Dear Diary,
Yeah, I'm writing a diary. Nothing gayer than that, right? I just… need something to vent to. Just for now. The guys are at class now, so they'll never see this, but just in case, I have a Hooters' magazine open in front of me.
Because I'm straight.
They - I beat him up today.
And I'm watching him as he walks away, bruised and battered as the weird freshman holds him up, moving out of the caf, out of the school.
Patrick, I'm so sorry.
I wanted to go run after them, but I know that it won't work. They're watching, he's gone and the damage's been done.
His stepsister, Sam, shot daggers at me through her hazel eyes. The guys had said that if it wasn't for the fact that she was a total head case, she was bangin', not to mention easy to get to. It all would have been much easier if she made me feel as excited as… he… did.
I'm so sorry.
Because in all honesty, I miss those nights on the golf course and hiding in our friends' houses. His lips on mine, mine on his, my brain screaming because I AM NOT A FAGGOT but I am and it's alright because he's here and he's all I need for now and forever. And him whispering words in my ear that I didn't understand because I was so wasted but so in… the L - word -
"Brad, thank you so damn much for this little infinity" -
"Brad, I love you" -
"Brad, I need you."
I need you, too, Patrick.
But I know that he understands what it's like to pretend to be someone you're not and try not to let that fake part of you get in the way of living life like it's meant to be lived. He knows what happened that night in the basement, what happened to my father - what happened to me.
And I keep telling myself that "Brad, you're straight, straight, STRAIGHT. Stop being a wuss and man up -"
"Brad, you're not gay, you don't love him, you were just drunk and high and he was such a girl that you couldn't tell the difference anyway -"
"Brad, your father will kill you if he ever finds out that you're not into chicks but dicks, stop thinking about him now - "
But I'm not, and I know it, and Patrick knows it. And I did love him, still do and will do for a long time, whatever that means. It was just… different. Time spent fooling around with him were the best moments of my life, better than winning any football game or being with any hot sorority girl - and it's weird, it's strange, it's gay, I know, but that's me. And he accepted me.
And he loved me.
And I loved him.
How much gayer could I get?