Page 83 of Strange Lad

Jorge scooches closer to me, picking up my hand and settling it on his hip. “You donothave to climb mountains just to conquer your fear of heights.”

Frowning, I open my mouth to ask what the hell that means, but he elaborates. “My abuela used to say that,” he whispers. “In Spanish.” Cupping his hands under his cheek, he sighs. “It means that our accomplishments aren’t always measured in grand feats. It’s measured in the steps we take every day—the ones that keep us going. It’s only when we stop moving that the fear wins.”

Chewing his lip, he closes his eyes and breathes out the next sentence. “When I was five, I drowned in my Uncle Miguel’s pool.”

“Actually drowned?” I gasp, squeezing him.

“Yeah. My dad knows CPR, so they got me breathing again in under a minute. My mom saw me fall in.”

How did I not know this? Jorge’s parents’ house has a pool in the backyard. He and Phoenix lived in that thing during high school.

“I was afraid of water for a long time. Too afraid to learn how to swim. My dad forced me to take lessons even if I cried. Said that I was just aPendejofor falling in. That I could still swim if I tried.”

I don’t like that.

Not that I know him well, but the little I did see of Jorge’s dad at parties seems on par with what he’s saying. A little too tough, and Jorge was always a little too sensitive.

Gently stroking his bare hip, I wait for him to continue. He swallows, shrugs a little, and nibbles his lip.

“Eventually, I learned how to swim. I got over my fear of the pool, but bigger bodies of water would freak me out, especially when Dad made us go fishing ‘n shit. And my abuela would tellme that. It made me feel good. She always made me feel good,” he croaks out the last sentence, eyes wet.

“I’m surprised I didn’t know. Phoenix couldn’t shut up about you when we were kids. Told me everything.”

“I’ve never told Phoenix,” he says softly. “It was embarrassing to me. I’d have nightmares about drowning in that pool with black blobs that turn into killer whales. And in every one, they’d get me. I’d wake up right as the whale’s teeth chomped down.”

I tug him to me, sealing our fronts together, and he sighs into my chest. “It’s not embarrassing. It’s a genuine fear,” I tell him.

“I know. And just like you, I was ashamed of it. Didn’t want anyone to know that I even had it.”

“Are you still afraid?” I whisper, stroking his back.

It’s probably terrible of me to think, but I hope he is. If he’s still afraid, then I won’t feel as pathetic. If Jorge, this unstoppable force of love and compassion, harbors a fear he hasn’t uttered to anyone other than me, maybe I could do the same. Maybe I could finally let it out.

“That’s why I go to the ocean,” he rasps, one of his hands sliding out from his face to fist in my shirt. “To remind myself that as terrifying as it is out there, I still know how to swim.”

My eyes flutter shut, resonating with his words. “I’m still learning.”

Jorge

Take It Out On Me

“Ishould bring a tent since I’m living here now,” I grumble to Michael, who looks just as frustrated as I am.

We’ve been in the studioall week.

I remember when I used to love recording songs. It’d make me feel legit—like we were a proper band. In ways, I do still love it, but Lex has been in a goddamn mood since our meeting. He’s flustered, and when he’s flustered, we all suffer for it. He and Devon are arguing over the solo Michael recorded. Lex insists it needs to be louder on the track, but Devon disagrees.

“It’s better than being home,” Michael says under his breath before running through the first half of Iron Man by Black Sabbath.

It’s his comfort tune.

Sagging on the worn couch, I open Oli’s text thread, wondering if he wants to see me later. My thumbs hover over the screen, debating what to say, but I come up blank. Ever since he watched me jack off and fingered me, we haven’t done anything sexual since. He hasn’t even kissed me, either. I knowhe needs time to process it all—to work through his feelings, but I’m worried I did something wrong.

Maybe it should have been me that said no. I was so excited to doanythingwith him that I didn’t take the time to consider all the ways our intimacy could’ve hurt him. I don’t want to do that. I’ve checked in multiple times since, and he gets progressively more irritated with me each time.

“I’m good, Jorge.”

“Why do you keep asking?”

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