“Oh God, what took you so long? She’s been alternating between babbling about the party and babbling about the wedding, and I’m fucking caught in this garland so I can’t even get away!” I hiss. The expression on Garen’s face doesn’t change as he unwinds the garland from me, then imitates the movement with the scarf around his neck. I finish tacking up the string of fake holly around the door to the dining room, then follow him into the kitchen.
“Before that, it was putting spray snow on the insides of the windows to make them feel a little more ‘festive.’ She wants you to return to third grade and stick a bunch of cloves in some oranges, so if you want to hide, you’d better do it now,” I say. Garen sits down at the counter, and I station myself in front of him, between his slightly parted knees. He twists away, and I blink.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. He shrugs. “Did something happen? Did… did you and Ben get in a fight while you were at his house?”
No reply.
Slowly, I turn his face towards me and with one last glance around to make sure we’re alone, I kiss him. He doesn’t move voluntarily, but his lower lip twitches slightly. I pull back and lick my lips.
“Did he kiss you?” I ask. When he finally looks me in the eye, he might as well just punch me in the stomach. I sit down heavily on the stool next to his. “Oh.”
“I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t want him to. He just kind of… did it,” he half-whispers. I nod.
“Yeah, I get it. No need to explain, really,” I say. The world is full of people like Ben and Nicole, crossing personal space boundaries and jumping to conclusions. “And it’s not like you kissed him back.”
Silence.
Talk about jumping to conclusions.
“You did kiss him back,” I say flatly.
“Not because I wanted to,” he says quickly, and I laugh.
“Oh, okay. At first I thought you did, but now I understand that you voluntarily made out with someone against your will. That always makes perfect sense.”
“What about you and Blaire? You’re practically fucking dating her, the whole school knows it,” Garen snaps.
“I don’t give a shit about Blaire and you know it. What’s Ben to you? Honestly,” I demand. He shrugs after a minute. “He’s your best friend, huh? He’s like James the sequel.”
“Don’t talk to me about James. Just don’t, because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he says, on his feet in an instant.
“Exactly how many other guys are you in love with?” I snap. I turn and head for the door, but Garen grabs my arm and spins me around again.
“Just you, and you know it, so stop playing games. I know you’re afraid to actually be happy or normal for once, but give it a shot for a few minutes and accept that I’m not going anywhere,” he says. Halfway through, his grip tightens slightly on my arm.
“Well, maybe I wish you would, if you’re so interested in Ben anyway. Do you wish I could be him for you? Do you wish I’d dye my hair dark and cut it so scene so you could pretend I’m him while you’re fucking me?”
“What is wrong with you? I told you it was just one kiss. I told you it didn’t mean anything to me. Why are you trying to make this into something it’s not? I love you, Travis. Not Ben, not James. You. Can you just fucking accept that?” he asks. His hand is almost clenched in a fist around my arm now.
“Let go of me right now,” I order. He looks down at his hand, like he didn’t know it was there, and immediately releases it. There’s a faint red handprint encircling my forearm.
“Oh, fuck. T-Travis, I didn’t—”
“I know,” I say. I lift my arm up to examine it. The mark feels kind of hot right now, and is turning a deeper shade of red by the minute. I don’t say anything as Garen fumbles around under the counter for a dish towel, which he soaks in cold water from the faucet and then wraps gently around my arm.
“I swear, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even realize—”
“Stop it,” I say. He yanks his hands back and the dish towel falls onto the ground between us with a loud plop. I pick it up and toss it in the sink. “I meant stop talking. I’m not some battered housewife, Garen. I can handle myself.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. I tug my sleeves down and hug my sweatshirt closer around myself.
“Don’t worry about it. Really,” I say. I raise myself up slightly to kiss him, then head back out to finish decorating the foyer. He trails after me hesitantly, but manages to keep his distance for the rest of the night, up until the guests for Mom’s Christmas Eve party start to arrive. Then, we’re both banished upstairs for our first break in decorating to get ready.
