Page 19 of If This Gets Out

The next thing I know, I’m wide awake, and it’s three a.m. The lights and TV are still on, my blinds are still wide open, and my mouth tastes vile.

I must’ve been so out of it they gave up on delivering the food. I get out of bed, and go over to the window. This place must have some seriously amazing heating, since the city outside looks rainy and miserable, but I feel toasty. I watch a droplet streak down the window, then pull the blinds shut, then turn the TV and lights off. I’m not that tired, but I can at least try to sleep. I’ll pay for it later if I don’t.

My phone lights up from where I left it on my bedside table. I flop down onto my bed and check it.

It’s a Snapchat message from Ruben.

RUBEN

Can you sleep?

I turn on my front camera, and take a selfie. I know I’m shirtless, but Ruben doesn’t see me likethat. After his experiences, he’s the last person who’d let himself go and get feelings for a guy he already knows is straight.

My heart starts thudding at the idea of him seeing me differently, though. Like as just a guy, not his friend. What would he think of me if he didn’t know me, and know I’m straight? Would he think I’m hot, then? And why am I even thinking this?

After editing the photo, I caption it:haha nope. I just woke up.

I send it.

Ruben sees it, and starts typing. Then the bubble disappears. I’ve noticed Ruben does this a lot. It’s like he never trusts his first thought.

A picture comes in. It’s of Ruben in bed, with his eyes crossed and his nose scrunched up.

Another chime.

RUBEN

OH HI YOU’RE UP.

ME

I am!

RUBEN

That means now is a perfect time…

I find myself grinning.

ME

A perfect time for what?

RUBEN

For you to tell me what you thought of In This House. IN DETAIL, Zach.

I laugh. So maybe he isn’t blown away by seeing me shirtless, but this? I like this.

ME

I already told you I loved it?

I hit send, then let my head fall back against my pillow while I wait for a response. I open Instagram and scroll for a second, then I navigate back to Ruben’s messages. There’s no typing bubble yet.

I bring his photo back up. He’s shirtless, but I can only see the top of his bare shoulders, and they’re making my stomach twist. A face flashes into my mind. Lee, from middle school, with the dimple. I used to pull up his profile picture, a photo of him staring intensely at the camera, and study it, searching for the spot where the dimple would be if he smiled. I’d mostly forgotten this feeling, but now, it’s so familiar. Like, scarily familiar.

I exit Ruben’s photo.

---