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"What do you want?" He sounds fed up. He looks tired. "I don't want to see you turned to burger meat by a damn train on a Sunday afternoon. Dripping blood all into my boat." He smiles grimly. "Move your boat."
Yikes
For the longest second, our eyes lock. Then his hand claps my back, shoving me off the side of the bridge. I see the boat as I fall, trailed by my own bellowing scream. Even as shock numbs my mind, I know it's gonna be bad. I twist my body, trying not to hit the damn boat. The last thing I remember thinking before impact is nice guys really do finish last.
No cause you saved his drowning ass, tried to stop him from getting hit by a train and got pushed off a bridge for yout efforts. I'd Be pissed
I pull a camo ball cap down over my aching forehead. I still feel dizzy and off-kilter by the time I park in front of my house. Walking up to the porch, I feel like the ground is just a little tilted.
You need to go to a hospital
"What?" I say as we move through the foyer, toward the staircase. "What?" he echoes. Now there's definitely an edge in his voice. "What's your deal, man?" I start up the stairs; I feel him like a shadow, and I’m not sure how much I like the vibe I’m getting from the guy. "I don't have a 'deal,' man."
You OBVIOUSLY do. Omg don't piss me off
"God hates fags, eh?" he says.
The more he speaks the more I hate him
I look up to find Ezra's eyes on me. "Looks like he grew out of that." What the fuck? Is he calling me fat? "We can't all be built like coked-out rock stars."
Lmao
"Joshua thinks I look like a rock star?" I refuse to look at Ezra, but I can fucking hear the smirk in his voice. "More like a weird model." "What's that mean?" Ezra’s voice is low and soft. I run a hand into my hair as I feel my mother's eyes glued to me. "You know. Not like...all-American. Not like Northface," I say lamely. My eyes meet his. "More like Gucci, with the stark cheekbones."
That was weirdly specific
My mom says, "I don't know what's gotten into Joshua." There's a stern note in her voice as she says my name. "You are very handsome. The perfect mix of Carl and your mother, who's a very pretty lady." I shoot my mom a look, and she says solemnly, "She is. In fact, Carl, she was briefly a model. Isn't that right?" "Sure is." So now this shit is awkward, and it's my fault.
Yeah this all got very weird
"Josh gets teased for being chubby even though he's not," Carl explains.
God, can everyone stop talking?!
I remember something as I open the back door to scoop my trunks out: Ezra left me in a boat alone. After I got knocked out. What the hell does that mean? Is that a normal thing to do? Is he some kind of psychopath or something?
You're Just thinking this? Ive been thinking that the whole time
I gesture to my head before I reach to push the door all the way open, but he catches my wrist. "Don't tell anybody how you got that."
Thats a crazy request
"Don't be a bully, angel. Doesn't suit your pretty face or your weirdo fuckboy name." Shit, that was mean. I almost recoil at my own words.
It really wasn't that mean
Chicken pox. That makes me smile. Not my best lie.
I knew it was. Self harm?
“Well hung, Miller. Who knew?” I clock the stupid fuck so hard he almost falls off the roof. “Next time I’ll push you off, you sick fuck.”
Good for you babe
I fill my palm with sixteen Amitriptylines, ten Lamictals, thirteen Clonazepams, and eight Zolpidems, then walk to the armchair, which is pushed beside the light switch, and I get my water from beside it.
Are you... killing yourself?
He's no one to me. Just a toy. A pretty, freckled, dark-haired, perfect boy for me to ruin if I want. It would ruin him to find me dead in here tomorrow morning.
Wtf
The way he grabbed me last night—that was beyond fucked up. Something’s wrong with him, I think. I mean…I know.
Yeahhh
"Nobody dies from a concussion, DG."
That doesnt sound right
"How about this, then? If you tell, I'll tell." Ezra arches one of his dark brows. "What do you think about that?" It takes me a second to realize what he’s saying. After that, a moment to find words. "That's fucked up, you know. That’s…just wrong."
Like he'll out you?
Most people don’t think much about the little slit that’s up there, but I learned the hard way that it’s sensitive as fuck.
That sounded ominous
This is fucked up—I’ll admit it. Is it wrong how much I love it?
This is REALLY fucked up
He eats everything my mother gives him, while I try to pick at my food. I don’t want him touching my stomach and not feeling six-pack abs like his.
Aw honey nooo
He’s started sleeping in a pair of loose, faded jeans, so I can’t fully see his erection.
That's Insane. JEANS???
He says mean shit between blowing me. Stuff that sort of bothers me, like, “That’s right, homo. Give me what you’ve got,” or “this dick creams just like a pussy.” Sometimes he’s damn brutal with my balls. I’ve come once or twice in some level of pain—but the night it hurt the worst, he saw me cupping my nuts when it was over, and I’ve noticed that he hasn’t squeezed that hard again.
This is fucked
I notice that his eyes are welling with tears. I step closer to him. "Ezra—" "Fucking go already. I don't want you in here, faggot."
Oh my God!
“It’s okay. I’m gonna help you get up, okay? We’ll stand up and wash off. Then I’ll get you in bed. You’ll feel better.”
Get him to a fucking HOSPITAL!