“Wanna save some time?” I ask, nodding to the bathroom and shucking off my sweatshirt and t-shirt. Garen opens the door, eyes averted, and I edge past him to turn up the shower. He shuts and locks the door behind himself, and we both strip down. I step into the shower stall and pause, the water pouring over my scalp and running down my body in hot snaking lines.
“Are you coming in?” I ask. Garen continues to stand there in front of the mirror, naked, staring at his reflection. After a minute of motionlessness, he turns to me, eyes on the floor, and steps into the stall with me.
“Sorry,” he says under his breath.
“Hey. Hey, Garen,” I say. He looks up at me.
“Yeah?” he says. His voice is hollow, flat. Slowly, I turn him around and slide a hand around to settle just below his jaw.
“Tilt your head back,” I whisper. He obeys, and I rake my fingers through the damp spikes until they’re soaked flat against his skull. He remains still, eyes closed, as I wash his hair, then my own, and soap us both down. Ten minutes into the shower, he finally turns around to face me.
“His name was Dave,” he says hoarsely. His name was… what?
“Who?” I ask. Garen’s eyes dart around the room, but finally return to my face.
“My first real boyfriend. At Patton, in my sophomore year. His name was Dave,” he says. I stare.
“You… told me that you’d never done this before,” I say.
“Because I haven’t. I wasn’t in love with Dave. We were… a couple though. He was a senior, and I met him one day in the weight room. We dated for four months,” he replies. My stomach turns slightly. Why the fuck is he telling me this?
“Okay,” is all I can manage.
“Two months in, though… he and I were arguing. We, we argued a lot, so it wasn’t anything new. But I told him I hated him and wished I’d never met him, because he was ruining everything in my life,” he continues. I nod once. “And he punched me.”
My heart drops straight through my body and hits the shower floor.
“What?” I say.
“He punched me in the face. He didn’t move away after he did it, so I tried to shove him back, so he wouldn’t again. So he hit me, and he hit me, and he hit me. And then once I finally hit the ground, he kicked the shit out of me until I passed out. I ended up in the hospital. Broken ribs, broken nose, concussion.”
My mouth is sealed shut. My throat is closed up. My mind is blank. And then I realize.
“You… you said that was two months in,” I say. Garen nods, sending drops of water flying everywhere. “You stayed with him? After that?”
“I told everyone that I didn’t know who had done it. That it was someone I’d never met before. He told me he was sorry and he’d just let his anger get the better of him. I believed him. And I… kept believing him. And he kept doing it. Not… never that bad again. Just black eyes, split lips, cuts and bruises. He said he wouldn’t have to do it if I would just stop doing things to make him angry, and I tried, I tried so fucking hard not to make him angry, but no matter what I did, I still got my ass kicked about once a week.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and yank him forward into my arms, crushing our soaked bodies together. “Garen…”
“I don’t want to be like Dave, Travis. I don’t want to end up doing that to you,” he hisses, pulling back just enough to look at me, my face sandwiched between his palms.
“You’re not going to do that! You’re not going to hurt me! You just, you got carried away, one time,” I stammer.
“Yeah, and so did he. One time, and then one more time, and one more—”
“Stop it,” I order. “You are not him. I love you, and you love me, and you’re never going to hurt me. Please forget about him. Please believe me.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, and he reaches around me to turn off the water. I grab two towels off the stack next to the counter and hand him one, which he wraps around his waist.
“Garen,” I say, and he begins to towel-dry his hair with another from the stack. “Garen,” I repeat, louder.
“Yeah,” he says finally, opening the bathroom door and peering into the hall to check if the coast is clear.
“I love you,” I say. He seems to slump against the door frame for a moment, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly cold. He eventually turns to me, though.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” he says. I can feel my heart hammering through my chest against my crossed arms.
“Why not,” I demand, and he closes his eyes.
“Because it’s hard for me to think about what’s probably best for you when you’re in the middle of making me fall more in love with you every second,” he says. Before I have time to reply, he reaches out and brushes his thumbs against my eyelashes so my eyes flutter shut. He kisses each of my closed eyelids, then my forehead, then my lips. He lingers for just a minute, then pulls back.
