Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(21)

Even though I couldn’t see a thing, my third eye clearly made out some cuticle-chewing action. “Do you have to ask?”

And what the hell was that supposed to mean? “Uh, given that I did ask … yes?”

A long pause. Long pauses are never good. One day, I would write a thesis on the history of long pauses, and the hurt feelings that followed them 200 percent of the time. This was just like the time in tenth grade, when I shaved one side of my head and asked Ryan how it looked at school the next day. Except this long pause was lasting longer, and oh God, this was going to really stab, wasn’t it? Fuck long pauses. Motion to ban them from social interactions, please.

“Well … you know …”

Nope. But I was about to, wasn’t I?

“Like … most of the school has figured out you’re gay.”

“Oh. Interesting. I haven’t met most of the school, so don’t know how they managed that.”

“Yeah, but …”

I knew what he was getting at. It was fine. Whatever. It’s not like it was a state secret or anything. And hey, if people guessed, it saved me having to have a discussion about my sexual preferences with people who didn’t even know if I preferred ham or peanut butter on my sandwiches. For reference, the answer was, “both, simultaneously.”

“And so what?” I asked. “So what if they know I’m gay? Why, exactly, does that mean you can’t be seen with me? Am I contagious? Because I guess that’d explain a lot.” As far as explanations went, that’d win an award for creativity. Sorry, I stopped texting you because my precise strain of “gay” was only temporary. Kind of like salmonella.

Will’s sigh was particularly loud and scathing in the small space. Claustrophobia does that. “The guys are being dicks about it. It’s like a running joke. They keep trying to ‘set each other up’ with you at lunch.”

Well. I’d like to say that after years of being out and coming to terms with myself, and homophobia, and the rest of it all, that I’d be able to brush that one off. But it hurt. It always hurt a little, at least, to know people were talking about you in a less than flattering way. Being so new at the school, though, and people already having an opinion about me? And Will being involved in it? Had he even tried to defend me? Or had he laughed along with them?

“Uh-huh.” My tone was flat.

“I don’t join in,” he added quickly.

But do you stop them?

Suddenly, I laughed. It spilled like blood from a fresh wound. Out and out and out.

“What’s so funny?”

“We’re in a closet.”

“I told you, I didn’t want—”

“You dragged me into a closet to have this conversation. Did you do this on purpose, or what? Unbelievable.”

“I don’t …” Will started, then it must’ve clicked. “Really, Ollie? Super mature.”

“I’m immature? You’re too afraid to be seen talking to me. Are we done?” It was funny. All this time, I’d been through so many emotions. Hurt. Betrayal. Sadness. Acceptance. Maybe a bit—okay, maybe a lot—of longing. But I hadn’t been angry. At least, I hadn’t realized I was so angry. Here I was, however, bubbling right up and over. Pissed off as all hell.

“We haven’t even started. Can you give me a chance to explain?”

A chance? We’d been talking for at least five minutes now.

“… Ollie?”

“Yes, I’m listening, whatever. Go.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear. My parents caught me coming home that night and went nuts. They confiscated my phone, I wasn’t allowed to touch my laptop, nothing. For three weeks. It was ridiculous.”

Yeah, yeah, I knew all this. I considered pointing out that he’d told people he was with girls that night, but I couldn’t even be bothered going down that road with him. It’d only conflate things. “It’s cool. Really. I’m more concerned with how you acted at the party. What was that? The conversation with your friend must have been really riveting for you to forget I was there so quickly.”

My eyes had started adjusting to the darkness. There he was. Leaning against the door, one hand draped across his stomach, the finger of the other in his mouth. He was looking right at me, at least. Suddenly, I was self-conscious. How did I look today? Had I put enough effort in getting ready this morning? Had I checked my teeth before I left the house?

“You told the girls about me. I freaked out, okay?”

“I’m sorry. Really, I—”

“I know you are! I’m not mad. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. You had no idea. But that doesn’t mean it’s all fine, you know? I mean, what if they tell someone?”

“They haven’t yet.”

“Yet. If my parents found out … Ollie …”

I didn’t reply. Because what could I say to that? My whole face flushed with shame, the anger temporarily forgotten. It was all my fault he’d been put in this situation. Whether I meant to or not. Why hadn’t I kept my damn mouth shut? I hadn’t even known those girls and I’d spilled out my life story. Or at least my summer story. Which was more torrid than the rest of my life combined, to be fair.

Will hugged himself with both arms and stared at the ground. “I wasn’t good enough to get a basketball scholarship, so I’m relying on them to support me. I can’t fuck anything up this year, or I’m done.”