Dark Star - 10. Chapter 10

The doctor's appointment is just a formality. After a whopping five minutes of consultation, he sends me home, telling me to take pills I won't buy anyway and, more importantly, a certificate excusing me from the classes for the rest of the week.

Dad's barely home, fully focused on his campaign. When he's back, he locks himself in his office and only comes out for meals. If he took a second to notice me, he would probably have questions like, why are you so down all the time, or, what about the conference project? Luckily, he doesn't. Mom sees it just fine, but doesn't tell him. She pays me more attention than she's willing to admit. At first, she blames my sickness but slowly starts realizing there's more to it. For now, she keeps things bottled up, but knowing her, it won't last long.

I'm lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to music when she lets it out.

"Can you tell me what's wrong already?" she asks, standing at the door.

I look at her indifferently. "I tried the other day, but you wouldn't talk to me."

"So it's all my fault now?"

"Do you want to talk about it or not?" I ask.

She's figuratively boiling. She's caught in the middle between wanting to control my feelings and denying them. When she doesn't answer, I add, "Jim's coming over later to play some games." She walks out without a word.

Jim texted me in the morning, asking if I wanted to hang out in my room. I said okay, but no funny ideas. I thought this would make him cancel, but he didn't.

He comes over shortly after lunch, carrying a bag of chips and two energy drinks. We sit on my bed and play on the console, talking about the usual stuff like it's the good old days. But it's not the good old days, and I will have to face it as soon as I return to school.

Between matches, I ask him, "What do Clyde and Dwight say?"

"About you? Not much. I told them you're sick for real, but I don't think Dwight's buying it. He's still mad. Don't ask me what he'll do. He doesn't know it himself if you ask me. As to Clyde, you know him. He doesn't mind at all. Trust me, I sucked him last evening and made him cry."

"Too much information, Jim."

"Sorry. Just giving you background. But he's also a bit mad that you lied to us and are too stubborn to tell us the truth. Even though everyone knows it. If anyone still doubted, they stopped when Rufus came out."

"Shit," I cuss and close my eyes. "So technically, I don't have to come out anymore if everyone already knows?"

"Ty, just fucking tell them."

"Will you come out too if I do?" I look at him with pleading eyes.

"No!"

"Thanks for nothing, dude. You're so helpful," I sneer and start another game. "How's Rufus doing?" I ask after a few minutes.

"He seems down. I didn't talk to him, but he looks even more pale than usual. Did you talk to him?"

"No…"

"Why?"

"It would only make it worse. I wanted to get inside his pants so much that I convinced myself we could be together."

"I don't know, dude. Aren't you overreacting? If you don't want to be his boyfriend, just tell him. You can still be friends if he's not too immature."

I sigh. "He’s not. Me, on the other hand… I don't know if I can talk to him without falling in again."

"Wait… do you have feelings for him?"

"Please don't ask me…"

"You're so stupid sometimes," Jim says. This insult coming from him hits twice as hard. The worst part is that he's right.

We continue playing the game in silence, and I keep losing because I can't stop wondering about what I should do.

"It's no fun playing against you," Jim throws the controller aside after scoring five wins in a row. "Get a grip, dude. Talk to him."

"I won't."

"Then get over it and stop whining."

I can't say anything to that, so we just sit there.

"I gotta go," Jim says and gets up. "You sure you don't want to mess around? I have mad BJ skills. Ask Clyde."

"I'll pass, but thanks for offering," I say dryly.

I'm lost in my thoughts after he's gone. It's clear something is very wrong with me if I reject a free fucking blowjob. Like, it's not right for me to do it. Did I break myself for good?

I can't count how many times I hold my phone with Rufus's chat window open in WhatsApp over the rest of the week. But each time, I stop myself from texting him, remembering that it will only make things worse. I bet he'll be fine by the time I go back to school. I will chat with him to make sure things are fine between us and wish him more luck next time. That's a mature thing to do.

Jim comes over a few times to hang out, and I appreciate him a lot. I could do with fewer fooling-around suggestions, but I don't blame him. Maybe after it's all blown over, I can check if he’s as good as he claims.

Mom has changed her mind about wanting to know what's going on with me. She doesn't mention it again and treats me as if nothing ever happened. The whole case is effectively swept under the rug. Guess she's happy that I don't mention Rufus anymore and hang out with my "old" friend instead. If only she knew what my old friend does for fun.

When Monday morning finally comes, I feel like I haven't been in school in a year. My stomach hurts when I enter the building. I thought the week away would prepare me for the impact, but I immediately want to go and hide in the library.

When I join my class in the corridor, I'm greeted by a few glances but not much more. A few people ask me if it's true that I was sick, and I say yes. Nobody confronts me about being gay. Suspicious. I look around to find Rufus, but he's not around. Dale hangs out with Emily and Shawna, but there's no trace of the familiar black mop. Too bad I can't ask anyone. That would only start a series of uncomfortable questions. What if I infected him with whatever I got, and now he's sick at home.

I say hi to the boys. Clyde and Jim say it back, but Dwight gives me such a look that I decide to wait for the bell alone.

When the class starts and I sit next to Jim, I ask him about Rufus, but he doesn't know anything.

"He did look a bit pale, so maybe he's sick; that makes sense," he says when I share my theory. "Will you talk to him?"

"Maybe. I want to…"

"Boys!" the teacher interrupts us. "Can you tell me what I was just talking about?"

Jim and I look at her stupidly. She makes us stay after the bell and we leave the classroom with extra homework.

