Chloe caught a glimpse of her colorless reflection. Well, that was inaccurate. Her hair still looked like a flaming pyre. But besides that, her complexion was pale. She felt just as grayscaled as she looked, and the look emanated from her eyes. She stepped closer to the mirror so that she could see only her face. Closer again so that the reflection of her own eyes filled her vision. The woman looked at the detail of each of her eyeballs, trying to see what someone else would see, like an artist scrutinizing a subject before translating them onto canvas. The eyelids, lashes, whites, irises, and finally to her pupils that were dilated widely in the light of dawn. She bounced back and forth between each one, too close to study both eyes at the same time. She zoomed back out so as to see the color of her eyes again. Chloe knew she had particularly compassionate eyes, and the paradoxical mix of hurt and numbness was obvious there. Who could look into her eyes and still want to hurt the soul behind them?
She was getting three to five hours of sleep each night. At best. Despite feeling exhausted for the entirety of each day, every time she laid down her mind raced. It was relentless. She only had three cravings: Sleep, Beca, and wanting to fix whatever didn't work inside of her. She wanted to cry all the time, but the tears never came. They held themselves back, a cruel reminder of the painful in between-ness. The whole time, Aubrey laid across the room in bed, no idea of the battle that was taking place within the same room as her.
Chloe wished to have the same worries that Aubrey did. It was funny really, she wished to acquire the hectic and grueling lifestyle of the over-achiever who was probably developing ulcers with every trial bar exam that she studied for. Aubrey was the go-getter, the never-stopper, the over-the-top workaholic who made everyone else feel like they were better off giving up. But Chloe envied the simplicity of her worries. Grades, exams, impressing professors, volunteering, getting into law school. Sure, it was a boatload of pressure (she still wasn't sure how the girl managed it) but she wished that was all she had to worry about.
She felt like her secret made her an abomination. The only other two people who knew the extent of it were Stacie and the origin Beca herself. Chloe wished she could take it back, their knowledge, but in a way it hurt less knowing that two other people were informed of her secret. They couldn't bear her pain, but Stacie's sympathy and understanding made her feel a degree better. It was kind of like needing a heart transplant but only being offered a bandaid. It was something… but it wasn't anywhere near a solution.
She was doing a lot of thinking lately. About herself, about God. Chloe had never even considered the possibility of interest in women before this year. In high school, she had really close friends who were girls, but not girlfriends. They were normal friends, not ones that she even remotely wanted to have sex with. Besides, there was plenty of guys to choose from, so why play for her own team? Chloe loved the rugged guys, the athletes, the tough ones. The whole "manly man" type really attracted her, the downright opposite of girls. And living in the dorms in college, she had seen some girls do crazy shit. Shit that made girls look wild, disgusting, slutty, all the bad things. But none of it changed how she thought about girls. Hell, she was one. She knew how it went, and none of the things the other ladies in the dorm did made her feel anything different. But she saw all the wonderful things they did too, the bonding, the supporting, the caring, and those things didn't change it either.
So what the fuck happened to change that?
She couldn't explain why she wanted Beca to be more than a friend to her. She had wracked her brain, introspective hour after hour for a reason. Beca had unwittingly unlocked some secret passageway inside Chloe, one that she never knew existed. It was tough to handle and even tougher to explain. It would be an inaccurate statement to say that Chloe wasn't interested in men anymore. She still checked them out, thought about who the cutest boy was, who would be fun to hook up with. But… Over the last week, a girl would occasionally slip in the mix. She'd find herself staring at a chick's ass in the dining hall before she realized what she was doing, or melted by a beautiful girl's face, or enthralled by a lady laugh. She'd catch herself daydreaming of kissing them, picturing futures in an instance, ones under the stars or in a cozy cabin together. Things that she used to only imagine doing with the Prince Charming type. But now she was looking… at princesses too? It was unnervingly confusing.
She began to find herself secretly captivated with gay celebrities and their stories, characters in shows or movies who displayed gay chemistry and subtext, feeling tiny rays of satisfaction at their success or bravery. She was fascinated in how other girls had strayed off the "straight and narrow" and found happiness. It was all worlds away, but it was the closest she could get.
And it all changed because of Beca. Chloe had no idea that bumping into someone in a hallway would be the fodder that started a weird transitory tryst-like relationship with that same someone. It felt insane. Unfair. Unbalanced. And it got a million times stronger once she mentioned it out loud. The feelings that she had for Beca were waters that ran deep. She wanted to care for Beca, show her that the world wasn't a completely awful place. She wanted to protect Beca. She wanted to be the one that Beca ran to, told her day to, looked for comfort to. She wanted to be the one that Beca wanted back, curled up in the safety of her arms, investing her body heat to. It simply ached how much Chloe wanted Beca Mitchell.
