I rear back as if I’ve been slapped. And still, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t move. It’s like I’m not even standing here. Like I’m invisible. I think I’d rather he hit me than...than...

This.

Anything but this.

“Bullshit!” I take an angry step forward. Fists balled at my sides. “You can’t just...throw me away l-like an old toy.”

There. The barest flinch.

“What did I do, Way?” I shake my head. “Is it because we ki—?”

“Shut up,” he hisses, matching my step. His eyes blaze into me now, and for a second, all I can think is how pretty he is in this moment. I hate it. He should be anything but pretty right now. “Shut up shut up shut up—”

“You started it,” I whisper, and I hate that my voice quivers.

His nose flares. “No, I didn’t.”

My eyes burn and I start to shake my head. “Way—”

“I can’t be friends with a f-faggot, okay?” he shouts, and it’s like something splinters right down the very core of me. Birds chirp around us. The sky is blue. So blue. As if it didn’t just rain earlier. The sun beats down on us, and yet...I’m cold.

Faggot.

I’ve only heard that word once in my life, back in Philly, spoken in a fit of laughter while walking with my mom down the street. I remember asking her what it meant several blocks later, the word sitting unpleasantly on my tongue, and she just smiled sadly down at me and said, “Nothing for little boys to concern themselves with.”

That was over a year ago. I know what that word means now.

I watch as Waylon seems to have realized what he just said. His face turns a horrible shade of green, eyes widening like he’s seeing a ghost.

His words from the other day come back to me now: “We shouldn’t...”

It’s only then that I feel the wetness trailing down my cheek.

“But I thought...” I whisper, losing my voice.

I thought you liked me too.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, he turns abruptly and starts walking away.

I watch him walk away, my vision blurring with each step he takes.

Anger gathers hotly in my chest, warring with the hurt bottoming out my gut.

It scares me, this...this emptiness inside me that suddenly exists where before it didn’t. I want it gone. I just need it gone.

So I let the bundle of rage kindle and ignite, and I move.

My vision reddens around the edges and I don’t question what I’m doing. I just bound forward and grab Waylon by the arm, knowing what I’m about to do is going to damage us beyond repair.

I raise my fist, unable to stop myself—

And that’s when I hear it.

A cry.

Waylon.