Theo

Confess

Sitting on the counter, I heard the banter from the living room and watched vacantly as Phil did the dishes.  He didn’t complain when I took my seat, didn’t even suggest that I help.  Nothing.  Swinging my feet, I could still see the mark.  He had kept his head down most of the day, carefully keeping the collar of his hoodie up so his mom wouldn’t notice.  Katarina would, she’s the type to notice everything, but since she’s getting wine wasted with mom, I was pretty sure she was too blurry to notice much of anything.  Like me, sitting here, watching her son slave away at the sink.

    It’s not . . . enough.

    I want to beat him up.

    I don’t even understand it myself.  He liked it.  He liked Harrison hurting him.  I could just shake him.  My nails dug into the edge of the counter where I was seated, head falling to the side as I gazed down at him speculatively.  He was struggling with a big pot.  Struggling.  That’s how wimpy he is.  So weak.  What kind of guy lets another guy do that to him?

    It’s so annoying.

    And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

    I ground my teeth, imagining the smug look on Harrison’s face when I saw him next.  So proud of himself.  Knowing that there would be no consequences.  Because Phil likes it.

    Nah, I might just beat the s**t out of him anyway.

    Would Phil hate me?

    “Stop.”  It was so quiet.  I almost didn’t catch that he’d said it.

    “What?”  It was harsh, biting.

    He visibly flinched but turned anyway, glaring at me.  “Stop staring at me.  Go in the living room if you’re not going to help.  Just tell them I took over.”

    I just narrowed my eyes, taking in his reddened cheeks.  He looked like he was going to cry again.  That’s all he seems to do lately.  I don’t get it.  “Just hurry up.”  He looked so angry.  I could literally see him shaking with rage.  It made me c**k an eyebrow.  Did he want to fight?  Really?  We could head to the back yard right now.  I . . . I wasn’t even sure what I’d do with him, to be honest.  Pin him down until he calmed down again, probably.  It’s not like I could outright hit him.  That would make me just as bad as Harrison.

    No, even then, Harrison is still worse.

    “I want my headphones back.”

    “You mean my headphones,” I said, tone one of finality.

    “Violet bought them for—“

    “Violet is my sister,” I said calmly, glaring down at him.

    His mouth parted, then he grit his teeth, setting the pot down and abruptly turning to walk out of the kitchen.  I blinked, watching as he snuck back the living room, grabbing his jacket as he quietly opened the door and left the house.

    Did he just leave?

    I waited a few minutes, thinking it was some kind of joke.  He was just trying to scare me into helping with the dishes.  Just trying to make me panic.  After ten minutes I realized he wasn’t coming back.  Seriously?  What the hell?  Jumping down from the counter, I looked at the halfway finished dishes and groaned.  Maybe I pushed him too far this time.

. . .

After what felt like two hours of cleaning the kitchen, I headed out to find mom cuddled into dad’s side and Katarina was curled up against mom, both fast asleep.  They always did this when they were together.  Dad looked up from the couch, raising a brow.  “Where’s Phil?”

    “Upstairs,” I lied.  “He was tired.”

    “Oh, okay,” he shrugged, stroking mom’s hair.

    Violet was just holding her hot cocoa, smiling happily up at some Christmas cartoon.  Dork.

    While everybody was distracted, I grabbed my jacket hanging by the front door and headed back through the kitchen, pulling it on and checking my pocket for the spare key to the house before heading out back.  Circling around the house, I went through our back gate and started the walk toward Phil’s place.  That bastard.  I had half a mind to hide his controllers from him and watch him lose his mind for a couple hours.

    When I got to his house, I knocked on the door.  Of course nobody answered.  Glancing up toward his bedroom window, I saw the light was on.  He was definitely home.  Grimacing, I moved around the back of the house where I knew his back window could easily be opened if you jiggle it just right.  We’d had to use it a couple times when he forgot his keys in the past.

    After shaking it for what felt like forever, I finally slid it open, flinching at the screeching sound that came with it.  Wasn’t loud but was similar to nails scratching a chalkboard.  Awful.  Climbing in, I slid it shut before moving through the kitchen and up toward the steps.  His home is like my home at this point, they’re pretty much interchangeable.  As I climbed the steps, I heard voices.

    Harrison.

    My pulse quickened, anger pulling at me.

