Page 59 of Antidote

With that, they walk away, and I run a hand down my face in disbelief. Holy fuck, I just sold a painting. Not just any painting—no. A painting of the most important person in my life. He’s going to freak the fuck out if he ever finds out, but even he won’t be able to deny it’s my best one yet.

It’s my masterpiece.

Coach kept me tonight after the game under the guise that he wanted to talk about future prospects, but I honestly think it was to check up on me. It bothers me how everyone just walks on eggshells around me. Everyone except him. Oliver. It’s funny because he’s the reason I’m going through this in the first place, but he doesn’t act like I’m broken. Maybe that means he just doesn’t give a shit, but even I know that’s not true. He cares—enough for the both of us.

I’ve been asked how I’m holding up more times than I can count, and I always reply the same thing. That I’m fine. Tonight was no different, and since Coach believed me, he started giving me shit about how I’ve been playing, which was honestly a much-needed reprieve from being treated like I’m broken.

Now I’m at this party I don’t want to be at, if only because I don’t want to go back home to see Ollie. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself instead of the truth.

The truth is that every time I’m away from him, my skin feels taut and itchy, and my fingers tingle with the longing to reach out and touch him. The truth is that I wish more than anything we could be snuggled up on the couch, my face buried in the crook of his neck, my arm slung over his waist and wrapped tightly around him. The truth is that I can’t do any of those things. And that fucking hurts. Which is why I have to stay away, so I don’t end up doing something stupid.

This party is at one of the frat houses on Greek Row, and it’s as obnoxious as always. Lots of keg stands, liquor, and beer pong. A few people dry humping on the couches, and others on the coffee table snorting lines of coke. None of it interests me. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m here.

Someone slips an arm around my waist and I smile, twisting around only to come face-to-face with a grinning Malia. My smile immediately drops, and I pry her off me. I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking, especially after everything we said to each other at the last party. The last thing I’ve been expecting is for her to try to talk to me. I thought everything was said and done at this point, but I guess I was wrong.

“What are you doing?” I yell over the music.

“Let’s go outside,” she replies. “We need to talk.”

Talk.

What kind of talk? Is she here to make fun of me again or complain about me not having sex with her? Surely, she doesn’t want me back. I was an asshole to her.

Either way, I follow her outside after doing a quick sweep of the room with my eyes. I was supposed to come here with Connor and the rest of the guys, except they’re in the pool right now with a bunch of topless girls. That used to be my scene, once upon a time. It was not that I ever found it arousing, but I always had to pretend it was. Now I can’t be bothered—couldn’t be fucking bothered with pretending either. They all believe it’s because of my mom’s death, that it’s changed me, or that I’m just having a hard time. But the truth is, I don’t know why I ever tried to prove to everyone how gay I’m not. It’s not like they ever suspected, but after Ollie…I guess, I was confused.

It’s a chilly October night. I don’t know how people are in the pool, maybe it’s heated. Maybe I should join them. I can’t do this with Malia anymore. It’s pretty obvious I’m not attracted to her after all.

“This is better,” Malia says as we stand outside watching the people in the pool. I don’t look at her once, and she huffs. “Are you gonna look at me? We need to talk.”

I turn my head toward her and roll my eyes. I shouldn’t be an asshole to her, she’s been nothing but nice to me. But I just can’t pretend to give a shit anymore. I’m done. “What is there to talk about, Malia?”

“I want you back.” She bites her bottom lip like it would entice me. As if she’s flirting with me. “I miss you.”

Well, I don’t miss you.

All I can think about is the way I cuddled Ollie to sleep a few nights ago, our two kisses, how I’ve missed him…and I can’t do it. I can’t go back to her and pretend that everything is fine. I can’t think of him anymore while I fuck her. I can’t imagine it’s his ass gripping my cock, not when I could have the real thing. Fuck, who am I kidding? I’ll never again let myself have him. That would be the ultimate betrayal to my mom.

“We can’t, Malia.” I sigh and look at her apologetically. I hope she can see I’m not trying to hurt her, I just genuinely can’t do it. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not you.” I hit her with that line, even if it’s the truth. She looks annoyed before I even finish the sentence. “It’s me.”

“Clearly, asshole,” she growls and I wince. “I mean, look at me. Who wouldn’t want this?”

Me.

“I said I’m sorry, okay?” I run a hand through my hair in frustration, trying to keep myself in check before I say something stupid. “I’m in love with someone else.” And there it goes.

“Who the fuck could you possibly be in love with?” Malia looks like she’s smelled something awful, the way her nose scrunches up with the question. I’m trying to keep her from putting two and two together, but damn, it’s hard when I— “You don’t even hang out with anyone.” Yep.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “I gotta run. I’m here with someone else.”

“What the fuck?” she growls, grabbing my arm and digging her fake nails into it. “You don’t deserve me anyway. I can’t believe I wasted so much time on you!”

“You’re right.” I nod, prying her off me. “You’re too good for me. Sorry, Malia. I really am.”

I walk away with one thought: I don’t deserve her, and the person I want doesn’t deserve me.

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