The Others - 13. Chapter 13: Sam again

My head is still hurting when I hear the phone. It’s very early, at least that’s how it feels, but I don’t have time to check the clock, the phone is ringing in my already sore ears and demanding I answer it. I sigh as I answer the phone, I don’t even want to move it close to my ear, knowing it would only hurt more. So I listen to the soft voice through the crappy speaker.

“Adam,” it's Sam’s voice.

“Yeah,” I snarl.

“Adam. How are you feeling?”

I glance at the clock before answering. Half past twelve. Why am I still in bed? And why does it feel like it’s still early in the morning? “I have a headache,” I say.

“You were drunk last night, weren’t you?” she asks and laughs a bit.

“I was,” I say. “Did I say something to you? If I did, I know it’s the truth, I can’t lie when I’m drunk.” I try to laugh as well, but my head protests against it.

“You don’t remember what you said?” she asked, a little uncertain.

“No I don’t. Is it embarrassing?”

“No, I don’t think so. But it was… you know…”

Silence.

I stare at the phone but I see only a black screen. Shit, it’s not working. I try the power button, but it doesn’t work. The phone even feels like it’s empty. I look for the charger, but when I plug it in, I notice it’s still not doing anything. Then I see the big crack in the back of the phone. What did I do yesterday?

Very slowly I get up. My head is still hurting and my vision is blurred, but there is nothing wrong with my nose. I smell vomit. Why did I ever want to get drunk last night? I don’t think it helped me at all.

I remember most of what I did last night. I remember my conversation with JayJay, I remember laying in front of the stairs. I remember some flashes of leaning over the toilet, trying to get all the alcohol out of my body. But what did I do to my phone?

And why did I vomit in… oh no, on my freaking floor? It’s everywhere. I’m lucky there is nothing left in my stomach because I’m sure I would start all over if there was. Shit man, this smells. With a throbbing head I lift myself out of my bed. I fetch some paper towels from the bathroom and start cleaning up. It’s past 1 o’clock when I’m done and finally go downstairs. I don’t feel like eating anything, I can’t even drink my daily coffee. I just take a glass of water and stare out of the window. There is still a burning feeling in my stomach and I know it isn’t because of the alcohol, it’s the void Yuri left when he decided to go.

I wonder what I told Sam last night. I don’t want to know badly enough to make me go over to see her, but still, apparently she is important enough for me to think about her for longer than two seconds. To be honest, I think she is way more important to me. She maybe, just maybe could be someone I confide in, if I ever need such a person. I hope not.

Ugh, I’m a broken person, right? How did it ever come to this. Seth was right, if evolution was still important, if it was still the survival of the fittest, I would fail.

Sometimes I wonder… and I don’t think you can blame me for wondering, but I think the only person that I know for sure that has a conscious mind, is me. I can’t possibly know if the people around me can think for themselves, so I don’t know if I’m – you know – alone on the earth. The only real life that I know exists is the life of this broken person. It’s like that's how it's meant to be.

I feel like I'm rambling, but I can’t get rid of that thought. Of course I can’t be normal, of course I can’t be like the people around me. I can’t enjoy the company of others, I can’t go out, dance and laugh. I even kissed my best friend without meaning to, without even liking her, and I freaking liked it! I liked kissing my friend who I’ll never like. Argh, I’m such a mess.

Why am I like this. Why am I feeling this way and why can’t I be like everyone else. I’m a mess, a mess, a mess. “A mess!” I scream, tears flowing from my eyes. You can’t imagine how helpless it feels not to even understand yourself. I just can’t get in touch with my own emotions. I feel them, but they come and go uncontrollably. I lie too much, I even lie to myself. There are some secrets, my deepest secrets, that no one is ever going to find out about. I don’t talk about them to myself, not even in my own head.

You know, I embarrass myself when I think about who I am. When I think about me, Adam with all the flaws, I can feel my cheeks burning. I feel ashamed. How can someone ever accept me when I don’t even accept myself.

That's enough self-realisation for one day I decide and get up. I take another look through the window and walk to my bedroom. I only have this weekend without anyone else around, one weekend of absolute silence, let’s make use of it. I can’t cry all day wishing for a better life, this is what I have and this is what I’ll always have. I still have my blog, so let’s finally give my readers some new things to read.

I start by reading some of the comments my posts got. I always try to read all of them and it’s a good way to find inspiration for new blogs. It takes me an hour to read through all the messages I received in the last two days. If my blog became any more popular, I wouldn’t be able to read through all the comments I get.

I decide to continue with my last blog post.

“This post is part two of the kissing-post. Read that one first before you start reading this.

