Page 19 of Pippin & Nacho

As long as I made Nate happy, he’d never leave.

The movie was hilarious. Nate and I giggled almost non-stop as we finished off the hot cocoa.

At some point, Nate’s hand brushed against mine. My body froze so he wouldn’t move it. Don’t move. Keep it there. I pretended we were boyfriends, holding hands on date night. But when I shivered, since I didn’t have the warmest coat, Nate pulled out a knit beanie from his backpack and put it on my head. Then he grabbed both of my hands in his to warm them up.

I wanted to whimper at his touch, needy for so much more than little touches that meant nothing more than friendship. Maybe it was just as well, because I’d never be good enough for Nate. He deserved a man who was smart like him and someone Nate didn’t have to take care of all the time.

I was a fucking burden.

“Is it wrong of me to ship Shrek and Donkey?” Nate asked, pulling out of my declining thoughts.

I plastered on a smile I didn’t feel, so he wouldn’t need to take care of me and ask me what was wrong.

“No, I totally ship them, too. I’m Donkey, and you’re Shrek.” Nate’s smile was wide as he chuckled. “I’m the bouncing one, all over the place.” Then his smile dropped, and I swallowed, not looking at him. I rested my chin on my folded knees as I watched the end of the movie.

Shit, did I just hint I was shipping us together?

“I’d rather be Donkey than Shrek. Donkey is smart and resourceful, like you. I think you’d make a perfect Donkey.”

I turned my head on my knees and looked at my one true person. “No, I’m none of those things. I’m not good at anything.”

Nate’s brows furrowed as he scooted closer to me. He sat so close I felt his heat even in this cold, and then his smell washed over me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. I wanted to shut my eyes and absorb him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nate didn’t ask in anger. His tone was soft, like a tender touch. “You’re very resourceful and amazing at a lot of things, like bartending, which you’re a fucking pro at, you skateboard like an expert, and you planned this perfect night.”

He touched my hair and pulled back my long bangs, peeking out from under the beanie. His words made my eyes want to water, but I wouldn’t do that to him when he was being so nice to me.

“You always say bad things about yourself, and I wish you saw what I did. You’re so strong and resilient, and you find so many ways to keep yourself happy. I would never ask you to be any other way than how you are now. Only that… I hate it when you’re hurting. If I could take it all away, I would.”

My bottom lip trembled, so I sucked it in my mouth, touching the coldness of my lip ring with my tongue. “I know you would.”

Nate was my safe harbor in a storm. A place where I could anchor myself and be the real me, unafraid of how he’d react when I failed, forgot something or said the wrong thing. But I also wanted to be my best for him, to show him he could lean on me, too, when he needed it, that I could get my shit together long enough when he needed me to hold him instead.

His dark eyes never left mine, watching me for any hints of my pain and suffering forcing their way through my porous walls. “Please tell me you’re good.”

“I’m good.”

After the movie, we made it on time for the last bus of the night. I was grateful for the warmth. The ride wasn’t too long, but Nate had fallen asleep, resting his head on my shoulder. He always lacked sleep because of me, but he never complained.

I rested my head in his curls, constantly inhaling his addicting scent. He was my home.

All too soon, we were close to home and at the end of our date night. It wasn’t a date, but I pretended it was. I had a really good time, and I think Nate did, too. Then again, we always had a good time together, except at night when my demons came out to play.

Movement in my bed stirred me awake, breaking me out of one of my more pleasant dreams of holding a certain boy’s hand in the cold under thick blankets. My eyes fluttered open to find Sam climbing into my bed. Who else would it be? Regardless, he hardly ever came to me, probably so he wouldn’t bother me, but I never minded.

“Can I sleep here?” he asked, sliding under my covers before I answered because I always said yes.

“Bad dream?”

“Sleep fucking hates me. I’d never sleep if my body didn’t need it so much.”

“I get it.”

If only he’d finally get the help he needed so he could sleep and have fewer nightmares. Sam had periodically told me stories of his life during conversion therapy, but only what he could stomach. No doubt his time there had been a lot worse than he’d claimed. My only assumption as to why it hasn’t been banned in this country is because of the continued resentment toward queer people and believing that we chose to be gay, not to mention the religious fervor against it. They should call it what it was: torture. I’d even heard stories about teens getting raped by the opposite sex as if that would miraculously ‘fix’ them. I had no doubt those people had an underlying masochism to them. The torturers derived pleasure from the children’s pain, not to mention my suspicions of grooming, masking it as ‘treatment.’

I rolled onto my side as Sam snuggled into me, draping an arm over my waist. He closed his eyes, and I watched him try to sleep. It must not have been one of his worst dreams since he’d never cried out and went back to sleep, so I wasn’t quite sure what brought him to me, not that I was complaining.

His breathing evened out, and the fingers touching my back twitched. I smiled, grateful he’d get some sleep tonight, and so would I. Sam didn’t have nightmares every night, but he had them often enough that I got little sleep myself, and I was tired throughout the day and most of the week. Then, having to work late four to five days a week often left me exhausted. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. Maybe one day it would finally be too much, and he’d finally seek the help he so desperately needed.

---