Holy Christ, Ellis, a slut? Was there anyone on the planet who could’ve out-virgined me back when we met?
Two-timing? Like I’d be able to fit in a secret affair between homework, history club, uni applications and snogging your face off every break period?
Not gay? Seriously?Notgay? The only thing about me thatisn’tgay is my dance moves.
But all I can say is: “Ellis. Please, talk to me.”
My heart is like a bird smashing itself against the cage of my ribs. But I decide I have to be brave. I reach for him again.
His reaction terrifies me. He pushes out the flat of his hand to meet mine, and I think,This is it. There’s no going back from this. I don’t know what’s happened, don’t know what’s been said, but if he thrusts me away physically my heart will break and I’ll go right back to being the Dylan of six months ago. Screw that, it’ll be worse, because once you’re out there’s no going back, and now I’ll be out alone. Not just alone either. I was alone for seventeen years, but at least then I didn’t know what the alternative could feel like. I didn’t have this…this fullness in my life –it’s a crappy description, but it’s the best I can do– so what will be left of me, when he goes?
Empty people don’t know they’re empty. It’s a kind of blissful ignorance, I guess. We can try to imagine something different – romantic movies, mushy love songs, other kids holding hands and smiling in that totally alien way – we can make believe we understand all of that. But we don’t. Not really. Not until it happens to us.
Suddenly the pressure of his fingers pushes my hand up to meet his, palm to palm. We stay like that for seconds that roll like oceans. Then he looks at me, finally, from under those endless lashes, and the pain in those tea-dark eyes is unbearable. Pain but no anger, no disgust. I rotate my wrist and feed my fingers between his.
“El, you scared me. Youarescaring me.”
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is normal, or at least really well controlled. That’s what no one gets about El: they think he’s this impetuous, outrageous guy who says and does whatever he likes, and I guess that’s partly true. But we’re all contradictions, right? My boyfriend has been through stuff that would break the spirit of any so-called hero I’ve ever idolized in a comic book, but you’d never know it. Not unless you knowhim. Really know him. That’s why I’m not fooled by his voice.
“So…” He twists back around to sit square in the driver’s seat again. “How was Mike? Did you give him my message? He should really just shave his head completely. It would be like Professor X meets Jack Wills.”
Even after all this time, I can’t help but be impressed. I have no idea how he does this Control Alt Delete thing with his emotions. But I’m not having it. Not tonight.
“El, just stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Deflecting.”
“Hon, if you can’t take me complimenting your best mate then that’s your issue, not mine.”
“Jesus!” I throw my head back against the rest. “Will you cut the comedy routine for just one minute? Mike’s fine, okay? And I know you genuinely care, and you’d have asked anyway, but it’s still kind of disrespectful, you know?”
He blinks, again like I’ve scorched him. “Dylan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t, but it isn’t right, using Mike to wheedle your way out of this. But okay, let’s get it out of the way and then we can get back to whatever the hell is up with you.” I close my eyes. “So Mike’s having his chemo, and he’s tired, and he’s being brave and funny and caring, and he’s worried about us. And Carol’s gonna bake us a cake and march with us in Pride, andfuck!”
I burst into tears. Real, full-on waterworks with heaving and snot and hiccups, the complete melodrama. Unlike El, Idocry. It’s completely freaking ridiculous. Pixar movies, Oscar speeches, adverts with meerkats – I’m in almost constant danger of serious dehydration. But this feels different.
“Honey.” His long fingers comb through my curls. He cups the back of my neck, pulls me in, and I get the strong, sweet scent of him under his deodorant.
“Just tell me what happened,” I say. “This time,tellme.”
“It’s nothing.”
“El…”
He fixes me with his eyes. “All right then. It’s something. But I don’t want you mixed up in it. And anyway, it’s over.”
Okay, I’ve avoided it long enough – basically because even thinking about that time makes me sick to my stomach – but I have to say something now.
“Has this got anything to do with what happened in December?”
El disappeared on me over the Christmas break. Disappeared completely. No phone calls, no texts, nothing. We’d only properly got together the week before, and without him I tortured myself trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. When he came back to me in the new year, I accepted all his feeble excuses because I was just so relieved to have him back in my life. But honestly, I never believed his reasons for vanishing.
I don’t want to revisit that time – I can’t think of anything worse – but the fear I’ve seen in him tonight? It all feels like a horrible echo of Christmas.
