I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t think she’s his girlfriend, David is gay, he never questioned that himself. Although, who knows, bi-awakening and all that. What do I know? I’m just the man he was secretly in love with for two years, behind closed doors and high hedges. I’m just the man he begged to leave because he couldn’t do it himself. And now? Now I’m the idiot who, after two years of secrecy, has to watch him holding hands with a girl.
That alone hurts like fucking hell, less than two weeks after we broke up, but what’s even worse is that he’s not doing it outside on the street, somewhere in public where I don’t have to see it. No, he’s doing it here, at school, right in front of me.
***
There’s a knock at my bedroom door. “Lou, it’s me. Can I come in?”
I don’t answer. For Paps, it’s enough that I don’t say no. I hear the click of the door handle and the familiar sound of his light footsteps on my hardwood floor, then I feel the dip of the mattress. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
“He has a girlfriend.” I didn’t expect the despair in my voice nor the following breakdown. Crying and sobbing, I curl up on my mattress. The pain is back, with full force and without regard for the consequences. Paps doesn’t sayanything for a long time, gently stroking my back, then moving up to my curls.
“I’m sorry, Lou. I understand that this hurts. But we can’t dictate how anyone feels or who they feel for.”
“We were together for almost two years, two years where no one was allowed to know that we were more than just friends. He hasn’t even known her for two weeks, and yet she’s allowed to hold hands with him at school. And do you know why? Because she’s a girl, because it’s fucking okay to be with a girl. But it’s not okay to be with the person you’ve been in love with for almost two years publicly, to whom you say how much you love them at every fucking opportunity, that you can’t imagine life without them. And you know why? Just because we’re the same gender, for fuck’s sake.” My father doesn’t contradict me. Because I’m right and he knows it.
***
Today is the day. I marked it in my calendar months ago. Today is officially David’s last day of school. One more week of oral exams, then it’s all over. Eight weeks ago, we were joking around, saying that we would come to school holding hands on that day. Or that I would go up to him during break and kiss him. None of that will happen today, instead I’m standing with my friends in our usual spot having the best view of David, who is standing with Finn and a few other people right in my line of sight.
The girl is hanging on his arm as usual. Over the last few weeks, I came to the conclusion that he’s... well, ignoring her is a harsh word, but that’s how it is. However, I don’t know how to feel about this realization. On the one hand, it fills mewith a nasty sense of satisfaction that, as far as I can see, he doesn’t want anything to do with her. On the other hand, I wonder why she has to hang on his arm at all. What does he need her for?
And I only have one answer: to hurt me. To show me that he doesn’t need me anymore. To show me that his life moved on without me, while I still cry myself to sleep every night. While I’m still waiting for WhatsApp messages from him. Sometimes I tell myself that it’s all just a bad dream and wait to wake up, only to realize that I am awake.
Chapter 23
David
20 years
“You can thank me later.”
I’m not quite sure what for at the moment. For the coffee I spilled across the table in shock? For my elbow, which I bumped against the back of the chair in the same movement? Or maybe for the thick magazine-like book she slammed down on the table in front of me. So many possibilities.
“For what exactly?” Better to be safe than sorry.
Judging by her look, that was the stupidest question of the millennium and light years beneath her dignity. I guess she meant themagazine. “What’s that?”
“You can read, right?” Annika pours some almond milk into her coffee and sits down across from me. I let my gaze wander over the cover page and see it’s a yearbook.
“What am I supposed to...” Shit. This isn’t just any yearbook, it’s Lou’s. I find him immediately in the class photo on the back. He looks the same as he did a year ago, hasn’t changed. There it is again, the knife in my chest, sharp and unyielding. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
My sister doesn’t think it’s necessary to answer. Understandably so, because her look is enough to tell me not to act like a complete idiot. “He looks good. Page 27.”
Nervously, I flip to the page she mentioned, and there he is. Louis. A portrait and a full-body photo. She wasn’t lying; he’s very handsome, but I didn’t expect anything else. My index finger gently strokes the photo of his face. All by itself, and by the time I notice, it’s already too late.
“Still?” Pity doesn’t suit my sister; it somehow lacks authenticity. But I’m drowning in an ocean threatening to sink deeper and deeper, so pointed answers are out of the question right now.
“How long have you known?”
“What? That you’re gay or that you love the only guy at school who has more money than we do?” If I’d known I’d regret my question so quickly, I wouldn’t have asked it. If I get gray hair early, it’s her fault.
“Both.”
“You’ve never been seen with a girl, and I know you didn’t lack offers. They circled you like vultures. Super uncomfortable.” Maybe, I didn’t pay attention to that. “As for Louis, I always wondered what was going on between you two. I saw the looks you gave each other at school, at handball. Somehow, it was always a bit more than friendship,and when you were going through such a rough time last year and you weren’t talking to each other anymore, I was 95% sure. The last 5% is in here. Read it.”
No way. My heart is already pounding in my throat. Just seeing photos of him slashes open wounds that will never heal anyway. My eyes skim over the first few lines, and whoever wrote this knows Louis damn well. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth and try to suppress it, but it’s hopeless. Just as hopeless as stopping the single tear rolling down my cheek and dripping onto the page. Damn, there’s another one, shit. My vision blurs, but I struggle on through the article. The last sentence pulls the rug out from under my feet.
“And for anyone who has wondered why Louis hasn’t had a girlfriend despite his stunning good looks: he’s into guys.”
