Chapter Eleven: Head On Collision

My eyes start to burn as I stand in front of my locker and stare at the word spray painted on the steel.

The silence of the hallway becomes deafening, a feeling of nausea rises in my throat, and I want to scream. Each letter of the word "faggot" seems to glow, mocking me yet hurting me all the same.

"Who did this? Who fucking did this?" The anger takes over me.

I look around, people out early from study hall look back at me; disgusted by the fact that someone could do something like this. My eyes come to rest on Marco, who looks down at the floor as if trying to become invisible.

"You?" I spit; taken aback, hurt, shocked, and all that good stuff.

I can barely hear him speak. "I had to…."

"You had to?" I nearly scream. "Who would- why would you do something like this?"

"I had to prove that I'm not…."

"That you're not what?"

Marco shakes his head and turns his back to me, starting down the hall with his head down. I follow him, the events of the past days exploding forth.

"Turn around, Marco!" I grab his shoulder and turn him to face me. "How could you do this? You of all the people in the bloody world."

"I told you, I had to."

"Bullshit! Did someone hold a gun to your head?" I don't care if I get suspended, I'm too enraged to care about anything at the moment. "Quit trying to be something that you're not! Stop trying to make a fake image for everyone!"

"No! You stop it!" Marco yells. "Just stop acting like you know me, back the fuck off! Leave me alone!"

"I don't act like I know you, do you know why? Because I don't. I don't know you. You keep lying to me—to everyone! I'm sick of it, Marco!"

Marco's voice drops dramatically to a whisper. "How am I suppose to tell everyone the truth?"

I think I just lost control over my body. I'm still moving when I don't think I can. I take Marco's hands and pull him to me.

"Cyril, w—what are you doing? People are watching. Class lets out any second." Marco starts to panic, losing any anger towards me as I grip his hands tighter, giving them a squeeze before slipping my arms through his and place my hands at the small of his back.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I can't stop myself. This is just happening and I don't have any say in this.

Two seconds later my lips are pressing against Marco's. I hear a droned bell, slow and morphed voices, and time seems to inch by. The world's slowed down and I'm too lost in this feeling to care.

Before I know it Marco pushes me away from him. I can see hurt in his eyes as he starts to scream at me. "What the hell are you doing, queer?" His words slice me like daggers and he storms away, leaving me standing in the middle of a sea of eyes.

I slam the front door behind me.

Try as I might I can't shake my rage and confusion. My face is tear stained, my make-up is probably run, and I'm just starting to be able to breathe when I hear a phone being slammed down in the kitchen. Now, the kitchen's all the way at the back of the house so someone must be pretty pissed.

"Dana?" I walk into the kitchen, scared to death of what caused her to get so upset.

She runs a hand through her hair, turning to look at me. I notice she's crying. What is this? International Get Hurt Day?

"We need to talk."

"About what? Who was that?"

Dana walks over to the breakfast table. "You might want to sit down, honey." She pulls out a chair and sits herself down, looking like she's been hit by a grand piano.

"I'm fine standing."

"Sit," Dana commands, causing me to scramble to a chair across from her.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

She looks at me, her eyes red from crying. "That was Doctor Stephens…."