Dirty Doesn't Even Begin to Cover My Secrets

I, Frank, find myself in a predicament of its own. That predicament being, Jamia is the most beautiful person I had ever laid my eyes on. She had freckles peppering over the bridge of her nose and cheeks, long black hair trailing down her back, and these green eyes, green like jelly beans, pretty and jewel-like. A nice rack to top it all off, along with her wicked curves, and, yeah, I know I’m staring, but I just… can’t stop Her giggles sound like the noise an angel would make when a baby is born.

And she’s kissing me. With her tongue. And her tongue piercing, what the fuck. How did I even get here? Where the fuck am I? Heaven? Why is it so dark? Holy shit, I’m dead. I’m dead and I went to heaven, with Jamia’s tongue and her tongue piercing, and I don’t actually… mind. I actually… like it. Wasn’t I gay about ten hours ago? And with that simple thought… it hits me in the damn face. Hard.

Hi Jack. I’m Jamia. You haven’t been around have you…?

So, there’s Pete, Brendon, Ryan, Jimmy, Kitty, Chantal, Vicky, Gabe, Bill, Steve – I know! But he’s actually okay, contrary to what people say about Steves. And that girl right there? That’s Lindsey, Lindsey Ballato…

No, no, no… You’re not ugly… You’re really hot.

I hate this place too, these fuckin’ uniforms, and the nuns! The guys are planning on getting outta here, get a bit wasted, maybe high, maybe just some… fun.

Could I like, talk to you I private, Jack?

So… I don’t wanna just… go and lead you on like that, I just. Lindsey… I just really want her to notice me. I’ve kinda… been obsessed with her since… well. Since I realized I didn’t like boys.

Are you… Shit man! That’s even better! I can go shopping with you!

Whatever. The guys are going to start a game of spin the bottle and/or Seven Minutes in Heaven, they do it all the time, ‘specially Brendon and Pete.

Nah, just act like we have. Gonna help me, Jack old buddy, old pal?

Awesome. I am now forever in debt to you. Now… c’mere Jack…

The events of the rest of the night and the greater part of today are still a puzzling blur, but at least the whole tongue in Jamia's mouth makes more sense now. In a gist, I suppose, we left school, we had a party and now I'm in a closet with Jamia Nestor. Sweet.

“You think it’s been near seven minutes yet…?” Jamia murmurs, sending a shiver down my spine as her breath touches moistly inside the shell of my ear. Her arms are still wrapped around my neck and her cherry lip gloss is smeared all over my mouth. I shake my head, overcome with the whole situation, her everything… just overwhelming me. Even if it’s fake. It’s nice to go with it, act like it’s real. Like she likes me, like she wants to kiss me, like she enjoys my heat.

It reminds me of the reality of my life.

“I think so… If I ruffle my hair, you think it’ll get her even more jealous, or will it make you look… slutty? Not that you do now! I’m just… suggesting…” She giggles, and I feel my face flushing even more, thank God for this dark closet. She pats my head, running her fingers through my tangle hair.

“I think these,” she swipes my lower lip with an index finger, “… are enough.” A poundpoundpound from the outside cuts off the last word. There a high squeaks of laughter coming from behind the door. I flip up a birdie when Toro opens the door, clown smile bearing its face. Sometimes it’s okay, but other times it only scares me. Jamia sets her hand on my shoulder, before curling her fingers around my bicep, to slide down my forearm and settle tangling themselves in the spaces between my fingers. I pretend not to blush furiously at this.

We both make our way out of the compact space, the cat calls and fox whistles from the people who have joined the party, the majority of them complete strangers to me. I glimpse at Bob, who is nodding approvingly and Ray giving me a thumbs up, and he, without delay, turns and shoves his tongue down a random redhead’s throat. Jamia giggles and she leans up to position her mouth close to my ear.

“I think it’s working…” I turn my head a little ways, low and behold, Lindsey glaring daggers at me, her red lips pursed as Jamia slings her arms ‘round my neck. Her knuckles are white as she clenches them in fists at her sides.