I talked about sex being a part of love because one of the things you like to do when you love someone is making that person feel good. What makes this even better is the fact that you share it, you both feel good and you know it, you can see it. I think that feeling is the core of our existence. That’s what makes us, humans, special.

But, what about friendship? Isn’t that almost the same? You want a friend to feel good as well, right? Yeah, I think so. I think there really isn’t that much difference between friends and lovers. We treat them differently; true. We have different commitments; true. They are, in general, really different people. At least, in most cases. I think good friends are people you can share a lot with, that’s their purpose in the first place. You can do things together because you both like doing those things. You can have fun together and laugh together.

Loving, on the other hand, apart from the possibility it is just as much fun as being with friends, goes deeper. A lover is able to complete you. He or she helps you with things you wouldn't do alone, he or she makes you see the world differently. He/she makes you whole. I do believe this. The ancient Greeks described our ability to love as our search to find our other half. The human soul got split in two and since then every person is looking for the other part of their soul.

Let’s get back to the beginning of this post. Friendship. I explained why I thought we have sex with our lovers, to make them feel good. Doesn’t the same apply to friends? We want them to feel good as well, right? On another level, that’s certain, but in some way it’s the same. Imagine having a very good friend, someone who maybe would’ve been your lover if that was possible. Why can’t you share some kind of affection with that person. I’m not specifically talking about sex, but in general. Just being close, maybe kissing or maybe sharing intimacy in another way. It doesn’t make your love life less real, does it?

Just think about it, let it sink in. Where are the boundaries. When is someone a friend and when is someone a person you want to share love with.

When you think about this, also think about different sexualities. Start wondering why there are homosexuals in the first place. We – the human race – have already developed emotions and habits that we can’t explain solely with the theory of evolution, so why force us to use other theories? Why think like you were taught to think? Maybe we all, collectively, should start thinking outside the box.

Thank you.”

I sigh. Wow, I think I wrote this post in one breath. This comes from my heart. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m not just a mess. I think I’m so different than the other people around me, but maybe it’s a sign that others should try to be different as well? I’m not saying I’m a messiah of some kind, but there are two possibilities: either I’m a broken person – an evolutionary mistake – or else if there is something like an individual purpose, my purpose would be to help others to open their eyes?

No, this is wishful thinking. I know it’s merely human to think of ourselves as better than someone else, many philosophers have stated that already, so I don’t want to. I am not better than others, my existence isn’t planned by some kind of god. I don’t have a purpose, I’m only the result of some molecules that collided just as physics describes it.

I hear a knock at the door. I quickly upload my post and walk to the front door to open it.

“Why did you hang up on me,” Sam says and walks in.

For some odd reason it feels like she is sad. “I didn’t,” I reply with a calm voice. “My phone simply stopped working.” I show her the crack in it to prove I didn’t hang up on her. I probably would’ve if my phone hadn’t just stopped working.

“Oh,” she says. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about last night.” She starts crying.

Without thinking I put my arm around her. I like having her close to me. It makes me feel… you know… appreciated. Not worthless.

“Let’s go to my room,” I say, wondering since when did I get involved with people. I always managed to keep my distance, to only have friends as a cover-up for my desire to be alone. Then it all changed when I kissed her.

It did start when I kissed her, right? Or did it start before then? Maybe my kiss was only a result of something that happened before?

I silently guide Sam to my room and have her sit down on my bed. I suppress my desire to kiss her. How long can I keep on telling myself that it’s normal to kiss her even when I won’t ever love her? Or can I push myself to love her?

“So, I think this has something to do with what I said yesterday?” I say with a soft voice when her sobbing stopped a little. “I don’t remember what I said and I can’t look in my chat history, because my phone doesn’t work anymore. So I’m kinda in the dark here.”

She looks at me and it’s almost like she is afraid to talk to me.

“You once told me we should talk to each other if something was wrong, right?” I ask.

“That’s why I came here.”

“So, talk to me, Sam. What did I tell you to upset you like this?”

She looks me straight in the eyes. “Did you like kissing me?” she asks.

Oh no, I don’t like where this is going. That is a different me, the one that likes kissing her. I don’t want to be reminded of this other me. Plus, why did she say “liked”. Does that mean it’s never going to happen again and if that's it would I really miss kissing her. “Why would I kiss you if I didn’t like it?” I respond.

“I don’t know, maybe to make me happy?” she asks.

Of course I can tell her she is wrong, I never do something to make someone else happy. Everything I do is for myself, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t like to hear that.

“If it’s not just to make me happy, then why kiss me?”

