Page 55 of Down My Chimney

My head whipped around as he walked to the futon and pointed at the spot where I’d been sitting. Wedged between the seat and the backrest was a stick of Old Spice deodorant.

“I didn’t know it was there,” I said with a sigh.

“You sure about that?” Dev grinned.

I restrained myself from slamming my laptop against his head, which I thought showed a lot of maturity on my part.

“I have totouchthis,” Taylor said, sounding outraged.

“Jesus, calm down. The cap was on.”

“I don’t care if the cap was on. It was up your ass. I’m not using dildo deodorant.”

“It was notup my ass,” I growled. “I’m wearing pants.”

“If Blake was actually using it as a dildo, wouldn’t it be more likely for the cap to be off?” Matty asked, taking a long swig of water. “For maximum glide?”

“Oh, cause you know all about glide, don’t you?” Dev said. “You and your conditioner.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Maybe Blake coated it in conditioner before he sat on it,” Dev said to Taylor, who had just picked the deodorant up with two fingers, like it might carry diseases. “To help ease it in.”

Taylor dropped it immediately. “Gross, dude.”

“At least he didn’t leave evidence behind, unlikesome peopledo in the shower.”

“I don’t jerk off in the shower!” Matty protested.

“The shower would be better than our fucking living room,” Taylor said, giving me a derisive look. “What, did your theater friend convert you or something? Teach you to take it up the ass?”

“First time Blake’s been a quick study at anything,” Dev said with a laugh.

“Maybethatexplains what he was doing with that dildo the night he was here,” Taylor continued. “He was recording a little how-to video for Blake.”

“Fuck. You.” I spun and stared at each of them in turn. “Fuck all of you, honestly. You are such complete and utter assholes.”

“Blake, what the—

“No.” I shook my head. “Fuck this. I’m not doing it anymore.”

“We were just joking, man,” Taylor said, but I didn’t acknowledge it. I was already storming down the hall to my room.

I’d packed last night, thank God. I grabbed my bag and coat, then stalked back to the living room. The guys were standing in the exact places I’d left them, watching me in silence. I slid my laptop into my backpack and headed for the door.

“Blake, come on—” Matty began, but I didn’t stick around to hear how that sentence ended.

I meant it. I was done.

The drive north gave me plenty of time to stew. I was even angrier when I got to LA. I was just so sick of my roommates. Myfriends. Could I even call them that, really?

To think that I’d defended them to Henry. To think that I was more scared of offending them, of grossing them out, than I was of losing him. But he’d been right all along. If this was what they were like, whydidI want to be friends with them?

Your friends were supposed to be the people you relied on when life got hard, but all my friends had ever done was make me feel worse about myself. Ashamed. Not just of my sexuality, but about my grades, my past with girls—about being nothing more than a pretty face with mediocre soccer talent.

But they were right. The realization kicked me in the gut as I pulled into my parents’ driveway. The reason their jokes hurt so much was because they were true. They could all see it.

I felt like I was trudging through wet cement as I approached the backdoor. The last time I’d driven home suddenly, I’d been full of nervous energy, desperate to keep moving, to keep myself from looking at the truth of my life.

---