Then I gulp, because, oh fuck, it’s her. She’s the girl I boob-dived into. I didn’t notice back at the introductions because we left campus before I could really get a good look at anyone. And I have to say, she’s looks fucking livid, with her pigtails and tattoos. Luckily, I jump to the first escape before Lindsey comes towards us and proceeds to beat the shit outta me.

“Hey Jamie! I’m going to go… get some punch! That’s ok, right?” I dart my eyes to Lindsey, hoping she would take the hint. Her smile answers my question. She mouths a silent thank you, and I disappear into the makeshift dance floor and the grinding bodies; a soft tang in my heart but a warmer feeling knowing I had helped her get her girl.

I head towards a more secluded area of the room, where wall flowers shift uncomfortably with their drinks. Leaning back against the cool wall, I think about how Jamia was possibly my exception and how much I would’ve made my mother happy if she knew she had a chance of have biological grandchildren. Alas, it was too good to be true. I slide down, resting my cheek on my knees and covering my head with my arms. I breathe heavy air in, sighing it out.

“Hey man, you ok?” I wind my head around to distinguish Bob, looking a little smashed, and more than a little like he just made out with an awe-inspiring kisser. I realize I’m more than a little resentful when I’m wondering why Bob gets to be kissed when I don’t. Maybe I’m just ugly? Ugh, what if I am. I could wear a bag over my head? Maybe get a really distracting hair cut to make people forget about my hideous face?

“Jack, are you ok? Jesus, Toro wasn’t kidding.” I grin from behind my jacket sleeve and groan out provocatively, looking Bob straight in the eye. I reach out a hand, letting it hover over his stubble.

“I got caught up in my bitch’s sexy-ass beard, oh,” I lisp, quick enough to caress the back of my hand on his cheek. He ducks away a second later, rubbing at where I touched him as if I was a leper. I roll my eyes and blow him a kiss. He echoes my actions, minus the kiss, and tugs me up by the scruff of my collar.

“What the hell are you doing sulking on that wall anyway; we’re supposed to get drunk off our asses here.” He grips my forearm and pulls me through the sea of bodies. I didn’t remember all these people being here when we were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven about ten minutes ago; but then again, about 17 minutes ago (the extra seven when Jamia and I made out, which was pretty fucking rad of her to let me do) then sun was still out and we didn’t have any beer. Bob promptly shoves an opened bottle into my arms, already gulping one down himself before I can say thank you.

I squint at the drink and then take a hesitant sip. I trust Bob and everything, but I don’t know who could have touched this drink, and roofies are never really a good thing to experience. I choke and cough, struggling to regain my breath, because the liquid seems to rush all the way into my brain, my senses overwhelmed and there’s a warm buzz building inside of me from just that little sip. Swallowing, I give Bob an incredulous look as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, the bottle half empty. I note his loopy (drunk) smile and take healthy gulp of the liquid. It’s fucking intense.

“Whoa….” I slur as my head begins to feel too heavy for my shoulders, “Dude, what the fuck is this….?” I peer at the bottle label, the words already swirling into a fuzzy haze. Oh shit… maybe it is spiked… Bob sways on his feet, leaning against me and I grab around his waist so we both don’t fall all together. We hobble backwards until our backs hit the wall, next to the couch where I see Ray still macking on that redhead. I whistle low and Bob giggles like it’s so funny – but hey, maybe it is. I start giggle with him. He punches me in the arm (the bastard), and I think he meant for it to be gentle in the playing kind of way, but I swear that’s going to bruise tomorrow.

“I… I think it’s some homemade shit or something… do you see the words 'Satan’s Semen' on the label or am I just,” he belches, “…seeing things…?” I peek at the paper around the bottle once more. The markings don’t even look like they’re English…

“I fuckin dunno, Bobman… that looks Asia or… something… maybe Swedenishan... Wait, what...? We're drinking... Drinking moonshine like it's the 1800s?! What the bitch... Beeeeeeeyooootttchhhhh...” Am I even speaking English anymore?

