Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,78
actually done it yet, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about what people will think.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “You’d be brave enough to do it again. And again. And the thing is … people around here have known us since we were kids. I have to believe the majority of them want us to be happy.”
“Look at you, being all sentimental.”
I give him a dry look, but he’s right. Even after all that bullshit with his parents, even after letting the idea of the movie role go and putting all my hopes in this relationship, I’m not freaking out like I thought I would be.
The worry is gone, and all that’s left is this deep contentment as I look around at the people sitting at this table.
I might not have a family in the traditional sense, but if today’s taught me anything, I do have people who care about me. Leon, Royce, Tanner. The people in this town.
It’s a good feeling.
And now, with Rowan, I no longer feel lost. This is where I’m meant to be.
I stare down at the photo of Circus and me from a few minutes ago.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
I almost laugh. Am I sure? Hell no. I’m about to put my entire life online for a bunch of strangers to pass judgment.
These posts aren’t my life, not like Circus. I want them to know why I hid and why I won’t be posting as frequently anymore.
If I lose all my followers today, it’s not something I care about, but Circus has been working at this for years. It’s important to him, even if there’s an element to it that isn’t healthy. It doesn’t matter. If it’s important to him, it’s important to me too.
Except now I have no words. I mean, how do you sum up twenty-four years of gay-bashing yourself? How do I put into words that I hated who I am and wanted to stamp that out of me? That I’d considered conversion therapy and maybe would have gone through with it if it didn’t require me to come out first.
There are so many elements, so many layers. And the last thing I want is for any of it to come across like I’m making excuses. Too many people go through what I did, and they’re not all lucky enough to have found a support system to help them through it.
Man, if I had never seen that psychologist in the first place, I might never have had the guts to come back here.
I bite the inside of my cheek and start to type.
I try to convey the way religion rooted itself so deeply into my mind and the minds of my family. I try to explain the feelings of inadequacy, the terror at realizing I couldn’t stop looking at guys, the mix of panic and hope every time I was with Circus and pictured myself kissing him.
How desperately I’d wanted to be straight. How desperately I’d wanted to find a woman who’d consume me the way Circus did. How I’d thought maybe someone had come close. But I’d tried to force that friendship onto a path it couldn’t manage, and I’d hurt her.
But it wasn’t just her I hurt.
I lied to my family, my friends, myself.
I hurt Circus, which I don’t think I’ll ever get over.
But I’m trying.
I want to move on from all the negativity and start to do it right. To show my family that nothing has changed, and to show Circus that I’ll be here always. Because the alternative isn’t something I want to live through again.
I want people to know that if they’re going through what I am, it can get better.
When I’m finally finished typing, I’m drained.
But I post it before I can talk myself out of it.
“There. Now everyone knows what I struggled through, and how you’ve always been there for me.”
Circus smiles. “You mean you didn’t tell everyone that we totally scammed them?”
“I just didn’t think that approach would paint us in the best light for some reason. This way, it’s closer to the truth anyway. Even when we were faking shit, it wasn’t fake, you know?”
“Exactly.”
I crawl across the couch to lie down and rest my head on his chest. “I’m tired.”
“Want to go sleep?”
“It’s like, three o’clock. And you don’t have dark curtains.”
“I hate sleeping in.”
“Well, that doesn’t help when a nap would come in handy.”
When he laughs, I hear it deep in his chest. The