“I love you too. No matter what, okay?” he says softly. I nod.
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“Before that, it was putting spray snow on the insides of the windows to make them feel a little more ‘festive.’ She wants you to return to third grade and stick a bunch of cloves in some oranges, so if you want to hide, you’d better do it now,” I say. Garen sits down at the counter, and I station myself in front of him, between his slightly parted knees. He twists away, and I blink.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. He shrugs. “Did something happen? Did… did you and Ben get in a fight while you were at his house?”
No reply.
Slowly, I turn his face towards me and with one last glance around to make sure we’re alone, I kiss him. He doesn’t move voluntarily, but his lower lip twitches slightly. I pull back and lick my lips.
“Did he kiss you?” I ask. When he finally looks me in the eye, he might as well just punch me in the stomach. I sit down heavily on the stool next to his. “Oh.”
“I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t want him to. He just kind of… did it,” he half-whispers. I nod.
“Yeah, I get it. No need to explain, really,” I say. The world is full of people like Ben and Nicole, crossing personal space boundaries and jumping to conclusions. “And it’s not like you kissed him back.”
Silence.
Talk about jumping to conclusions.
“You did kiss him back,” I say flatly.
“Not because I wanted to,” he says quickly, and I laugh.
“Oh, okay. At first I thought you did, but now I understand that you voluntarily made out with someone against your will. That always makes perfect sense.”
“What about you and Blaire? You’re practically fucking dating her, the whole school knows it,” Garen snaps.
“I don’t give a shit about Blaire and you know it. What’s Ben to you? Honestly,” I demand. He shrugs after a minute. “He’s your best friend, huh? He’s like James the sequel.”
“Don’t talk to me about James. Just don’t, because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he says, on his feet in an instant.
“Exactly how many other guys are you in love with?” I snap. I turn and head for the door, but Garen grabs my arm and spins me around again.
“Just you, and you know it, so stop playing games. I know you’re afraid to actually be happy or normal for once, but give it a shot for a few minutes and accept that I’m not going anywhere,” he says. Halfway through, his grip tightens slightly on my arm.
“Well, maybe I wish you would, if you’re so interested in Ben anyway. Do you wish I could be him for you? Do you wish I’d dye my hair dark and cut it so scene so you could pretend I’m him while you’re fucking me?”
“What is wrong with you? I told you it was just one kiss. I told you it didn’t mean anything to me. Why are you trying to make this into something it’s not? I love you, Travis. Not Ben, not James. You. Can you just fucking accept that?” he asks. His hand is almost clenched in a fist around my arm now.
“Let go of me right now,” I order. He looks down at his hand, like he didn’t know it was there, and immediately releases it. There’s a faint red handprint encircling my forearm.
“Oh, fuck. T-Travis, I didn’t—”
“I know,” I say. I lift my arm up to examine it. The mark feels kind of hot right now, and is turning a deeper shade of red by the minute. I don’t say anything as Garen fumbles around under the counter for a dish towel, which he soaks in cold water from the faucet and then wraps gently around my arm.
“I swear, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even realize—”
“Stop it,” I say. He yanks his hands back and the dish towel falls onto the ground between us with a loud plop. I pick it up and toss it in the sink. “I meant stop talking. I’m not some battered housewife, Garen. I can handle myself.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. I tug my sleeves down and hug my sweatshirt closer around myself.
“Don’t worry about it. Really,” I say. I raise myself up slightly to kiss him, then head back out to finish decorating the foyer. He trails after me hesitantly, but manages to keep his distance for the rest of the night, up until the guests for Mom’s Christmas Eve party start to arrive. Then, we’re both banished upstairs for our first break in decorating to get ready.
“Wanna save some time?” I ask, nodding to the bathroom and shucking off my sweatshirt and t-shirt. Garen opens the door, eyes averted, and I edge past him to turn up the shower. He shuts and locks the door behind himself, and we both strip down. I step into the shower stall and pause, the water pouring over my scalp and running down my body in hot snaking lines.