The depth of her feelings was terrifying. The newness of them was part of it, but her willingness to take a leap was overpowering. And once it was out there in the open, the feelings intensified so much more. How had she ever kept it her feelings… or status a secret? It was as if the only thing keeping the dam from bursting was her finger. Water seeped out with increasingly powerful force and it churned beyond the fissuring concrete barrier. The more she thought about it, the more water poured out. The more she forced herself to stop thinking, the louder the water roared. It was an impossible impasse that was going to crush Chloe if it didn't wear her down through sleep exhaustion and lack of appetite.
A few days post-talk with Stacie, Chloe summoned the courage and collected her thoughts a bit more to contact Anton. She emailed him and he thankfully decided to come to campus to meet her. She strategically chose a bench on the hill overlooking campus near the river, in order to be out of earshot of any reasonable passerby. Walking with him, her legs shook in the exact fashion that they had on the way to Stacie's. He made small talk, easing her nerves a bit. He had a calming effect even when he was talking about simple things. They reached the bench and watched the sun set in silence a few minutes.
"So, Miss Beale, I'm assuming that you asked to meet with me for a reason. As wonderful as the view is from this bench, I get the feeling that there's something on your mind."
Her view remained steady to the hazey horizon. He didn't push her to speak, as he looked out over the land that led to the city. He could hear her deliberately deep-breathing.
"Okay. There's something that's been going on lately."
She breathed in again, out.
"It's something that I have no idea how to explain. But it's become quite the mess. It's something I edged on talking about before with you… actually."
In, out. In.
"It's a place you're familiar with. You're an unofficial expert, I guess you could say. But this topic… It's really personal. Secret."
With her last line, Anton knew.
"So. How long has this 'secret' lasted?"
"Well, only a few weeks. I swear it was never anything before a few weeks ago. It's new."
"Okay… And this secret? Who do you share it with?"
"Well, with one person. And I guess there's another who has been directly informed of it in addition to you. That's because it's really personal."
"I see. And how does this secret make you feel?"
"It makes me feel everything at once. I… I feel so strongly. It hurts. But I feel panic too. Fear. Like I'm committing a terrible wrongness. But I feel like I'm drowning. Trapped by keeping it a secret. I- I feel different from everyone now."
"Did you act on any of these feelings?"
She blushed just thinking of it. "Yes. I wish I could say I didn't. But yes. Verbally and physically."
"And?"
"I should have left it alone. But I slipped into the impulsive undertow of the feelings. I not only confessed my feelings, but I acted on them too. The response was kind of surprising though."
"Who is she?"
Chloe gulped. A direct address to her heart. "Do you remember the girls I brought to your house?"
"Ah. The Amazon or the little pixie?"
"The… Little pixie. Beca."
"That one had a fire in her eyes, I could see it. She's wily, that one."
She chuckled but her smile slid into a grimace. "Don't I know it. Excuse me for the crude term but for lack of a better alternative, we've made out on several occasions. She initiated all but once."
"Did it ever exceed that stage?"
"No. Not at all. I'm nowhere ready to go that distance. Even if I wanted to, I don't think she'd let me. She said that she was straight."
"Well, anyone can say anything. But that doesn't mean it's the honest truth."
"True. I said I was straight. Look what happened there."
"Were all of these encounters sober?"
"Umm, not quite. Actually I don't believe any of them were. But sober or not, those events were still ones that I wanted to occur."
"Hmm. I see. And Beca is the only woman that you've ever… experimented with?"
"Yes."
"Well, if I were looking at this in an objective sense, I wouldn't say that you're gay. I'm also not saying that my diagnosis is fact, of course. I would venture to say that this could be a limited phase of experimentation, bicuriosity if you will. This may just be a point in your life where you are bored with men and particularly fascinated with women. It happens a lot with college girls, as you probably know. It could also be that you've reached a point of openness with the human spirit that you're choosing not to distinguish your romantic feelings either."
She breathed a sigh of somewhat-relief. If anyone knew what was going on, it'd be Anton. She knew he was the right person to go to.
"My biggest fear is that this is more than just a blip on the gaydar."
"Ah, yes. There's another aspect I want you to give attention to. Sexuality is fluid. It's kind of like body weight. It fluctuates up and down, according to lifestyle, activities, health. The same goes for sexuality. You're not just one hundred percent hetero your whole life, or one hundred percent homo. Obviously there's an in-between, and that in-between can change a whole lot over time. For the first nineteen years you happened to be straight, and there was nothing that truly piqued your interest to move in the opposite direction. This could be a one-time deal, sure, you could go back to feeling just as straight as you were before. But then again, you could be exploring a whole new part of yourself that are at the opposite end of the spectrum. But it doesn't need to be measured or labeled, because you're still Chloe Beale just the same."
"But… Now everything's been changed. Everything I thought I knew, it's like it's all shook up. I'm completely rearranged and I'm only just beginning to realize the parts I've misplaced."
