When I got to Jason's, I quickly realised that I had arrived to a scene that was straight out of a horror flick. Blood. Bright red all over. The zebra print sheets on Jason's bed were ruined. I gagged as I walked in. The air had a metallic smell to it. It was stuffy, in the way can feel the air enter your lungs as you inhale after a warm shower. It was also one of those smells that had a taste. Breathing in Jason's room was like licking a penny.
Every part of me, with every ounce of my being and all the depths of my soul, yearns to forget about this incident. I guess in order to forget or make peace with what happened, I have to acknowledge the fact that it happened, and the only after that, I am able to accept the events and then declare myself ready to move on. Before the first step of acknowledging that it happened, I have to replay the event in my head. I don't know if I'm ready.
I was laying on the couch below my bed six hours after the incident, staring above me. My hands were laid on top of each other as my arms laid across my chest. My head pounded, my chest ached and I couldn't get the images out of my mind. I heard the dialogue from hours ago echo in my head for the millionth time.
"Jason… I can't fix this, we need to get you to the hospital for stitches."
"No doctors! No stitches! I can't."
"You have to, Jason. I don't know what to do! I'm calling 911."
"If I have to go to the hospital, I'm never talking to you again, I swear!"
My door creaked and I didn't even bother looking to face who it was as they sat next to me, but on the floor. They put their hand on top of mine delicately. "You did the right thing." They told me. Rachel. I closed my eyes and they burned. I had been up too long with my thoughts. "Mom and Dad told me what you did. I'm proud of you." She continued. I shrugged. "I'm so tired." I told her, and it came out like a pathetic whisper. Her hand slipped away as she asked, "Can I do anything to help in any way?" My eyes open and I sat up. "Just sit with me." She took a seat next to me. I looked in front of me at the black TV screen and I felt her eyes on me. We sat in silence for a moment.
"He said he'd never speak to me again if I called for help." I said. "He didn't mean it. He'll be glad you did that for him." Rachel told me. I didn't listen. "There was so much blood. I don't understand how anyone could do that to themselves. I hate getting the slightest paper cut. I swear I could see his bone." I told my sister. "Well.. They prepare themselves, I guess. Paper cuts aren't intentional and these are. They're different." She told me. "Try to forget the blood, okay? And… People say things they don't mean when they're upset or scared. I bet after all this, he'll thank you" She continued. I thanked her, and she smiled as she went away. I was left alone with my thoughts again, and I didn't like it.
I'm mad at myself because I didn't realise that something bad was about to happen. I should have known something was up a few weeks ago. It was the eeriest, most unsettling thing. Jason called me up and said he had some stuff for me. So I went to his house, and he's sitting outside in his backyard, staring at the swig set—the same one we used to play on as kids. So I walked over and sat next to him and said "Hey." He didn't look at me as he muttered a "Oh, hi." I asked him what he was doing, and he maintained his gaze into nothingness as he shrugged. "Just sitting?" I asked. He nodded. Then I said something like, "Wow, just like old times, huh?" and that caught his attention. His gaze ended. He looked at me, hurt in his eyes, and said "Let's go inside." When we got to his room, he gave me a big box of stuff. Albums, video games and a spiral notebook. He said he was headed out, alone. He seemed like he was in a hurry. I left and didn't think anything else of it.
Over the past years, I saw a dramatic change in Jason. Everyone grows up. They change in maturity and looks while their taste constantly differs, but Jason was different. Ever since we were little, we've been really close. We'd have sleepovers a lot and shared secrets. We used to talk on the phone, giggling, laughing and conversing about nothing until my mom scolded me for using the line for two hours. Two hours felt like a second. My best childhood memories include Jason. He's easily my best friend, aside from Luke.
When we got a bit older, around age nine, things started to change. He stopped being himself. We still hung out, but he wasn't as uppity as he used to be. Then, later on, somewhere between grades seven and nine, I lost him completely. He was a stranger. He'd only come to me when he cut himself, and I felt like just a last-resort for him. Grades 10 and 11 was when we got closer again. We started hanging out more, and talking about more things. We updated each other on our different lives, and at some points, we laughed for hours like old times.
Even so, to this day, it doesn't feel exactly the same. Every time we're in a group with him, he's blank. When you ask him anything or even mention him, it takes him a few seconds to break his perfect thousand yard stare into nothingness before he engages. That stare is really scary. It's scary because that's not the Jason I grew up with. It's like that Jason has been sucked up into space and a new, blank slate of a Jason was left. As soon as he snaps back into reality, I catch a glimpse of the talkative, funny, smiley Jason I once knew. I used to think I would never get that Jason back. Now, I can only hope that he's getting there.
I still feel guilty, though. This Damon thing. It's been going on for so long. I feel like I'm living an anxiety-filled lie of a life and I want to feel right again. Maybe it's just guilt. Some part of me still feels weird about being gay. I think I'm guilty. There are so many people who picket against being gay and gay people having rights that I subconsciously feel like I am somehow in the wrong. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I do.
Ever since the summer before my freshman year and his eighth grade we've been hiding together. We knew about each other before that, but that's when it became official. My life is a huge mess of shame, guilt, and comforting others. People like Jason and Luke can wave their bisexual flags and proudly declare their sexuality, but that isn't me. Something is holding me back. I don't know why I don't just come out. Jason and Luke wouldn't judge me. But maybe they would because I'm not like them. I'm not bisexual. I've never been to a pride parade, but I feel it burning inside of me. I tried to push it away, but it didn't work. The guilt still lives on and haunts me at night.
I've gotten so close to telling Jason and Luke before. There was even one instance where I was asked by my own mother at the dinner table if I was gay, but I laughed it off and said I wasn't. Then, I cried silently in my room until I eventually fell asleep. Things like that tear me up inside because a part of me wants to scream, "Yes, I'm gay! I'm really really gay and there's nothing wrong with that!" and anther part of me wants to run and hide. I know I can't live like this much longer. I'm sick. I'm so full of anxiety my mom has wanted me to go to the hospital once because she thought I was physically sick. All I want is to kiss Damon without being scared. I want to hold hands with him in public and have a public relationship status on Facebook like everyone else does. That kind of stuff is so normal for straight people. They really take it for granted.
My sexuality, my relationship, Jason and my friends have been putting me on edge. I'm far too paranoid for my own damn good. I hide myself, my attraction, everything about me. Sometimes, I feel like I'm underwater blindfolded in a straitjacket. Torture. Sometimes, just living life is torture.