He barely acknowledges me when we’re surrounded by other people, and I can tell he’s only doing that much because he doesn’t want to tip anybody off that something’s going on. But the moment we’re out of the car or the studio where we film a quick promo before we all go our separate ways, it’s like I don’t exist.
It’s worse than being yelled at. Screamed at. Knocked over the head, even.
I haven’t slept for the past two nights. I tried to follow Ari to his room, to apologize or try to make anything intelligible come out of my mouth, but his door was locked and he didn’t want anything to do with me. Last night, the door was locked again. It didn’t matter how many times I knocked, or how hard. I just ended up standing there like an idiot, listening to the silence on the other side.
I deserve this. I deserve worse.
I didn’t mean to make him feel like his worth hinged on if he’d slept with someone else. I’d never devalue him that way. He means everything to me. I also didn’t mean to make him feel that all I want is to own him.
Idowant to own him.
But that’s notallI want. It’s not like that. In my head, in my heart, it’s mutual. He owns me, too. He always has. He just doesn’t know it in the same language I do—because, yes, I speak some kind of barbarian, brutish language that amounts to hitting someone over the head and dragging them to my cave.
I’m possessive of Ari. Too possessive. I know that. I’m trying to overcome it, but the idea of Ari with anyone else stirs something ugly and feral inside me. Like when we were teenagers and I saw that douchebag lead him under the bleachers because I could see the track and field from my biology class. I didn’t run out there expecting to find Ari on the ground and bleeding. I’d expected to put the bastard on the ground and make him bleed because I knew he’d be touching what’s mine. I didn’t really understand why I felt that way until I kissed him. I’d only doneit to make him feel better, to give him back something that had been taken from him. But the moment his lips touched mine and his breath hitched a tiny bit, I was fucked.
Over the years, I’ve had to cope with Ari being his own person and making his own decisions, and that’s been hard. I’ve found ways to control our environment, like joining exclusive clubs under the guise of easy, safe fun so I could keep an eye on him. The times he went out with Jesse, I would usually drown myself in a bottle of tequila.
It’s been hard.
But none of it has been as hard as watching Ari with Alonso. Because I can see them together, their happy story, the perfect relationship. Alonso is everything I’m not and everything I wish I could be for Ari.
After my colossal fuckup, I’ve only pushed Ari farther into his arms. So when I overhear Ari telling Jesse he’s flying to LA with Alonso instead of New York with me, I choke myself on my silence and wish for a sedative. Honestly, if it weren’t for Jesse’s sobriety, I’d probably be comatose right now. Even if I wanted to say something, I wouldn’t be able to. It feels too much like I’m being swallowed up by quicksand.
After we’re done with the promo shoot to announce the rescheduled, revamped charity concert, everyone scatters. Ari doesn’t even say goodbye before he and Eric drive off to meet Alonso. Jesse heads to Atlanta to meet up with his hotshot NFL boyfriend. Naz was supposed to be heading to Raleigh, but instead ends up on a plane with me, Blake, and Emmy on our way to New York. He’s decided he wants to spend Halloween in New York.
There are nine of us total on the plane, including the security team, Gage, our equipment manager, who lives in New York, and the two flight attendants. We mostly talk about the upcoming concert and how big of an opportunity it is for us and the creators of the Wave app. And that naturally leads to a conversation about politics, because our concert will be, for all intents and purposes, a protest. But I still can’t focus. It seems Naz can’t either. He and Scott are staring at each other so intently, I catch the eye of both Zane and Emmy at different times, and we share silent, amused but also concerned, expressions.
He only breaks his creepy stare-off long enough to chime in on the conversation about the backslide of American politics to say, “America’s always been a shithole if you’re not a straight white dude. More people are just noticing now because it’s starting to affect people who have less melanin. Everyone’s all—how could we let this happen?but most of this shit’s been happening all along. But shit like putting kids in cages becomes normalized, and we go back to our lives, doom scrolling for five-second shots of dopamine while the world around us rots.”
Damn.
He’s not wrong though.
The conversation continues with how we can maximize our reach and impact, but the moment Emmy mentions Alonso is going to be promoting the stream, I’m out. As if to prove Naz’s point, I doom scroll Alonso’s social media for any mentions of Ari until we land. Despite being so distracted, Naz seems awfully interested in me being checked out of the conversation.
By the time we land and climb into our car, I know I need a distraction. And I have a legitimate one now, because I need to talk about Jesse now that we’re alone.
“I’m worried about Jesse.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he’s dating some closeted guy, and what happens if it doesn’t work out and Jesse relapses?”
“Everyone needs to stop sitting around waiting for Jesse to relapse. We need to let him live his life, and live ours, and be there if and when he needs us. It’s not the first time Jesse’s gone down on a closeted jock. Remember that field hockey player he had the hots for in high school?”
“This is different, and you know it. Jesse is really, really into him.”
“Oh yeah, he’s upside down for that dude. Which, I mean, you can’t really blame him. Luc Martín isn’t my type, butdamn.”
“I’m serious, Naz.”
“So am I, dude. And so was Ari,” he exclaims, shaking his head. “You’d think he was getting enough hot famous dick, but did you see how that boy lit up when we mentioned Mr. Colgate?” Naz laughs uproariously, and I try to ignore the heat creeping up my neck at the mention of Ari andhot famous dick.
“What if it doesn’t work out though?”
Naz shrugs and gives me a curious look. “What if it does? Why you gotta be all pessimistic?” Then he pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Will, every little queer kid is equipped to handle rejection. We’re used to it.”
That reminds me of something Ari said to me before. I’m silent for the rest of the drive, thinking about how much of Ari’s life I’ve made harder because I was too blind to see how I was hurting him.
