The Pyre Starter

Chapter 1-3

They stopped twice before reaching their destination. Both times, Terrell pulled over to the side of the road and hopped off of the blue and white vehicle. He gingerly walked around for a few minutes. Leg cramp, he explained. He got them all the time, especially riding. Nothing to worry about.

But he looked to be in so much pain. For the first time, Dakota peeked out from under his veil of morbid introspection to really notice it. And he felt sorry for him. Crazy or not, the guy at least seemed nice. Hell, he practically threw himself over the edge of a bridge in order to rescue a freshman he barely knew, and now they were here, on the road together, going to meet some mysterious family member. He’d personally invited Dakota. Trusted him with information he considered “sensitive.”

And Dakota didn’t know what it was like to be in physical pain as often as Terrell had to be. He knew emotional hardship, of course, and it ate him up inside, but it wasn’t the kind of bodily betrayal Terrell experienced from day to day. Dakota had no idea how he could stand it.

“Do you take anything, uh, for the pain?” he inquired as Terrell slowly returned to the bike for the final time.

“Ibuprofen if I’m feeling like a wimp. Ice or heat. Anything else, and I’d just get addicted.”

Dakota ran his hand through his own hair nervously. “s**t, I’m sorry.” He had a feeling he’d be saying that a lot. He knew how to be around sick and injured people, but his ability to socialize correctly left much to be desired.

Terrell tilted his head to one side. He licked his lips before flashing a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

As he watched him talk, Dakota could see the barest hint of a hole just above his chin. A piercing? He didn’t recall Terrell having one—or did he? Maybe during the first club meeting. A thin metal ring that rested casually on the center line of his bottom lip. Now he remembered. It was the one thing that indicated Terrell was a little more deviant, and maybe a little less heterosexual, than his clothing, mannerisms, and everything else seemed to imply.

While Dakota tried to discern the sexuality of literally every male who showed up to the meetings—though he silently hated himself for doing it—Terrell had been a toss-up. And merely attending a gay-straight alliance every week didn’t necessarily help. There were a surprising number of straight guys there, and even Aiden had said he would attend if it didn’t conflict with lacrosse practice.

Dakota made no attempts to mask the various elements of himself that projected to others who he was. He wasn’t sure he could do it even if he wanted to. He knew he spoke softly, and his feminine facial features—hazel eyes with long lashes, high cheekbones—didn’t help. Contrarily, he didn’t work out and rarely dressed nice. Still, no one in the club even asked if he was gay. They assumed—correctly—that he was. He only ever had to come out to straight people, and even then, in this day and age, most of them already guessed.

But looking at Terrell and watching him—his sexuality and other motivations were complete mysteries. Yet, the more Dakota thought about it, the more he was certain Terrell had once donned a lip ring. Why had he taken it out? He didn’t have it on the bridge or in the few times Dakota saw him walking on campus. And he didn’t wear one now. Obviously, a person didn’t have to be gay or bisexual to wear one, but it was one of those things you could do to advertise yourself to other men. Like a subtler approach than a tongue piercing. Did he only wear it for the group? A sort of “No, really, I’m one of you”?

Or maybe it was just a cheap ploy to get laid. Most of the older guys in the club seemed to show up entirely to scout for potential conquests. They attended the meetings religiously, but when it came time to help out with an event or project, they were too busy or simply nowhere to be found. Maybe that was Terrell’s plan. Maybe he did live up to that reputation. So, he took the ring out for his family, his straight friends, and the general public.

But perhaps Dakota was selling him short. Maybe he simply wasn’t that comfortable with himself. Maybe the club was the only place he felt safe enough to be who he truly was. Dakota realized that he was staring and turned away quickly. “I just don’t think people should have to be in pain all the time.”