Those are my secrets. The secrets that keep me from being with my love and my best friend James. Me and James have been friends since, well, forever. He was always there for me, always there to help me. He was my best friend. And he was my one and only love.
I had discovered I loved James when we were at this party about four years ago. It was pretty lame out where people were dancing and drinking, so me and James had retreated down to the basement sitting room where a couple kids from school were playing games. We joined them, eager to get away from all the noise upstairs, though the bass of the music beat steadily through the floor and the walls; so they by no means had a bad stereo system.
We had joined the group just as they were going to play seven minutes in heaven. It was such a childish game, the type you would play at your first boy/girl birthday party. But James, being as childish as he is, begged me to play as well. I never regretted playing that game, but if I had known it would haunt me every day since, it would have been a slightly different story.
We played a couple rounds and neither me nor James was chosen from the “hat of names”. When it was my turn to draw from the hat, I was shocked at what name I pulled out. On it, in the thin, scrawling writing I knew so well, was one word, one name that paralyzed me. James had grown impatient to see which “lucky” girl was going into the closet with me.
He had snatched the paper out of my trembling hands and read it, only to become shocked himself. That was when the host had to step in. She laughed upon seeing my “choice” and informed us that rules were rules and that we had to go into the closet together.
So me and James headed into the small closet together and very much afraid. I had begun to suspect I was gay by then, seeing as I hadn’t ever been attracted to girls. But being as I am, and being stuck in a closet with my male best friend? Ha! That didn’t sit to well with me. And yet, here I was. In a closet. With James. And I was pretty sure I was gay. I had a feeling that this wouldn’t go over well in the long run.
“So…” James had started.
“I don’t know.” I mumbled.
“Well are you going to kiss me or not?” He surprised me when he said that. I hadn’t expected it at all.
“Uh…huh….wha…huh?” I fumbled for words and yet they continued to escape me.
“Well that’s the point of this game, isn’t it?” He asked with a slight grin.
I nodded slowly. “But…we’re best friends. Wouldn’t it be awkward?” I asked quietly, barely above a whisper.
“So? You’ve been curious haven’t you?” I nodded. “I’ve noticed. This is your test.” He said bluntly.
I was confused but at the same time intrigued by what he said. I would find out if I was gay or not by doing this. So, I caved to his logic and moved closer to him. “Ok.”
“Great.” He grinned again.
We moved even closer toward each other so that we were almost touching. James placed a hand on the side of my neck and brought me closer. I began to get more then extremely nervous then. But closer he brought me. Then, our lips met. He kissed me softly, and slowly, making my heart pound and all traces of nervousness melt away. I began to get more confident. I put my arms around his neck and drew him further into me. That simple kiss then turned out to be a slow, but heated make-out session.
Everything up until that point was great, then they opened the closet door. Everyone in the group seen me and James making out…and enjoying it. That was the day the rumors started. The next day of school was when the bullying started. James had passed it off as all me. Some best friend he was then. We had patched it up though. He only did that so his parents wouldn’t find out - they were homophobes - so I understood.
But since then life hasn’t treated me too well. I started starving myself just so I would get “thinner” and “better looking”. I had thought that if I was so beautiful, then people would forget that I was gay. I had started cutting as well. One long deep cut for every time I was bullied about being gay. Though in four years, it added up, a lot. My arms are now riddled with scars. And my body is frail. But do I see it that way? No. I see some fat, ugly faggot when I look in the mirror.
James tries to get me to see the good in my life, but I never do. I keep seeing myself as some horrid person who deserves to be beat up every day, someone who deserves to starve. Because maybe if I lose enough weight, I’ll be perfect for him.