"Yeah!" Bob yells passionately. He rests his head on my right shoulder (Bob's head is heavier than it looks), cocking it towards the beer, which is about to spill as it starts to follow the direction of Bob's tilting, "Isn't like, Chinese alcohol called sake, or some shit like that?"

I have to pause, because all this chatting with Bob, in addition to the intoxicating fluid is confuzzling the crap outta my brain... "No, no; I think that's for Japanese beer... Or was it for Thai beer? Filipino beer? Do they even have their own beer in the Philippines?" I swallow the rest of my bottle, settling it down next to Bob's empty one. I scratch gently at Bob's ginger hair, and the top of his head works its way under my chin. The party is coming down, and people are trying to find places to crash/have sex in. Bob snuggles into me.

I knew he was a big softie. The baby wipes totally gave it away.

"Hm... Where's the Philippines?" He mumbles. I'm thinking his eyes are on their way of closing, and I loll my head on top of Bob's at what a splendid idea it is... What the... Did I just use the word splendid in my mind? Christ... I must really out of it... Maybe I should - yeah, that sounds - what...

When I wake up, I'm on a damn comfortable bed, staring sideways at a wall. The sunlight leaking into the room drives a throb into my temples, fucking hangovers. This (the bed and room, not the hangover) is odd; I distinctly remember, even with last night's drinks clouding my thinking, that I passed out in the middle of the living room, with a Bob pinning me down.

I freeze because I manage to notice the rank morning breath blowing over my ear. And the hand slung loosely on my hip. And the feet entangled with mine. I didn't... Did I? Removing myself slowly from the body behind me (ohmygodohmygod, we spooned, and I was the little spoon, ohmygod) I roll over to face the music.

Holy shit. It's Bob.

Fortunately, most of our clothes are still on - with the exception of our socks, and it doesn't look like we did anything. I hope. Bob looks unusually peaceful in his sleep: relaxed eyebrows and soft smile. I lie back down, scoot in so our feet are touching and we're face to face. His breathing is steady and I place my palm on his chest, watching as it rises and falls in calming intervals. But what if... we did do something? My thoughts wander, circling around Bob. He’s a nice guy, funny, awesome and decent looking. What if…

Before I can stop myself, I shut my eyes and lean up to press my lips to his, weighing out the feel. It’s an experimental kiss, nothing more. And that’s mostly what it feels like, just a mouth touching another mouth. No explosions of fireworks, no flickering butterflies in my stomach. Then, of course, I feel Bob's eyelashes flutter on my cheeks and a noise in between our mouths that sounds a hell of a lot like, 'what the fuck?' I spring back in shock, Bob mirroring me.

"Dude, I'm sorry! I didn't, oh my god, I wasn't tryin to - " I pause, jumping to my feet, panicking because – what the hell?! I just kissed him? I just kissed him. Why did I just…? My head droops so I don’t have to see Bob’s face, and he doesn’t have to see the mortified blaze on my face. “I didn’t mean to… do that. It just kinda happened.”

First there’s absolute silence. I build enough confidence to move and let it be my answer.

“I really didn’t mean to, so I’ll just…. go.” I begin the process of self loathe; what kind of stupid fuck manages to accidently kiss their friend, oh right: me. I’m picking up my shoes and socks when Bob interrupts the speeding train of my thoughts.

“Jack, wait up.” Bob sits up, wincing after what I assume to be a head rush. “You can’t just go. C’mon, let’s talk.” He pats the bedding on the edge of the bed. I glance at open doorway, where my sweet freedom is so close, but then again, Bob is nice and smart. He’d probably handle the situation better. I, though unenthusiastically, ease back into the room, shutting the door so temptation of running is lessened. Avoiding Bob’s steely eyes, I take a seat, pulling my legs in to relax my head on my knees.

“So…?” I chance a quick glance at him, and he’s biting his lip, most likely considering his next words.

