Page 84 of Seeing Grayscale

“It’s pretty obvious what it is, Gray,” he grits out. Okay, so this is the most sensitive one—the one that made him get so angry with me.

“I know, but what's the story behind it? Why did you keep it when it’s from over a decade ago?”

With gentle hands, he lifts me off, sets me down, and stands. I watch him shrug out of his suit jacket, yank at his tie, and loosen it. He’s avoiding this, and I don’t know why. Of all the STIs he could have contracted at that age, he got an easy one to treat. Nothing is permanent.

“In sixth grade, I knew I was gay,” he starts, pacing slowly and anxiously pushing his hair back. “It was obvious. I think even my mom suspected. But my dad was either in denial or truly didn’t think so. I never said anything but never showed any interest in girls.”

“That’s usually how it starts,” I say carefully. He’s twitchy, scratching at his neck, his chest.

“Well, my dad doesn’t fucking like gay people. At all. He sticks with the current policies and public standpoints to keep his position.” More scratching. “I went to a pretty strict private school, but those kids were all having sex, doing drugs, drinking. Didn’t matter that we came from money or had the parents we did. So…naturally I had offers.”

I want to go to him, but he looks ready to scream again, so I stay put. His legs pick up in speed, the clawing at his body intensifies to the point he’s frantically unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t do it. Didn’t want to get caught or…anything. But there was this one boy.”

Jealousy flares inside me. An irrational side of my brain doesn’t want to believe he’s been with anyone, ever. But I bite my tongue.

“He was so…hot. Alright? So I told him we had to wait until I was eighteen. I was sure I’d be out of the house and free to do whatever I wanted.” Another pause. His face pales as he swallows hard. “I had no idea what I was doing. I’d only ever given a hand job. We wereeighteen. He had more experience, and he wasn’t a virgin.”

“Hey,” I say to get his attention. He stops pacing, flicks his eyes at me, and grimaces. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he laughs bitterly. “He made me top. Which, I guess, is fine, but it wasn’t what I like. But regardless, he told me that I needed tofeelit. Really feel it without anything between us. I trusted him. I trusted him far too much. So, I fucked him and he decided I was shit at it—no surprise there.” Another hysterical, bitter laugh. “I waseighteen. I already felt so wrong, so fucking filthy for wanting him like I did—for wanting him to do the things I fantasized about. And after he broke it off…”

“Hunter…”

“That was the result. I had all the symptoms, was scared to death that my dad would find out and ask how I’d gotten such a disgusting fucking infection. If not for Perry…” he trails off, shaking so badly that I’m sure he will fall. “I…fuck, Gray. I need to take a shower. I gotta do it,” he begs, rips his shirt and undershirt off, and powerwalks to the adjoined bathroom.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Dirty.

Wrong.

Repulsive.

Despite my best efforts, I took it out on Gray. All that suppressed rage, frustration, and self-loathing.

And now I’m weak.

I don’t allow myself to break down again while going through my shower ritual, but god, do I want to. It’sexhaustingkeeping the mask in place when every minute of every day, I just want toscream.

I’d convinced myself throughout the shit show that was my day that Gray had to go. Our relationship keeps contorting, changing, and deepening. At some point, I won’t have it in me to push him out the door. Perhaps I’m already there because I couldn’t find the right words to say to him when I pulled into my garage.

How could I ever accurately express the way I now need him? Even if we stay in this weird limbo of not quite lovers but not exclusively platonic either, I don’t know how to stop my fascination turned obsession.

I have nothing to compare it to—nothing that comes remotely close to what I’m experiencing. What’s worse is that I hold so much of the power. Gray is aware of it, too, never letting me forget that I brought him into my world and I alone will be responsible for shoving him out of it.

I don’t want to—can’t stomach the thought—but I know it has to happen for both of us.

However, now that he knows my darkest, ugliest secret, I’m petrified that I won’t get a say in any of it. Gray seemed to have taken it well enough. Logically, I know it isn’t that bad. Plenty of people go through it. But it represents the most fundamental part of me while highlighting my biggest mistake.

Who knows where I would be now if I hadn’t been able to cover my tracks? I wouldn’t have anything or anyone, and I certainly never would have met Gray.

I’m sick with worry, guilt, regret—an endless loop of negativity, drowning in the crushing waves of my poor choices. And what it all boils down to is this: do I save Gray or myself?

Do I even care to try anymore?

Can’t we crash and burn together so I won’t have to remain alone?

A sharp knock on the bathroom door pulls me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?” I call, rinsing my loofah.

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