They end up telling me Miller has motherfucking epilepsy. It’s the childhood kind that people outgrow. It started when he was a little kid and happened last when he was in sixth grade. His mom is shocked that it happened tonight.
PROBABLY FROM THE FUCKING HEAD TRAUMA YOU CUSED HIM!!!!!
I ask him, "Did you want to die that day?" My chest feels hard and dark, like it's encased in armor. "Truth or truth, Mills?" he says. "You know all about me. Right down to the taste of my cock. So, yes. Truth, Ezra." He doesn't wait even a second before he says, "Yeah.”
Yup
I stand in the hall between our bedrooms, looking down at the stuff by my feet. There’s two bags of Cheetos, two packs of Bubble Yum, another Icee, and some of that sugary powder stuff you eat with the vanilla-flavored dipsticks. Brennan told me he likes that. I got it when I went out to get the donuts, but I felt weird giving it to him all at once.
You LIKE him
I need to let go of him. Stop pretending that letting him give me hate blow jobs is a special thing. Or meaningful in any damn way.
Real
My cheeks sting with heat as I’m consumed by a near-crushing wave of shyness.
Aw
Maybe our brains are too narrowed when we’re human, framed in by the senses we have, and once we die and ditch the meat bag, those walls are busted down and we can see more. Maybe it’s a level-up thing.”
Meat bag is crazy
“So you’re gay?” He’s whispering. I can tell he’s nervous by the way his body freezes as he asks the question. “If I’m not, I sure am acting faggy, yeah?”
Can we please STOP with that word!
“That’s where you went?” “Looks like it.” I frown over at him, noticing he’s wearing that peach ball cap again. It’s angled so I can’t see his eyes.
How much you want to bet he found out he's the reason you had a seziure and thats why hes being a dick again?
I have more head space to think of him during soccer. It comes to me as I’m driving the ball down the field. It’s a simple thought, with no emotion. Just—I wonder if I love him.
Not me laughing
“Stop calling me dude,” he whispers.
Aw you like the nickname angel dont you?
Fuck—why would he be afraid of doctors? Has he been in a hospital before? Could he have been “committed”? Is that still a thing?
100%
Was he in a regular hospital, or a psychiatric one?
If i had to take a guess....
His face is expressionless. Dammit. I grip his chin. “Look at me, Ez. Look at my face.” He shuts his eyes. “Tell me this much: Who fucked up before me? Who fucked around with you and made you feel like loving you was hard work?” Now he looks at me. There’re tears in his eyes. I lock my arms around him, squeezing, rolling onto my back, pulling him down on top of me. He’s pinned against my chest, his cheek on my shoulder. “Yeah, I said it.” I laugh. “Fuck.”
Lol
“You got put under…tons of times?” I choke out. His eyes shut, and one tear slides down his cheek. “I’m messed up. I told you.” “Were you alone at that place?” His lips twist as he rubs at his eyes. “They don’t let you bring a buddy.”
That's So sad i could cry
“There are disabled people who cope better than me. Is that what you want?” His eyes flit to mine. “Someone with a disability? Who can’t sleep through the night? Sometimes can’t eat or…be places? Is that really what you want?”
Pain
“Couldn’t even get my dick up when I got here. Until you. I went off all that medicine because I didn’t need it. But now I can’t sleep without you.” His voice breaks on that. “Is that what you want? At college?”
pain x2
“Let me tell you something that’ll shock you, Ezra. For one—” I laugh. “I’m disabled. Epilepsy is a disability.
Literally
If you’re sick, nothing feels good; you’re in pain. And you’re saying I can make you feel better? I’d do that all damn day. All night, too. I’ll suck your dick ten times a day if you want. If I can cure depression for you with a blow job, sign me the fuck up, baby. You got nightmares but I make them better? I’ll be your drug. You think helping you feel good could ever be a burden to me?”
he gives me a smile in there that makes me think that this could have a happy ending.
It better
“Maybe we should try it again. Just for practice. I’ll go first.” He looks into my eyes. Then he squeezes my hand again. “I love you.” I rasp, “I love you, DG.” “I love you more,” he says. “Well…you can’t.” I give him a big smirk that’s fighting to become a grin. “Because I love you more.”
Ewww. Young love man i swear....
“Lie on your back. Pants down, knees up like a good boy.”
HELLO
“I only need one thing.” “What?” I force myself to whisper. His arm tightens on me, and I feel him inhale. He blows the breath out, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy. “Don’t leave me again.” I nod, and for a second I can’t find my voice. When I do, I sit up, so I can look at him when I promise, “I won’t.”
This feels like subtle foreshadowing
“Dude, that was amazing,” I manage. “How’d you run it so much?” I try to sound like it’s shop talk. He gives me this little sideways smile. “I’m a runner,” he says. Motherfucker lets his eyes do this little smolder thing, like he’s sex-camming and he’s being coy with me. It gets my dick up, and my fucking heartrate. And when I look at Jenna, I can tell she saw it, too.
Cause yall are not slick
“My mom sent me somewhere. Last year,” he says softly. “She thought I was gay. She didn’t want that. So, she sent me to…this boarding school.” He blows a breath out. “It…wasn’t a good experience.”
I figured in was conversion therapy that fucked you
