Page 22 of Antidote

He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Are you ever gonna tell anyone about us and how we really feel?”

My stomach drops, and I shake my head quickly, hoping Michael didn’t hear him. “We’re not going to do anything.”

Ollie pulls away and firmly nods, then gets up once more. When he pushes past me, I let him, not stopping him because Michael is in the way. He glances between us like he knows exactly what’s going on. My hands shake as a cold sweat takes over, even though it’s nearly ninety degrees outside.

Getting up from the ground, I dust off my jeans and face Michael. He raises one eyebrow at me and I shake my head and scoff. “I’m not fucking gay. So save it.”

“Looked pretty gay to me.”

I’m a piece of fucking shit. I hate myself. How could I do this to Ollie? “He came onto me?—”

“It’s okay,” Michael interrupts with a smile. “Your secret is safe with me, Hartman.”

“Fuck off,” I growl. “I’m not keeping any fucking secrets. Go ahead and tell everyone. See who they believe.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, barely there, but I see it. And I know I’ve got him. No one will believe him. I feel horrible for throwing Ollie under the bus like that, but I have an image to uphold. I still don’t know any hockey players that are out of the closet, and thinking about coming out—it makes me nauseous. The way my teammates would react. The judgment I would face. So no—I’m straight.

I have to be.

No choice.

18 YEARS OLD

Ichannel my inner soccer kid and run away from the bleachers like someone lit my ass on fire, and I don’t stop until I’m back inside the cafeteria. There’s a group of kids hovering in a corner, exchanging money. I know who they are, and maybe I shouldn’t do this, but I walk right up to them. Then I wipe my face before they notice how distraught I am.

My hands shake uncontrollably, though I can’t tell if it’s from anger or heartbreak, probably both. It feels like I was just stabbed in the heart, and there’s a lump in my throat the size of North America, and I can’t seem to swallow past it. It’s not even about my pride being hurt, it’s about my trust being broken.

How could he tell me he loves me, just to turn around and do that?

The way he shoved me off him, I could see the reality of our situation shining brightly from his green eyes. I was reflected there, a hammer to my soaring hope. But it was all fake to begin with; I should’ve never believed him when he said he would come out for me. Now look at me, bleeding from gaping wounds. One to my back and the other to my heart.

“Who the fuck are you?” the kid in charge questions, eyeing me up and down with disdain. I know they keep it on the low, not wanting to get caught by the faculty. So they’re probably confused as to why I’m here—having never made a move to reach out before.

“You got some pot?” I ask slowly. Maybe if I smoke later I’ll feel a little better. I don’t usually smoke—however, today feels like an exception.

“You don’t look like a pot guy,” he replies with a smirk. “I’ll do you one better.”

“How?” I narrow my eyes on him as he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a little Ziplock bag full of pills.

“Oxy,” he tells me. “On the house.”

“Why?” Oxy? Isn’t that like super addictive? Well, it’s just one time. I only need it today to feel better.

“You look like you need it.” He shrugs. “Next time you come to me—it won’t be free.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“We’ll see.”

The rest of the day goes by slowly, my leg shaking with a mix of desperation and anticipation. I just want to get home so I can get this over with. Hunter saw me in the hallway next to my French Class and tried to talk to me, but I sped up and closed the distance between myself and the door faster than ever. I swear people were looking at me funny as I hurried through the room to find my desk, but I didn’t care enough about any of it. All that mattered was the way Hunter fucked me over. The way he rejected me in front of Michael. Not that I should’ve expected any less.

I’m glad French is my last class for the day, especially since I can’t continue to go through this day numb and spaced out, thinking about getting home to take the drugs to feel better. Deep down, I know this is a horrible idea, yet I also know I’m not gonna stop myself. I need to feel better. Even if it’s short-lived.

All I know is that I’m stupid.

So, so stupid.

Finally at home, I run up the stairs and lock my door, then sit on my bed. I pull out the baggie of pills and take one out, turning it over and over in my hand as I stare at it. Just one. That’s all I’ll need. I don’t know why he gave me ten of them—it makes no sense if I’m not going to take them.

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