I just want to make it clear that the title of this story as well as the bolded lines at the beginning of each chapter are from Underoath's "A Boy Brushed Red Living In Black and White". With that said... read and review, please?

CHAPTER ONE

I always knew you were such a sucker for that.

Seventeen years. Seventeen long, arduous years of doubt and sheer frustration, only to bring me to this point in time; this moment, this conclusion.

I must be gay. There’s no other logical explanation for my actions. If this is the path I was destined to stumble across, then so be it. From now on, I am sexually attracted to males. No more female business for me. Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad…

Mr. Macrimmon, forty-eight years old, unemployed, fat, and clad in only boxers, strolled down the walk and parked three garbage bags at the foot of his driveway, belching loudly and rubbing his bulging stomach in satisfaction. I instantly decided that I was no longer attracted to males.

Then what reason could there possibly be for acting the way that I have? It doesn’t make sense. I am attracted to girls, I really am. It just never works out, and it’s always my fault. Maybe I’m not ready for commitment, or maybe I just get bored after a while. But whatever it is, I have to admit that I’ve never been in a relationship for more than a month. On top of that, I’ve never been dumped. It’s always me, it’s always me.

It starts off really smoothly—mutual attraction, that is. It all goes downward from there. I seem to lose interest after a short while, and then I break it off. I wish I knew why. It’s not the girl’s fault; there’s nothing wrong with any of them. There’s just something that happens that makes me want to get out as fast as possible. I feel… scared? No, that’s not the word. Trapped. I feel trapped, as though I have something better to do but there’s no way of getting out of the current commitment.

Poor Tara. She deserves better than me anyway.

“Scott?”

“Yeah?”

Lex’s head appeared out of the window below, gazing up at me.

“I thought I heard you,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. She climbed up and sat beside me on the slanted roof.

The McNeely’s have a very interesting house, if I do say so myself. There are all sorts of tricky places; inside and outside. Lex’s bedroom window, for example, when used correctly, can easily provide access to the roof. Jake, her younger brother, can get to his parents’ room through a hole in his closet. A few years ago, Lex and I discovered a trap door to what we suppose is the attic. Her parents don’t know about it, and it’s a good place to store alcohol for a short period of time.

This roof is my comfort place. It’s where I come when I need to chill out and think things through. Sometimes Lex joins me up here; sometimes she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. It’s a place to clear my head and at times I’m better off alone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, evidently after realizing that I wasn’t interested in a conversation.

She does things like that. Ever since we were little, she’s always done whatever she can to make me angry. Most of the time I don’t let it get to me. From time to time, I tell her exactly what’s on my mind and it seems to shut her up and stop her from annoying me for a short while. Her parents used to say it was just a phase, when she turned ten she’d get over it. Ten’s long since come and gone, and I don’t see the slightest change. She’s still the same old Lex, filled with passionate intensity and rivalry. Everything we do is a competition and there are no exceptions. Nonetheless, I still firmly believe she’s the best friend I could ever have. There’s never been anyone else but her. Maybe it’s due to the fact that she lives across the street, or perhaps there’s a deeper connection. Whatever it is, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“I asked you what was wrong,” she repeated. Her patience was short tonight.

“I said nothing,” I mumbled, refusing to look at her. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I had acknowledged her.

“I know you said nothing. That’s the problem; you never say anything. I think we have a bit of a communication problem, Scott,” Lex said in a motherly fashion.

“Funny, that’s what Tara said.”

Was I even ready for her to know about Tara? Was I even prepared to be interrogated until the subject was worn thin? Probably not, but it didn’t matter. Lex would have gotten it out of me anyway. Better sooner than later, I figure.

“You broke up with her, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, more of an uncertain statement.

“What’s it to you?”

Lex sighed. “In the words of Scott Fillman, nothing.”

This was going quicker than I had expected. Usually, I would have to explain who, what, where, when, why, how, and it still wouldn’t be enough. It was unusual that she would just leave my own personal business alone and untouched—

“It’s only been three weeks. I thought you’d at least wait until the summer,” she added.

Ah, of course. I wouldn’t be able to leave until she’d given me her two cents.

“I mean, this is your fourth relationship in two months. How can you plow your way through girls like that? Is it fun for you? Don’t you even feel bad?” she continued.

