Whatever that fucking means.

God, the amount of times people have come out and said those things to me is outstanding. And the kicker is, those people don’t even realize how ignorant they sound. They don’t realize that for someone who is gay, those comments are the farthest fucking thing from a comfort.

They just made me feel lonely. Ashamed. Like I was broken. Like I wasn’t enough.

It’s a feeling that never goes away completely. That deeply ingrained sense of wrongness—otherness—that rears its ugly head every time I have to tell someone I like guys. Every time they’re caught off guard.

It always, without fail, throws me back to that warm spring day outside Shiloh Elementary School, squirming under skin too tight and gasping for air through my teeth as the first boy I ever really liked—my best friend—told me he couldn’t be friends with a faggot. As that same boy shoved me down and spit in my face only days later. Breaking my heart and spirit all in a matter of seconds. Seconds. Like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

So yeah. That feeling? It never really goes away, no matter how fucking adjusted I like to think I am. No matter how loved I am by the people that actually matter.

I’ve just gotten really, really good at riding it out.

The world will keep spinning, and people will keep on sucking, and some days are going to be harder than others...

But at the end of it, I’m still me. And they can take it or fucking leave it.

So, with that in mind, I cross my arms and face Reggie head-on. “That gonna be a problem?”

The older man studies me with an unreadable expression. Seconds seem to pass before he takes a few steps forward, reaching out and grabbing my shoulder. I try not to tense. He gives me a firm squeeze. “No. Of course not, son.” A beat. “But I’m gonna to apologize in advance if I fuck up sometimes, say something I shouldn’t. Correct me, teach me, but don’t hate me, ‘kay?”

My eyes burn as I nod. The tension seeping from my shoulders, as if was never even there. “I can do that.”

He smiles sadly, almost knowingly. “Has someone in this town given you a hard time?” I try not to think of his own fucking nephew, and those ugly words he spat at me so many years ago. “Because I can cut their brake lines if you want. Just say the word.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “What? No. No, it’s fine. No one has given me any problems.” Yet.