"Why do you always get me in trouble?" Jim complains.

"Very funny."

I try mingling with other students, but no one seems interested in talking to me. When I approach Amanda and her friends, they outright stop talking. On the next recess, I go straight to the library. Looks like that's my place from now on.

I go back home feeling underwhelmed. I wanted to fix things with Rufus and get people from the class to talk to me, but it didn't work. What if they don't want anything to do with me until I go to school in skinny jeans and holding a rainbow flag? Well, don't hold your breaths!

When I come to school the next day, I see some commotion. Half of our class is gathered in a circle in the corridor; others talk in hushed voices and sullen faces. Even Dwight seems strangely serious.

"It happened on Sunday," one of the girls passing me tells her friend. "He's dead."

My heart starts beating faster, and I start sweating profoundly. Who's dead? Is this some kind of joke?

I spot Jim, who's standing in front of the small gathering.

"What happened? Who died?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he says. "I'm trying to find out. You don't think it's…"

"I don't know, man."

I stand on my toes but can't see over the heads, so I push my way through the crowd, getting some dirty looks.

"Watch it," one girl barks at me when I step on her shoe.

"Sorry," I say and finally manage to get close enough to see inside the circle.

It's Rufus. And Dale.

Dale's face is red, and he's crying like I've never seen anyone crying. He's hugging Rufus tightly and weeping. Rufus's face is still and indifferent. He hugs Dale back and looks like he's the one comforting him. But the pieces of a puzzle fall into place for me, and I know it's the other way around.

When Dale is finished, another person comes to Rufus to offer a hug and their condolences. Rufus's face doesn't change. It's not sad or happy, not calm or angry. He accepts one hug after another and whispers thank you, which I can only read from watching his mouth.

I feel dizzy. I back away and escape to the bathroom. I turn on the cold water and splash my face, trying hard to stay conscious.

Just when I come out, the bell rings, and the crowd has dispersed.

I try to make eye contact with Rufus inside the class, but he just stares into the void.

"Is it true?" Jim whispers to me. "His old man died?"

The more I wish it wasn't true, the more I know that it is. If I were a decent person, I would be by his side right now, just like all his friends who never pretend to be someone else. I would commit to what I started and be someone to lean on, not just another jerk and distraction.

Not even twenty minutes have passed, and Rufus raises his hand.

"Yes, Rufus?" the teacher says.

"Could I please be excused? I need to go home. I don't feel very well."

"Of course, Rufus. I'll ask someone to share notes and help you with the homework. Any volunteers?"

Dale's hand pierces the air at the speed of sound.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry," Rufus says, grabbing his things and leaving the class.

"It's fine, Rufus," the teacher gives him a comforting smile. "Do you need someone to walk you home?"

"Ty, that's your cue!" Jim hisses into my ear and elbows me under my ribs.

"No, I can't…" I reply. Anyway, Dale's hand is up in the air before I can blink.

"No need, ma'am," Rufus says. "My brother will pick me up."

"Go after him, you pothead!" Jim elbows me repeatedly, trying to make a hole in my side, but I'm petrified. If Tim sees me, I'm a dead boy.

"Stop it. You don't know his brother," I say. "Rufus is safe."

"You idiot!" Jim says and bonks the top of my head with an open palm.

"Ouch!"

"Boys!" The teacher scolds us, and once again, Jim and I are the last ones to leave the classroom.

That's enough. I go back to my original plan of spending every recess in the library. My belly constantly aches, and I can't stop thinking about Rufus. I open his chat window again, reading our messages since the beginning of our acquaintance. I can't help but smile with my glassy eyes. I was such a jerk. I had it all. Rufus genuinely enjoyed my company, and I enjoyed his. We had fun times. If only I had a pair of balls to be reliable and consistent.

I start writing him a message, but I end up deleting it. He'll be fine. He has friends. He still has a family.

Ironic. He said he was never close with his brother. I remember Tim and Rufus interacting in the car. If this is what he calls not being too close, then my parents and I are basically strangers. He doesn't need a crippled soul like me to mess with his feelings.

I keep reading the messages and notice how my tone has changed over the days and weeks. From short "cool" distanced one-liners to excited exchanges full of emojis, jokes, and pure vibe. I feel a tear trickle down my cheek, and I wipe it discreetly. I put the phone down before I break down completely and take out the history book to hide my face.

"You're holding it upside down," I hear a familiar voice. It's an awkward, adolescent, nasal voice with a slight lisp.

I look at the book I was pretending to read. "You're right," I say and flip it over. "I was…"

"Looking for hidden messages?" Dale asks. "I don't think it works that way. But now I have a message for you. Talk to him."

"A message?" I ask. "Why won't he message me himself?"

"Because it's not a message from him. It's from me," Dale's voice is trembling, and he looks like he's about to tear up again. "I saw Rufus cry many times when things were bad. But ever since his dad died? Not a single tear. He's empty. We might be losing him."

His voice breaks down, and I'm not sure if it's because of the emotions or puberty.

"Dale…" I say quietly. "He doesn't need me. I only mess things up. You are his real friend. As long as he has you, he'll be fine."

"No," he says. "He only needs you, man. Trust me."

I don't stop him when he turns around and leaves. I stare at the text about Persian Wars as if it could hold answers to all my problems. But no. Back in the old days, life was easier. Armies fought, losers were slaughtered, civilizations rose and died, but life moved on.

I frown, turn the book upside down again, and wait for the bell. But then, all the lights flicker and go off at the same time.