"I can see that you're quite new to the game, and how your face lit up when I chalked it up to bicuriosity. But don't feel doomed."
"How, Anton? How can I not feel doomed when I pulled the rug out from under myself, betrayed who I thought I was?"
"You're not betraying yourself, Chloe. You're finding yourself."
"But I don't know if I want to find myself if myself is like this. You know, I've hated myself lately. I really have. I can't believe that I did this. I feel so embarrassed, so wrong. I'm ashamed at even the thought of anyone finding out about this. And…" her breath hitched. "I've been thinking a lot about God a lot. I feel like I'm running from Him. I'm scared that He hates me now."
"Chloe. God doesn't hate you."
"But Anton how do you know? I've always loved Him, and now I feel like I outcasted myself. The second that I didn't push away the thought of liking Beca… and then I admitted it to myself…. then I told her… and now I really think that I am something altogether. I just don't see how God could love me when this feels so much like sin."
He turned to her. "Then I've been sinning all my life."
"I know…No, I mean. Um. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just… have always said my prayers. Read the Bible. Gone to Mass most of the time. And now instead of wanting to find a man like God intended my body to, I just feel like I'm turning my back on everything. But that's not what I'm trying to do. The things inside me are at war. I want to be good, I've tried to force myself into the normalcy of my 'before' life. God knows, though. He knows what I'm thinking, but I don't know if He knows how much it hurts."
He faced her, placing a platonic hand on her knee and gently lifted a hand to her chin so their eyes met.
"Chloe, listen to me dear. I've been gay for 49 years. When I was young, around your age actually, I hated myself. Not for days, or months at a time. But years. I pretended to be straight until I was in my twenties. My mindset was that if I prayed hard enough, I'd be straight. It's what my birthday wishes, shooting stars, and four leaf clovers went to as well. And if I couldn't make myself straight, the plan was to stay alone. If I had homosexual thoughts, my only comfort was that they were thoughts and not actions. It was all in my head. But when I was 23 I had my first relationship with another man. I hated myself more for loving him. Because in the years preceding that, I condemned myself to a the solitude of singleness," Anton said, a far away look in his unfocused eyes. "So I threw myself into art, to express all the things to a canvas rather than to a person. While I was learning the art of sculpting, we met in Italy. It was all supernaturally poetic: falling in love in a foreign country, connecting heart and hands, unity through art, blah blah. I really should have written a screenplay for it, I probably would have gotten rich come to think of it. But I'll spare you all the gory details, except to tell you that when I ran my hands over the contours of his body for the first time, I knew that clay couldn't cut it anymore. And ever since then, it's been so hard not to wonder if I was really meant to be this way."
Chloe exhaled slowly, still absorbing everything Anton had just taken her through. She didn't even realize she had tear tracks until the breeze blew across her face.
"I think you were meant to be that way. I don't know if everyone is meant to, who feels the same feelings, but I think you were. I don't think I've ever said it before, but you're truly among the most amazing human beings I've ever had the privilege to know. You're wonderful, talented, and inspiring. You were at least meant to be in my life."
"Thank you Ms. Beale. I hate to see you struggle like this. It breaks my heart that you feel you can't embrace whatever you're feeling wholeheartedly. But just know that you're not alone. God is still watching over you, I'm nearby whenever you need someone to confide in, and I'm sure you have a wonderful network of friends to support you. Just don't let anything dim that vivacity of yours."
They rose from the bench, and he placed a kiss on her forehead, a gesture that truly touched her in its humanity. They departed, and Chloe walked down to the bridge by the river. There wasn't a soul in sight on the trail or near the law school. She strode to the middle of the iron infrastructure, the water surging no more than a dozen feet below her own. Chloe gripped the metal rail and eased down onto the wooden deck, hanging her legs between the bars and over the rushing river below her. She shut her eyes, absorbing the power in the sound of the moving water. It sounded just as blue as it looked, and the cool metal under her hands was the only thing keeping her from getting lost in the sound. She thought over the tumultuous last few days, the conversations she had with Stacie and Anton, and what it all meant going forward. She could literally feel her body relaxing with the new hope that maybe she wasn't gay after all. It was completely possible that she was just over-thinking it all, adopting one too many traits of Aubrey's neurotic personality and applying it here. Perhaps this all really was just a one-time thing like Anton said it could be. After all, Chloe could definitely get over Beca, in spite of how many doubts and issues had arisen in the woman's wake.
Either way, Chloe felt freer than she had in weeks, light enough to join the clouds in floating to the horizon if she wanted to. It was beautiful.
Hey guys. So this story defs has a few more chapters in it, despite how final this chapter may have ended. Sorry it got a little heavy there, but I think this is something out there that many can relate to, message me if you want. I wanted to take a distressed angle on it since I don't see that a lot here. I don't know. Hope I didn't freak anyone out. Thanks for sticking with me, friends. xo