“Are you coming in?” I ask. Garen continues to stand there in front of the mirror, naked, staring at his reflection. After a minute of motionlessness, he turns to me, eyes on the floor, and steps into the stall with me.
“Sorry,” he says under his breath.
“Hey. Hey, Garen,” I say. He looks up at me.
“Yeah?” he says. His voice is hollow, flat. Slowly, I turn him around and slide a hand around to settle just below his jaw.
“Tilt your head back,” I whisper. He obeys, and I rake my fingers through the damp spikes until they’re soaked flat against his skull. He remains still, eyes closed, as I wash his hair, then my own, and soap us both down. Ten minutes into the shower, he finally turns around to face me.
“His name was Dave,” he says hoarsely. His name was… what?
“Who?” I ask. Garen’s eyes dart around the room, but finally return to my face.
“My first real boyfriend. At Patton, in my sophomore year. His name was Dave,” he says. I stare.
“You… told me that you’d never done this before,” I say.
“Because I haven’t. I wasn’t in love with Dave. We were… a couple though. He was a senior, and I met him one day in the weight room. We dated for four months,” he replies. My stomach turns slightly. Why the fuck is he telling me this?
“Okay,” is all I can manage.
“Two months in, though… he and I were arguing. We, we argued a lot, so it wasn’t anything new. But I told him I hated him and wished I’d never met him, because he was ruining everything in my life,” he continues. I nod once. “And he punched me.”
My heart drops straight through my body and hits the shower floor.
“What?” I say.
“He punched me in the face. He didn’t move away after he did it, so I tried to shove him back, so he wouldn’t again. So he hit me, and he hit me, and he hit me. And then once I finally hit the ground, he kicked the shit out of me until I passed out. I ended up in the hospital. Broken ribs, broken nose, concussion.”
My mouth is sealed shut. My throat is closed up. My mind is blank. And then I realize.
“You… you said that was two months in,” I say. Garen nods, sending drops of water flying everywhere. “You stayed with him? After that?”
“I told everyone that I didn’t know who had done it. That it was someone I’d never met before. He told me he was sorry and he’d just let his anger get the better of him. I believed him. And I… kept believing him. And he kept doing it. Not… never that bad again. Just black eyes, split lips, cuts and bruises. He said he wouldn’t have to do it if I would just stop doing things to make him angry, and I tried, I tried so fucking hard not to make him angry, but no matter what I did, I still got my ass kicked about once a week.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and yank him forward into my arms, crushing our soaked bodies together. “Garen…”
“I don’t want to be like Dave, Travis. I don’t want to end up doing that to you,” he hisses, pulling back just enough to look at me, my face sandwiched between his palms.
“You’re not going to do that! You’re not going to hurt me! You just, you got carried away, one time,” I stammer.
“Yeah, and so did he. One time, and then one more time, and one more—”
“Stop it,” I order. “You are not him. I love you, and you love me, and you’re never going to hurt me. Please forget about him. Please believe me.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, and he reaches around me to turn off the water. I grab two towels off the stack next to the counter and hand him one, which he wraps around his waist.
“Garen,” I say, and he begins to towel-dry his hair with another from the stack. “Garen,” I repeat, louder.
“Yeah,” he says finally, opening the bathroom door and peering into the hall to check if the coast is clear.
“I love you,” I say. He seems to slump against the door frame for a moment, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly cold. He eventually turns to me, though.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” he says. I can feel my heart hammering through my chest against my crossed arms.
“Why not,” I demand, and he closes his eyes.
“Because it’s hard for me to think about what’s probably best for you when you’re in the middle of making me fall more in love with you every second,” he says. Before I have time to reply, he reaches out and brushes his thumbs against my eyelashes so my eyes flutter shut. He kisses each of my closed eyelids, then my forehead, then my lips. He lingers for just a minute, then pulls back.
“I love you too. No matter what, okay?” he says softly. I nod.
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