“Jack, I like you and all but I have a girlfriend back home and I pretty sure I’m not even – “

“Bob, I’m not like, crushing on you,” He makes a befuddled expression, and I clarify, “I was just.. curious. I wanted to make sure… I wasn’t, y’know, crushing on you…” I can practically feel Bob stare in the side of my head.

“So you’re not… gay?” He questions. I choke on the air I was inhaling. I stutter on my words and then take a breath.

“Um, no. I – I am,” My heart feels like it’s going to pop right out of my chest and I face Bob, whose features remains blank, “I’m – I’m gay.”

Bob nods, and continues on to pull me into a bone-crushing hug. Seriously, he’s like, strangling me. I tap my hand into his back, stressed a bit for oxygen and he draws back, eyes ablaze. He rolls his eyes. What?

“What the fuck, did you really think I was that much of an asshole that I would’ve not been your friend because you were gay? Are you serious?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Well. Yes….?” Bob slaps me upside the head. “Motherfucker.”

“Only yours, Jack-o-lantern.” Okay, now it’s my turn to slap him, that sick fuck. But my eyes go comically large when I hear it: jack-o-lantern. My birthday was… Halloween. And….

“Where’d you get that nickname?” I say, laughing with a nervous hinge creeping up my voice. Bob’s sliding off the bed, slipping on his shoes without his socks.

“Your stupid grin, obviously.” Whew. Yeah.

“Ya think Ray got lucky with that redhead last night?” Even though Bob is cool about me and all, I’m still not too comfortable about it, so I switch the subject off. He stands, nodding out the door and I follow along. He motions discreetly to the flower-patterned loveseat; where Ray is, much to my surprise, holding a skinny guy in his arms on the cushions. It’s painfully adorkable as it is shocking.

“He’s – “

“Yup.” Bob nudges me along, towards the kitchen where Gabe (I think) is swapping spit with some long hair guy (Bill?) on the counter. Bob is pouring some orange juice into two mugs and I’m just, gawping.

“How did I not know this whole school is gay?” He shrugs, handing me the glass of sunshine. Gabe is whispering in Spanish. It sounds incredibly dirty and I walk myself out of the kitchen. Bob follows suit to the couch near the loveseat where Ray is snuggling with this random dude.

“It’s always the religious private schools…” Bob says into his mug, and the guy in Ray’s arms twitches, before reaching his hand under the lip of the furniture, groping the floor and then pulling out a pair of white and black glasses. He blinks his eyes open and stares at us, still eveloped into Ray’s arms.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Bob and I say in unison. I’m pretty uncertain what to say. I wonder if Bob’s the same. Glasses slides his long legs down and sits up, his mousy hair sticking up in odd angles and his clothes looking rumpled. Bob puts down his mug.

“So….” He articulates, raising one eyebrow, “I’m Bob. This is Jack. We’re Ray’s friends.”

“Mikey Way,” he replies, rubbing a knuckle to his eye under his lenses. Ray gasps, out of the blue, and bolts upright. Mikey’s face remains calm and unchanged. Ray’s brown eyes go wide.

“Um…” Ray starts, biting his bottom lip, “Good… morning?” The corner of Mikey’s lip twitches. You could cut the tension here with a butcher knife. Maybe a chainsaw. As if on cue, my stomach makes protesting noise. I lift my gaze back up, on the three people awkwardly silent in front of me.

“Breakfast?”

“Fuck yeah.” Mikey gets up, and heaves Ray along with him. I loop my arm in Bob’s inner elbow and bring my mouth close to his ear, watching as the two practically skip to the front door.

“Time to judge Ray’s new bf?” Bob rolls his eyes, but grins, gears in that head of his just about clanking into action. I elbow him in the stomach.

“You know it, Antonio.”

And I know about the feet away from us, Ray’s face is redder than that girl’s hair he made out with last night.

Notes

3/4!

Fact of the hour: You swallow about 8 spiders every night.