Page 21 of Man On

I didn't like it. I didn't. But how wrong is it that he was right about one thing—I did need it. I do need it. Or something.

I balked at those words when he said them, but the more I think about it—and I've been thinking about it a lot—it always seemed to happen when my stress was at its highest. When my head was so overloaded with thoughts going in every which way, and the pressure was reaching a breaking point, that's when he would approach me.

Without me realizing, he helped me find a release I'm not capable of providing for myself. He gave me an excuse and someone to blame to reach that release, both physically and mentally. Never mind that I felt like trash afterwards. I slept straight through the night with no nightmares whenever it happened.

“I'm here if you need me, bro."

Looking around to make sure I'm alone, I sit on a park bench and look at my phone. I know for a fact Noah watches pornography on his phone, surely I can get away with searching the internet for innocent questions without anyone finding out.

I don't find any serious answers to my queries, but I find a lot of articles about toxic masculinity and the lack of gentle and platonic touch in men's lives. I fall into a rabbit hole, taking several screenshots and notes to discuss with Dr. Fenton the next time I eventually see her. I haven't told her about what happens between me and Noah, and I don't plan to, but some of these articles really do shed a lot of insight on what my issues might be.

I'm not gay, I just grew up in an environment where physical touch was only for anger. Same sex affection of any type was wrong, even when it was non-sexual. I don't even remember being hugged as a kid, which is probably why it makes me feel so much when Scott hugs me. It feels big and uncomfortable, but it's normal. Or it should be.

None of it answers my initial question, but I'm having trouble typing out the words. Like if I spell them out, even where no one but me can see them, it makes them real. Just like the time Noah made me say he gets me hard.

A hard twitch below the belt has me glaring angrily at the crotch of my shorts. Don't even think about it.

I try again, forcing myself to type out the words, ‘is it gay to masturbate in front of another guy,’ and find myself down a new rabbit's hole.There are quite a few forum discussions that suggest it's not uncommon for young men to masturbate together. There are even terms used that make me chuckle, like ‘buddy-bating’ and ‘brojobs’. I can't find anything about only one person masturbating while the other watches, but the fact that Noah doesn't seem to get sexually excited or engage seems promising. A good portion of the internet seems to think it's only gay if the two men in question desire each other. The idea of Noah desiring me is laughable, so I think we’re pretty safe there.

But then I come across some comments that stop me in my tracks, and I fall down another kind of rabbit’s hole. One of guilt and self-hatred. I read comments and articles and sermons, all discussing the perils of temptation.

This is how the devil works, Isaiah. He makes you believe you are normal and healthy. He recruits medical professionals and therapists to validate behavior like masturbation. And once you fall into his trap, it's nearly impossible to climb back into the light of God's grace.

I browse and read contradicting headlines and articles until my head hurts and I get a warning that my battery is low. It's late in the afternoon, I'm hungry, and I'm carrying more stress than I was when I woke up this morning.

By the time I get back to the dorm, my head is pounding. I push past Noah, nearly knocking him to the ground on my way to my room, where I slam and lock the door, ignoring Noah's knock and the gentle way he asks me if everything is okay. I chug a bottle of water and lay down, stewing in my misery with a pillow over my head. A while later, I hear the door close when Noah leaves, and I relax a little, knowing I'll be fast asleep by the time he gets back. I’ll feel better in the morning. I just need a good night's rest.

Sleep doesn’t hold me for long. I wake up, restless and uncomfortable, after only a couple of hours. My head still hurts, but it's not pounding quite as fiercely as before. My mouth is dry, and whatever nightmare jerked me out of my restless sleep tastes bad. Smells bad too, considering I've sweated through the shirt I also wore to run in. Peeking out my door, it's obvious that Noah hasn't come back yet. It's only eight pm, but if he's smart, he'll be home soon. I consider texting him, but remind myself that he’s not my responsibility and harping on him isn’t likely to rein him in.

I force myself through a quick shower, brush my teeth, and change my sheets. I drink a ton of water and take some melatonin to help me get back to sleep. But I'm too restless. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I try leaving the door open like my room at home, and that helps, but I still can't sleep. My thoughts are too loud.

I try cleaning, but after scrubbing every inch of the communal areas of our barely-lived-in apartment, I still can't settle. Where is Noah? He should be back by now.

It's almost midnight when I finally decide to text him.

Lane: Where are you?

I wait for several minutes, but he doesn't see the message. I try again.

Lane: We have class in the morning.

This time, the message is read, but he still doesn't answer.

Lane: Fine. Don’t expect me to pull you out of bed in the morning.

Lane: You’re an idiot.

Seriously, what does he think he's doing? It's making my anxiety worse, and I’m edging on what feels like a mini nervous breakdown. I don't know why I care. Maybe this is, once again, my brain focusing on things that are out of my control.

I practice some of the breathing and mindfulness exercises that Dr. Fenton taught me, but I'm so anxious I think I might vomit. My headache is threatening to worsen with every too-hard beat of my heart. My chest feels tight, like it can't contain the bomb inside.

Pacing is helping nothing, so I try some brisk exercise to help refocus my mind. I do jumping jacks, burpees, and mountain climbers until I feel so dizzy the edges of my vision darken and I'm in danger of passing out. Laying back on the couch, I close my eyes and sink into the spinning feeling that washes over me.

My frantic heartbeat muffles the loud pounding I can hear in the distance, but the sound is too far away to determine if it's coming from inside my head or not. Pounding, then a crash. Shouting. Then a soothing, deep voice next to my ear lulls me to sleep, and I succumb to the darkness swimming behind my eyes.

CHAPTER 7

NOAH

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