We’ve been standing here like this for ages it seems. Asher continues to keep me confined, all the while staring me down, looking for hidden answers. I want to shy away from him, pretend like this confrontation never happened, go on with pretending life is good and wholesome and wonderful. I can’t do that now. Not with him looking at me with those expectant forest green eyes of his.

“Asher, I really appreciate your concern. You’re my best friend, and if you want me to talk to you I will, but that doesn’t mean things will change or that I’ll stop. It would also help if you weren’t…you know...” I trail off, and shrug my arms which are still being held by him. His eyes turn soft, and he lets go of me reluctantly as if I’ll break if he isn’t holding me together.

“Okay, how about we sit on your bed and talk? Is that alright?” He’s so unsure of himself. He’s trying though, which is more than most people would do if they found out what he just did. Anyone with a shred of sanity would run screaming from a demented, pale, boy that thought cutting his own flesh was a nice, pleasant way to pass his time.

We awkwardly move to my bed, which is fairly large and comfy, in the far right corner of my room. I sit down where the bed meets the corner of the room. I grab my Spiderman blanket from the foot of the bed beforehand though; I need Spiderman at a time like this. Who wouldn’t?

Much to my surprise he sits directly in front of me, sitting Indian style as opposed to my ‘I’m trying to bury my face in my knees’ position, and you can’t forget Spiderman draped around my shoulders. I must look like such a kid.

We stare at each other for a moment. Then he sighs and runs a hand through his shaggy hair; making it look more tousled, and I dare say more attractive. But there is no time for such thoughts. I’m about to be interrogated. He clears his throat.

“I want you to stop doing this.” I fight back a sarcastic reply, no shit Asher; I wouldn’t need be pinned in the corner of my bed if you were ok with this. Instead I snort; it seems to get my point across. He flushes slightly. “I know that was stupid, of course you already know that don’t you? I just want you to realize that I’m serious. I won’t let you do this anymore.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything but I highly doubt that you can make me stop.” There, I’ve said it. Verbalized what I’ve been thinking this whole time and what he’s been so afraid of; that he can’t really stop me. He growls at this; if this situation was different that growl would be absolute music to me, but now I don’t want his determination, I wish it would go away.

“I’m going to help you stop, and I haven’t really thought this through but you’re obviously in need of some help, someone to talk to, and I can be that person. Please let me do this. I care so much about you” I can hear the pleading tone in his voice and I find that I can’t just dismiss his concern, he’s so obviously torn.

“Well, I mean, how are you going to go about ‘curing’ me?” This is a good question on my part. How the fuck is he going to watch me all of the time? He can’t possibly think that he can hover over me day and night.

He ponders my question, giving it serious thought. He’s so cute when he ponders.

“You said I would think that you’re stupid if you told me why you do this. Why you mutilate yourself. Why don’t you tell me and then we’ll see if you’re right. But I don’t think you are.”

“Why do you care so much?! I’m not trying to kill myself.” He looks slightly annoyed at my answer.

“You’re my friend, I care a lot! And did you not notice how fucking huge that gash is in your arm? Maybe you’re not intending to kill yourself, but what if you go too far one day?”

“I won’t” He doesn’t believe my answer, and really neither do I.

“Connor, why do you do this? What do you feel when you’re doing it?” Ah, he’s decided to be brash and upfront. It’s his style really.

I sigh; does he really want to know? Does he want to know that by cutting myself I see what I really am? Something ugly, it reveals my ugliness and self-hatred in a physical way, brings it to the surface, releases it. Every time I do it, it’s like I’m seeing myself in a new way, a real tangible way that I can’t really express to him.

“I guess it helps me to deal with things.” It’s kind of a cop-out answer, slightly true but still very vague.

“Deal with what?” Oh, so he wants specifics.

How about that I’m gay, or at the very least bisexual and I’ve had way too many wet dreams that involve him, Asher, my best friend in very compromising positions with myself. I live in a huge house with only my father; my mother died when I was ten of cancer. He doesn’t know I exist anymore. It’s hard to remember how he used to treat me before my mother’s illness, like I was his son, he adored me, was proud of me. Now he lends me money when I need it, works long hours at his law firm and pretends I’m some sort of boarder rather than his son. I look a lot like my mother; it must be hard for him to look at me. I don’t think he realizes that I miss her too.

“Just stuff, life in general.” I give him another vague answer. I’m surprised that he doesn’t get even more exasperated. Instead he’s calm, which is probably worse the more that I think about it.

“About your dad? I know he doesn’t pay much attention to you.” He’s a perceptive one.

“Yea, that’s part of it I guess”

“I’m not stupid though. That’s not the only reason is it?”

“No it’s not, but I don’t think that you’re ready to hear the other reasons. Fuck, I’m not even sure about some of them.” This is probably the most straightforward answer I’ve given him, he looks content, as though he thinks that he’s finally getting somewhere. Then he does the unthinkable.

“Is it because you’re gay?” Can I just say that I did not see that phrase coming out of his mouth next? To his credit he’s still calm and collected, while I have been reduced to an open mouthed idiot. He reaches over and gently closes my mouth; it’s a sweet and amusing gesture. Goddamn him! He then rests his hand on my knee. “I don’t care about that, I’ve known for a while.” How could he have known?! I’m guessing by the expression on my face he feels the need to explain. He better fucking explain. “You’ve never had a girlfriend Connor, never even checked out a girl in my presence, and I’m around you a lot. Then a couple of months ago I noticed you were looking at Mr. Carver like you wanted to eat him, and well I just put the two together and came to that conclusion.” Holy fucking shit, I’d been so scared to tell him and he already knew. And he’s fine with it; he’s acting like we’re talking about some homework assignment. I decide to just go with it.

“Mr. Carver has a nice ass.” I’m amazed when he laughs out loud. It puts me at ease. Mr. Carver is our English teacher; he’s fairly young and devilishly good-looking. I’ve wanted to eat him on more than one occasion.

“Yea, he does.” What did he just say?

“Are you implying that you’ve been looking at his ass too?” My head is swimming with the implications of his previous statement. He just flashes me a grin.

“You’ve never been the observant type have you.” This is just great. How did this happen? Asher, my best friend that slips up all of the time and tries to feed me meat when I’ve refrained from such practices for years, has figured out that I’m gay and that I cut myself, and I’ve managed to be blind to the fact the he is in fact batting for the same team that I am. How brilliant. This situation is just dripping with irony. Oh sweet irony how you invade my life.

A big thanks to my two reviewers!

However I want to clarify that Connor is the main character, the story is being told from his point of view. If there is any confusion about who is who in the story, well tell me and I’ll try to fix it.