    If he was hurting him, I really would throw him out the window.  No f***s given.

    Getting closer I started to hear a little better.

    “—didn’t know he was going to hate me.”  Phil was crying.

    I grit my teeth.  “It’s okay,” Harrison cooed.  “We weren’t sure how he’d react, remember? I thought we went through all the possibilities.  Rejection was one of them.”

    The hell are they going on about?  “I know, it’s just, I didn’t think he could hate me.”

    “We’re not sure that he hates—“

    “I don’t want to lose him,” he cried.  He was sobbing.

    My chest hurt at the sound.  “C’mon, don’t cry,” Harrison purred, that snake.  I could almost imagine his arm over him, pulling him closer, pretending to be a decent human being.  “Theo is just set in his ways.”  Wait, what?  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.  He doesn’t hate you.  He probably just hates your lifestyle.”  What the f**k is he saying?

    “I didn’t choose to fall in—“

    The floor squeaked beneath my foot and I cussed internally, grimacing.

    After a few seconds, I stayed completely still, careful not to make more noise until I heard Harrison say, “He doesn’t know that you love him, right?”

    “How could I tell him?” Harrison whimpered.

    Tell who?  I blinked, realizing he loved somebody.  Somebody that wasn’t Harrison.  So then why was he messing around with Harrison?

    “Yeah, maybe it’s for the best if you don’t.  He’s kind of temperamental.”

    “He hates me.”  I could hear the pain in Phil’s voice.  Why would somebody hate Phil?

    “I’m sorry,” Harrison muttered.  And then it was quiet.  I thought about interrupting somehow when I heard soft sounds.  I recognized the small smack of lips parting.  They were kissing.  My stomach twisted when I heard the shifting of bed sheets, a small moan.  Whoa.  How did he go from saying he was in love with somebody to making out with Harrison?

    “He hated it right?” Harrison asked.

    There wasn’t a response and then a sharp intake of breath and a whimper.  “That . . . hurts, Harrison.  I told you not to . . . do that again.“

    He hurt him.

    My body just kind of moved on its own.  When I pushed open the door, I didn’t hesitate to knock Harrison in the head.  He hit the ground hard and I jumped on top of him, reeling back to punch him when Phil caught onto my arm to stop me.  I jerked my arm back, knocking Phil off of me as Harrison scrambled to block himself, knowing that I wasn’t going to stop.  Not this time.  I punched him in the forearm and he flinched, trying to roll to his side.  “Move your f*****g arms,” I was muttering, grabbing his wrist and moving him to the side so my fist could make contact with his head this time.  He cried out.  He should.  He should cry.  When Phil plowed into me, it was enough to knock me sideways and Harrison managed to slither out from under me like the snake he was, making a run for the door.  I pushed Phil out of the way, moving to chase him but he latched onto my leg.  Like a little kid.  I shook my leg, groaning at the sound of him stumbling down the steps.  The prick.  Running away like a weasel.  He got away again.

    Phil was shaking as he clung to me and I realized he was crying again.  Always crying lately.

    Panting, I gripped his shoulder, literally peeling him from my leg before slumping to the floor next to him.  “What did he do to you?” I demanded.  He shook his head.  Even as he did it, his hand was already clutching his side, giving everything away.  Gripping his shirt, I ripped it upward to find another bite mark on his side.  I should’ve hit that guy a couple more times.  Gripping his jaw, I made him look at me.  “No more,” I growled.  His eyes were full of tears.  “No more Harrison.”

    He blinked, tears falling on both sides and gave a small nod.

    He looked so worn out, like he’d been crying for a while.  I didn’t get it, I really didn’t, but I knew he was hurting.  “Who do you think hates you?” I wondered, looking him over curiously.  Who could hate Phil?  He’s the least confrontational creature I know.  His dark eyes flickered up to me and, after a moment of staring at me blankly, he laughed.  I pursed my lips, confusion tugging at me as he laughed, clutching his side, flinching when his hand went where that stupid cannibal had sunk his teeth into him.  “What’s so funny?”

    He shook his head, wiping at his ears.  “Nothing.”

