they gave me so I decided to just stick with pot. It blurs the harsh edges of the world just enough to let me relax and not be so wound up about things while still letting me remain in control of myself.
I make small talk with the guys as we pass around a couple of joints – mostly bitching about Coach Parker and some of our classes. Inconsequential shit. I’m just here to get high before I grab some food and hit the books.
“Dude, I don’t need to see that shit,” Trevor gripes.
“What?” I ask.
He nods in the direction he wants me to look and when I turn, I see two guys I don’t know sitting close together. They’re laughing and smiling as they hold hands. One of them leans close and kisses the other one affectionately. A strange sensation rolls through me that I don’t understand. It’s almost – longing. Like a piece of some puzzle inside of me I didn’t even know existed just snapped into place. It makes no sense to me and I’m suddenly not only uncomfortable, I’m confused as hell.
“Don’t they know they should keep that shit out of sight,” Cody remarks.
Spencer looks over and if he’s bothered by the sight of two men kissing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he turns back to the joint in his hand and takes a big hit off it. Frankly, I think he’s off in his own blissed out world and isn’t even paying attention.
“Seriously, bro,” Trevor says.
“Man, why do they think it’s okay for them to be doing that out in public?” Cody asks.
I can see the pair of them feeding off each other. It’s the way it usually goes with them – one starts something, the other ups the ante, and they keep going until they’re both worked up into a frenzy. It’s ridiculous.
“If it bothers you, don’t look,” I throw in to stem the tide before it gets rolling.
“What, you like watching two fags with their tongues down each other’s throats?” Cody sneers.
“I bet he does,” Trevor adds. “I bet ol’ Dylan here takes it up the ass.”
They both laugh and punch each other in the shoulders thinking they’re the wittiest people ever. Maybe it’s the pot or maybe it’s because these two don’t mean shit to me – they’re barely on the fringes of our clique as it is – but I don’t feel the flare of anger I felt when somebody close to me like Spencer was all but accusing me of being gay. Their opinion of me doesn’t mean shit because it carries no weight. Oh sure, I’m annoyed, but I’m not as pissed as I thought I’d be.
“Think about it guys – you two are always together. I mean, always. You’re inseparable,” I say. “I think people would more likely believe one of you two is taking it up the ass. So which one of you is the pitcher and which one is the catcher?”
“Fuck off, Dylan,” Cody snaps, his voice brittle and sharp.
“Oh sorry, did I touch a nerve?” I press. “Hit a little too close to home.”
“Hey fags,” Trevor shouts, apparently venting his irritation on them rather than me. “Get a room. Nobody wants to see that shit out here.”
“Yeah, take that homo shit somewhere else,” Cody joins in.
Spencer and I exchange a look and I shake my head. Trevor and Cody keep hurling insults at the couple and laugh, looking to both Spencer and I to jump in with them. But I have no interest in heckling them and Spencer seems to be staying neutral.
The two guys stand up, both of them looking something near to distraught and rush away quickly as Trevor and Cody howl with laughter and jeering for them. I recognize the look of shame and pain I saw in their eyes before they dashed off though and I feel like shit for them.
“You guys are assholes,” I glare at Trevor and Cody. “Serious assholes.”
“Don’t tell me watching them tongue each other like that didn’t make you sick,” Trevor sneers.
“It’s not my business so I didn’t watch,” I reply. “But you and Cody here sure looked hard. You two taking notes or something?”
“Shut the fuck up, Dylan,” Cody snarls.
The three of us are on our feet, glaring daggers at each other. The tension in the park ratchets up and I can feel the eyes of everybody else around us glued to the scene unfolding before them. I have no desire to fight either of them – let alone both of them – but I think they need to be put in check.
“What’s your problem, dude?” Trevor asks, his voice gruff. “Why are you stickin’ up for the fags all the sudden?”
“I’m not sticking up for anybody. They’re just people, dude,” I say. “Same as you and me – except for the fact that you guys are assholes.”
“Except for the fact they like dick,” Cody chuckles grimly.
“That what you’re tellin’ us, Dylan?” Trevor presses. “You like dick? That why you’re defending them?”
“Dude, fuck off. You guys are just assholes,” I snap. “I get more pussy than both of you assholes combined.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Cody howls. “You like it up the ass. That’s why you’re getting all bent out of shape about this, isn’t it?”
I close the distance between Cody and I and am standing nose to nose with him in the blink of an eye. My face burns with a righteous rage and it’s all I can do in that moment to keep from knocking his teeth down his throat.
“Say that again,” I hiss, my voice low and menacing. “Say it to my face, motherfucker.”
Cody swallows hard and as expected, backs down. He takes a couple of steps back and looks over at Trevor, uncertainty etched into his face. Trevor gives him a subtle shrug, seemingly uncertain what to say. I turn my eyes, dark with anger, to Trevor and he too, takes a step back.
“Either one of you got anything else to say?” I spit.
Nobody says anything for a long moment but the air is crackling with tension and the whispered promise of violence. All eyes are on us and I’m suddenly ready to throw down with the both of them. But they are suddenly strangely silent and can’t meet my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I growl.
I turn and stride away, the sound of their cackling and taunts following me as they try to recover some of their dignity. I head for the parking lot, the pleasant haze of the pot burned away entirely. My mood is dark and angry and at the moment, I feel like punching something. The relentless mocking of those two guys got under my skin a lot deeper than it should have let it. I’ve always known those two are nothing more than ignorant morons.
At the same time, I couldn’t just stand idly by while the tormented and bullied a couple of people. I know that when I was younger and stupider, I probably would have joined in with them. But over the last year or so, I’ve been feeling a shift inside of me and although I don’t understand it, that change is forcing me to see things differently. A lot differently.
I’m going through a lot of changes I don’t understand. I haven’t allowed myself to sit down and try to figure it all out just yet. All I know is that right now, I’m more uncomfortable in my own skin than I ever have been. And I don’t know what in the hell to think or do about it.
I make it to my car, my mood growing ever darker, and the need to get the hell off campus for a bit growing stronger. With the sun sliding toward the horizon, I think the best thing for me is to get some food and do my work off campus tonight – and put as much distance as I can between me and idiots like Trevor and Cody. It’s better for us all.
Chapter Four
Wesley
“I think it’s a good thing you stood up for them,” I say.
“Yeah, now I’m catching grief from everybody.”
“How so?”
