Page 20 of Come Out, Come Out

The concern in her eyes is everything, even though I know it’s just her showing basic human decency, it’s more than anyone has expressed toward me in so long. “Sorry, I—” I school my face into a smile. “No, thanks. I’m okay, I just got distracted for a second.”

“Okay . . .” Her eyes scan over me as if she doesn’t believe me. “So, what now?” There’s something like hurt in her eyes and I wish I could ensure that I would never see that look from her again. “Are you going to disappear into the night for another eight months?”

“Skye,” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Look, it’s cool. This can be just a casual thing, no need for labels or anything. I like the games we play; I do. It’s just . . . I never know when to expect you.”

“Isn’t that just part of the game?” I try to play it off, skirting around the real question, ‘When will I see you again?’ I don’t want this to be a casual thing. I want to tell her that I can be here as much as she wants, that I’ll be back again soon, but I don’t know that, and I can’t lie to her. I might relish in bringing her the punishing release she craves, but I don’t want to do her any real harm.

Skye rolls her eyes and gives me a fake laugh, effectively ridding her gaze of the vulnerability that was burning there as she stands and walks to the fridge. No matter how much she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s lonely. But not in a way that most people can fulfill. She finds my company calming in a way she can’t explain; it’s because I know exactly what she needs and I intend to keep showing up for her when I can, which I desperately hope is more often.

“Another game?” She slides an open beer across the table.

“What’ll it be?” I ask before taking a long sip.

Skye pulls out a deck of cards from her back pocket. “How about war? But whoever loses each round has to tell a truth about themselves.”

“No dares?”

“Maybe later.” That spark of lust between us reignites.

I pull the deck toward me and start shuffling. “Can’t have you stacking the deck against me, can we?”

“If anyone’s the cheater, it’s you.” Her hand flattens over mine, halting my shuffling, and her warmth seeps through me. It’s something so simple yet comforting that I relinquish the cards with no hesitation.

Skye deals and starts the game, “Three, two, one, war!” She shouts excitedly. We both flip over our cards and I can’t even be disappointed about losing, seeing this side of her feels so good.

“Time for a truth.” Skye tilts her head, assessing me. “What’s with the tattoo.” She points to the one on my neck that says ‘GONER’.

“Umm . . .” I rub my fingers across it. “I got it when I turned eighteen. It was kind of a fuck-you to the kids who used to bully me back in school. They’d always tell me I was a goner, so I decided to own it.”

Her brow furrows as she studies me. “You were bullied? For what?”

“Well, for one, I wasn’t really the athletic type. I always preferred drawing and painting, which of course made me distinctly not‘one of the guys’. And then there was the disdain people held for how open I was about being into well, everyone, just as much as I was into girls, even in elementary school. People weren’t as accepting back then–I guess they aren’t so much now, either.” I run a hand through my disheveled hair. I’d never felt a lot of pressure to hide my identity, but even less so now. There were no social stigmas in death. “Plus, I was always kind of an outcast. I was always doing my own thing. That was a hard pill to swallow for people who hinge their self-worth on being accepted,” I shrug off the memories of my youth that feel so distant now.

A fond smile tells me she can relate. She doesn’t press for more. “Three, two, one, war.”

This time, I win the round with a ten owning her four. “Are you going home to visit family for the holidays?”

“No.”

I arch a brow, letting her know I expect more.

“I’m from The Bay, but my family doesn’t live up here anymore. They’ve scattered all over the country. My parents divorced when I was young–it was a good thing, they were always fighting–and our relationship kind of deteriorated from there. It was a messy divorce and they both were too caught up in their own shit to notice how much I needed them. So, I decided not to need them anymore. I have an older sibling, we’re not close, though, and she moved to Maine. I went to visit her for the holidays last year. We couldn’t get along, she said my ‘shitty attitude and picky eating took the fun out of it all’. Same old story of why most of my relationships of any kind haven’t worked out, I’m too difficult for her.”

Needing to comfort her, I reach my hand across the table. “You’re not too difficult. Fuck her.”

A sad smile tips her matte-black lips that have been restored to perfection. “You don’t know me.”

“I understand you better than you think, Skye. Anyone who tells you that you’re too much doesn’t deserve you.”

Her eyes blur with unshed tears but her jaw is tight with discomfort. She really doesn’t want to cry in front of me. She doesn’t know how many times I’ve witnessed just that and how much I’d never judge her for it. Since I can’t explain that to her, I add the cards I won to my pile, then pick up where we left off. “Three, two, one, war.”

She flips over a queen and I flip over a nine. My stomach twists with nerves. “So, is your family as shitty as mine?”

The question plunges into my heart like a knife and it takes me a minute to recover. I try to cover up the shock with a long swig of the beer. When the tension ebbs from my throat, I finally answer, “I’m not super close with my family anymore, but I do get along with them. I have a sister—hada twin sister—we didn’t have much in common, but we did have a lot of great memories.” My brain conjures up the heartbreaking image of Becca’s lifeless body that still haunts me to this day. My stomach rolls and I think I might be sick. “I’ll be right back.” I don’t wait for her response as I take off toward the bathroom. A cold sweat coats my skin.

Needing to chase away the clammy feeling, I turn on the sink, but the frigid metal doesn’t bite into my skin, I barely feel it at all as I twist it on. I cup my hands and bring water to my face; it’s not as refreshing as I expect. I do it again, it splashes onto the floor behind me.

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