I remained silent. She wasn’t done yet.

“Then they all come crying to me. ‘Oh, Lexi, how can you even be friends with him? He’s such a pig, he only cares about himself and he won’t talk to me. Can you ask him something for me, Lex? You’re the only one he’ll talk to.’”

Anecdotes. Points to Lex for usage of a good writing tool when proving a point.

“I just don’t understand why it’s always the nice girls that you decide to hurt. The ones that care about you are the ones you always push out.”

“I don’t push you out,” I said quickly, trying to get a few words in.

Lex and I are opposites—while I find logic and planning to be the best way to get to the bottom of things, she prefers to act without thinking. That goes for speaking too; she isn’t always thinking straight when she lectures.

“But you do, Scott, you do. I can’t even tell if you’re listening to me when I talk to you. You don’t even look at me. You just stare straight ahead at—what are you staring at?”

“Mr. Macrimmon’s a fat slob,” was all I said. I could feel Lex’s gaze leave my face and turn to the man across the street, who, currently, was watering his almost-nonexistent garden in a stained white wifebeater that barely covered the rolls of fat on his stomach, boxers, and beaten-up slippers. I don’t understand how he could be content with himself.

A snort emerged from Lex as she attempted to suppress her laughter. Finally, I felt comfortable to turn my head in her direction. At the sight of her expression, I chuckled. Once she noticed me laughing, she stopped. I stopped.

“So that’s it, then? You’re just going to keep pushing everyone away and continuing on the way you’ve been all year? Jumping from girl to girl to endless girl and disregarding hurt feelings and caring friends? Where do you think it’ll get you?” she ranted.

“One question at a time,” I said calmly.

She sighed exasperatedly, not for the first time. She shifted her position on the roof and adjusted her ruffled white skirt. She appeared to be contemplating her question thoroughly. At last, she asked, “What do you want, Scott?”

The one question I wasn’t sure I could answer.

I watched the flowers sway with the wind. My mother made me plant those flowers. She’d taught me how to do it correctly. It wasn’t that hard, really. As long as they were standing straight, they would grow to be tall and strong. Even so, when an unexpected gust of wind interferes and blows them long and hard enough, the flowers aren’t straight anymore. They lean to the side, looking broken. Defenseless. Weak.

I am weak.

“I just… want,” I paused, thinking things through.

“What.”

I shook my head. “Somebody. I just want somebody.”

A certain kind of somebody. Not the kind that gives you reassurance when you’re watching a scary movie, and not the kind that encourages you to do well in all your endeavours. A different kind of somebody.

Lex scoffed. “That’s bullshit, you’ve got plenty of somebodies. Why don’t you do something with the ones you already have?”

Her hints were subtle, yet very clear. She felt neglected. Perhaps, dare I say it, jealous? I vowed to spend more time with her.

“Hmm?” she asked impatiently.

“Question session is over,” I murmured. Before she could say anything else, I hopped over her and maneuvered my way down the drainpipe.

If I know one thing for certain about Lex, it’s that she won’t give anything up without a fight. No, she followed me down that drainpipe as adamantly as ever and she trailed behind me as I marched through my house and upstairs to my bedroom.

“Why do you run from all your problems?” she asked, sitting comfortably on my bed and watching as I paced around the room.

For some reason, pacing helps me to gather my thoughts. Perhaps the circulating blood rushing around my body from a few moments of slow and collected walking somehow stimulates my brain.

“I don’t run from my problems,” I replied coolly. “I simply avoid them until I’ve regained my composure and thought things over.”

“Oh really? Well if you actually ‘thought things over’ like you say, you wouldn’t keep making the same stupid mistakes over and over again. You’re an idiot, Scott. You really are.”

It’s these cold, hard facts that are constantly given to me on silver platters by close friends, family members, and often complete strangers that keep me humble. I’m sure if I thought about it for long enough, I’d come to the conclusion that I was indestructible; that I could conquer the world.

I stopped pacing.

“Thank you, Lex, for those kind words. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to eat.”

Changing my destination, I walked towards my door.

“Can I come?” came a soft plea.

At that moment, I knew all was forgiven. She wasn’t mad. She could never be mad for long. That’s Lex; easy to anger but just as easy to simmer.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I answered.

With that, she bounded happily after me down the stairs.