Oh man, I hate it when someone else knows more than I do. I couldn’t have told her about my sexuality, right? I know I tend to be very honest with people when I’m drunk, but I can’t imagine telling any of my secrets. “I told you I probably won’t be able to love you, not like you want me to,” I hesitantly say. “But you told me that as long as we both like doing it, it can’t be wrong.”

“You are not like this. You are not…”

I sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulder once again. “What did I tell you, yesterday?”

“You told me…” she starts crying again. Ugh, why does she always have to cry. Just tell me what I have to know, so I can come up with some good excuse. I hate the feeling I probably said something I shouldn't have. “About some guy you once loved.”

Did I? How? I betrayed myself. I promised never to tell anyone about my sexuality. It's lucky I didn’t tell her about the blog as well. Maybe that would have been better. I can’t have people knowing the real me. Every time someone discovers something about me, I feel hurt. I feel an indescribable pain.

“Are you gay?” she asks.

Without thinking I respond: “No, but I do like boys… as well.”

She looks at me in disbelief. “You are not… you are not bi. I know you. You like me.”

“I don’t, Sam. I told you that maybe I could, but not right now.”

“That is because you don’t want people to know the real you.”

I nod. “And now you know a little bit more about me.”

She gently pushes my arm off her shoulder. “You really like boys?”

Why do I get a feeling this isn’t any real surprise to her? I should feel relieved she apparently doesn’t feel disgusted by me, right? That happens sometimes.

“I never believed you were gay.”

Never believed? What is going on here? “Bi,” I correct her. Why am I lying to her? She already found out I like boys, so why would I tell her I like girls as well. I don’t, I’m sure of it. It’s like telling her a part of the truth hurts less than telling the whole truth. “That’s probably why I like kissing you.”

“I don’t believe you like guys. You never had any relationship with a guy right? Apart from this online person you never met?”

Woah, I told her more than I thought. What was wrong with me yesterday? Why did I suddenly feel the need to confide in her? I notice my computer is still on, with a text document open. There are some random sentences on the screen that maybe one day could evolve into a blog post, so I walk over to shut down my computer before Sam sees anything. I don’t want her to find out about that as well. “No, I never had a crush on a guy before.”

“But there was this girl when you were 13, right? What was her name again? Isabela.”

Please, don’t start on about her. I tried to forget her!

“So that means you’re straight.”

After shutting the pc off I didn’t sit down next to her again. So at the moment I’m standing right in front of her, while she is sitting down. It’s a rather awkward way to talk to each other. I take her hands in mine and pull her up to face me. She still wants to believe I’m straight, it’s easy for me to play up to her. But I don’t want to. I just can’t, because she won’t really believe me. I need to show my vulnerable side. “Listen to me, Sam. I don’t know, I don’t know what I feel or if I like guys or girls. I just don’t know. I liked kissing you, but I know I…” I can’t finish my sentence, because she presses her lips onto mine.

I need to stop it. Don’t kiss her, not now. I need to fix the problems in my head. I can’t make things more complicated. Don’t you dare open your mouth! Oh, shit… too late. My tongue finds hers. Oh man, why does kissing her feel so good? I'm gay! I know that for sure. Then why does this feel good – right. It feels right, like God intended me to kiss her right now.

Like every time I kiss her and by kissing I mean really kissing, the French way, I get excited. Okay, I can imagine I like kissing her, but why does the rest of my body like it as well? I’m not supposed to get horny when kissing her. Oh no, my life is a mess. I’m a mess.

I could cry. I’m betraying my own mind, my own principles.

“I can’t imagine you like men. You and I, it’s like we are meant to be,” Sam says with a weak smile.

Oh no, no, no, no, no. No! I didn’t notice Sam and I were standing very close. She feels it. She surely feels my hardness. Why, why body? Why are you betraying me. It’s the same thing with my mind, my mind is betraying me as well.

Wait, if my body and my mind are betraying me, what else is left to be betrayed? My heart? What am I, apart from a body and a mind? A soul?

Is this my worst nightmare or a dream? She feels me, I know for sure, but she smiles and continues kissing me.

What is she doing now? What is going on? Is this her hand touching… my junk? Oh no, if someone ever wrote down my story, I’m sure no one would understand me. I don’t even understand myself. I really am a mess, I can’t describe it any other way.

Is she moving her hand? Ugh, this feels good. No, it’s not right, but it does feel good. In my head I hear Sam saying: “If it feels right, then how could it be wrong?”

I moan. Oh no, I don’t want to encourage her, I want her to stop. I do, right? I want her to stop? Then why don’t I stop her?

“You sure you like men?” she asks with a teasing smile