“Here.” She releases me from the hug and hands me a pack of tissues from her bag before taking her seat again.
“Never expected this to happen today,” I say, wiping my eyes.
“What was it that made you feel like you could finally tell someone?”
“Your T-shirt, it was like a foghorn blaring at me.”
She looks down and laughs. “Okay, that makes sense. I thought you were legit staring at my tits, but then you told me you’re gay. I wasn’t sure whether to take it personally or not.”
“No, nothing personal, I’m sure they’re great, but I was just looking at the T-shirt.”
“Damn right they’re great, haven’t had any complaints yet,” she chuckles, and it makes me laugh too, enjoying this moment of feeling lighter than I’ve ever felt in my life.
The moment settles, but in the quiet my head starts to spin, and thoughts start to spiral. This was a bad idea… my family could find out… the motorcycle club… my father would literally kill me… My hands are shaking and no matter what I do they don’t seem to stop. Until Beth’s hand gently squeezes mine again, a reminder that I’m not completely alone.
“Breathe,” she says calmly, “I know it’s hard, but try and breathe.”
She sits me down and moves her chair in front of me, before placing her hand on her chest, prompting me to do the same. Watching her hand rise and fall helps me, and I focus on the sensation of my own hand resting against my body. My heart is still pounding, but it’s slowing, helped by tuning into my chest rising and falling.
I’m here, I’m okay… I’m here, I’m okay…
She holds her hand out to me, and I take it again, it dawns on me that this is the first time I’ve held someone else’s hand, well, someone who isn’t my mom anyway. It seemed so natural to Beth, holding my hand after I told her, and now to calm me down. It’s reassuring, the same as her hug.
“Please can you hug me again?” I ask.
“Of course, come here.”
She stands and I step into her arms as she rests her head against my chest.
“Sorry,” I say, “I don’t mean to be a weirdo, asking for a hug when we barely know each other.”
“Well considering I know your deepest secret I think that automatically makes us best friends, and best friends hug, so you’re good.”
“Best friends, huh? I’ve never had a best friend before.”
“Hmm, I haven’t had one for years,” she says, her voice etched with sadness.
We hold each other for what feels like an age; it’s nice, comforting.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
I chuckle, “How I’m definitely, one hundred percent, gay.”
“The hugs not doing anything for you, huh?”
“It is in the sense that it feels nice, but as for sexual attraction, zip, nada.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got lots of men I use for sex, it will be nice to have a guy friend who’s purely platonic.”
“Best friends?” I ask.
“Best friends,” she says, “and as your new official best friend, I’m afraid the first order of business is to get to the bottom of that panic attack. I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that you said it would be dangerous if people find out you’re gay?”
“Yeah, it’s not a nice story though, so, you don’t have to listen—”
“Excuse me, did we not just agree we’re best friends? I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me.”
“I mean, it would be good to talk about it,” I say, “but I’d rather go somewhere private. I share a dorm room though so that’s complicated.”
