Page 3 of Holy Hearts
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Julian?MyJulian?”
“Yeah. I just assumed…”
That uncomfortable, tight feeling returns. “No,” I stammer, feeling a rush of warmth in my cheeks. It’s not just the absurdity of the idea that rattles me. It’s how quickly I’m dismissing it—like I’m afraid to sit with it for too long, for fear of the idea sinking in too deeply. “You’re wrong.”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, it—it’s fine,” I stutter.
“I should go. Let me know about the conference before Monday, okay?”
I nod and wave him away, but it feels like I’m dreaming or drowning… and I’m not sure which, or why an innocent assumption threw me off my game so much.
My heart is racing, and I rub my chest with my hand. Julian and me? The thought is laughable.
I’d never even considered the idea…
A minute later, Julian returns with two bags of popcorn. “Got you your own bag so we don’t have to share,” he mumbles, handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I say slowly, observing him as he climbs into the bed next to me. He purposefully positions himself farther away, too, and my mind races.
I study his profile as I look over at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His white-blond hair is flipped over to one side, and his day-old, ash-blond scruff makes him look older than his eighteen years. I’ve been trying to grow my beard for years unsuccessfully, and I have to shave every morning so that no one can see how patchy it is.
I’ve always been envious of it.
I mean… yeah. He’s good-looking. I’ve noticed. But I don’t really think of him that way.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks, chewing popcorn. His eyes don’t leave our tiny television screen.
“You’re acting weird,” I tell him truthfully.
He shrugs. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
He’s lying, but I don’t understand why. We continue to watch the movie until it ends with the heroine stabbing the serial killer in the neck. He puts another DVD in, and I don’t see what it is. I don’t really care. The rain continues to pour outside, so much so that Julian gets up and looks out of the window.
It reminds me of something an old man would do, and I have to try not to laugh. His moods aresoapparent, and when Julian is happy, everyone is happy.
When Julian is miserable…
“It’s pissing down outside,” he mutters, but he doesn’t look at me as he gets back into the bed. Every time he gets back in bed, he situates himself a little farther away.
And I can’t help but think of what Oscar said—about the way Julian talks about me in class. What does he say? Maybe Oscar is just misreading the situation. We’re close, sure, but Julian has never said or done anything to make me think he’s anything but straight.
I can’t shake the feeling that when it comes to Julian, there’s something deeper I’m not seeing.
I usually go home on the weekends since Crestwood University is only a short drive away from Ravage Castle, where I grew up. My father had called Julian a word I’d never heard him use last weekend, and while it made me angry, it also confused me—now more than ever. I’d brushed it off last weekend, but now? That’s twice someone’s mentioned it.
Julian dates women.
He likes women.
We even check out girls together sometimes.
And, as his roommate, I’vedefinitelycaught him jacking off to porn.
I suppose it’s possible he’s bi… or lying to me.
I don’t like how that thought makes me feel. Not that I would ever judge Julian for who he’s attracted to—despite being interested in religion, I keep an open mind. But the thought of Julian being anything other than straight makes my heart race in a way I’m not sure I understand.