    I gripped his arm, pulling him out of the room to the bathroom.  He plopped down on the toilet seat and I pulled out the hydrogen peroxide, squirting it onto a cotton ball, and pushing his shirt up.  He bit his lip as I wiped at the wound, and I felt annoyed that he’d drawn blood.  “I can’t believe you,” I muttered.  “Inviting him back after he did that to your neck.  And you’re a f*****g liar.”  I looked up at him, watching his bottom lip trembled.  “You don’t like it.”  Tossing the cotton ball in the garbage, I blew on the wound, wondering if I should bandage it.

    “I-I’m fine,” he muttered, pushing his shirt down.  He got up and I washed my hands before following after him into his room.  He’d laid down and I found myself frowning down at him.  He must’ve felt me looking at him before he muttered, “Why are you here?”

    “To fight with you,” I said honestly, climbing onto the bed.  “Argue.”

    “Why?”

    I rolled onto my back, shoving my hands under my head.  “Because you’re being an idiot.”

    He turned to glare at me, still leaking from his eyes.  “I’m not—“

    “You’re messing around with a guy who hurts you because you’re too scared to tell the guy you like that you like him,” I said, frowning at him.

    His eyes widened comically before he turned his back to me.  “Wait. H-how much did you . . . hear?”

    “Enough.”  He was shaking beside me.  I didn’t really know what to do with him crying like this so after a few seconds of struggling, I finally reached out and patted him on the head, ruffling his blonde hair.  “Hey, it’s okay.”

    He sniffled.  “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

    “I couldn’t hate you.”

    “I was going to tell you.”

    Ah, he was going to tell me who he liked.  “Tell me now.”

    “It was right before we met.”  Huh?  Since the sixth grade?  “In the hallway.  You and a group of friends were goofing off.”  Oh s**t, he likes somebody from my group.  “And I . . . I don’t know, Theo.  I meant to tell you but you’re so intimidating.”

    Intimidating?  “We’ve been friends for years.”

    Another sniffle and he curled further forward, in on himself.  His voice was muffled as he whispered, “How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with them?”

    I froze.  I heard it wrong.  Obviously I heard it wrong.

    “What?”  He was shaking. Curled in a ball, hiding from me, I realized.  “Phil.”  I tugged at his hair and he whimpered.  “Phil, what did you say?”

    Muffled, cracked, and caught in a sob:  “I love you, Theo.”

    I blinked, staring up at the ceiling.  Okay.  What did I do wrong?  Obviously I misled him somehow.  “I’m strait.”  I took my hand from his hair, pressing it to my face.  “I’m like, really strait, Theo.  I like women.  Redheads.  You know—“

    “I know,” he cut me off.

    “I’ve never . . . like, with guys—that’s not my thing.”

    “I know.”

    “Okay.”  I didn’t know what to say.  “Okay,” I repeated, running my hand over my face.  God, I . . . I was really mean to him today.  I’ve picked on him a lot.  No wonder he . . . I made him cry.  I thought he was just hypersensitive but he likes me.  Loves me?  I . . . what do I do?  “I don’t hate you.”  That’s what he was scared of right?  Me hating him.  He asked me if I was disgusted with him in the past.  He thought I would think he was disgusting.  Should I think that?  I tried to imagine how the guys would react to him, the cruelty he would probably face.  But this was Phil.  It’s not like I really cared what other people liked or did with who or whatever.  Maybe if it was some random guy confessing to me, I’d probably be weirded out but . . . I don’t know—it’s different because it’s Phil.  “You’re . . . my best friend, Phil.”

    “I thought Trey was your best friend.”

    He sounded jealous.  “Nah, I think you passed him up.”

    “Really?” he wondered.  He sounded hopeful.  Happy.  He sniffled.  “You don’t hate me?”

    “Are you going to cook rice and beans for me when I ask?”

    He turned to glare at me and I just grinned at him.  “So that’s why.”

    “Trey doesn’t cook for me,” I chuckled.  “You know how I feel about food.”  Phil smiled then and I thought I definitely preferred that to crying.  “So . . . we good?”

    Phil nodded, rolling back to face the wall.  “I can’t believe you attacked Harrison.”

    “Just wait until I see him at school,” I grumbled.

    “Leave him alone.  He did it on purpose, you know.”

    “What?”

    He shook his head.  “Never mind.”  I was going to bug him about it when he sat up, climbing off his bed.  “We have to go back.  Mom will freak out in the morning if we’re not there.”

    Oh.  Right.  I just nodded, getting up to follow after him.