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Chance Gregory, a young psychologist, became a substitute school counsellor where he met an emo boy named Blake who he wanted to carry out of his loneliness and agony.


Submitted:Sep 4, 2011    Reads: 189    Comments: 8    Likes: 4   


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"The Weirdo"

The door of the eighth class I have entered this morning opened up slowly as Mrs. Glasgow pushed it. I followed behind her, interrupting the class for a while. She talked with the teacher who's teaching inside then step to the centre of the class, me following obediently behind her.

"Kids," she clapped her hands three times, waiting for the class to settle down. An impossible effort, just like what has happened to the previous seven classes. "I'm here to introduce someone.

The class fell silent. I step forward so everyone can see me. A girl in the back row gasped and whispers "He's hot!" to her friend, though I don't think it can be classified as a whisper since I can still hear it.

"This young man standing here is going to be the substitute teacher for our school counselor. The previous school counselor, Mr. Duncan has been… out of here for a severe reason, we are looking for another school counselor. While we are waiting for the new counselor, Mr. Gregory is going to replace his position," explained Mrs. Glasgow, patting and smiling at me repeatedly. The old woman is not married, yet still believing that someone out there is actually expecting her. She winked at me like once in every minute and I would just respond politely by smiling.

"Mrs. Glasgow," a blonde girl with all pink clothing in the front row raises her hand.

"What is it, Mandy?"

"What's his last name again?"

"Mr. Gregory."

"Why won't he just use 'Mr. Gorgeous' instead? It fits him better!"

The class erupted in whistles and shouts. I just smile in respond. How can high school girls act this way toward their substitute teacher? High school changed too much since I graduated.

"Mrs. Glasgow, why don't he just be the new school counselor? Why just a substitute until you find a new one?" a guy, a jock as I can see, raises his hand for another question.

"Well, Mr. Gregory has just graduated from the college so he is now undergoing a practice in our school before taking his Master degree," Mr. Glasgow replied. "Well, have a good time with him, he will be in the counseling room. Talk to him like you would talk to any friend you have. He would love to help."

"Last question, Mrs.?" another girl pointed up her hand. Mrs. Glasgow nods to her, confirming her request. "What's his first name?"

Mrs. Glasgow looks at me. I smiled at the girl as I open my mouth to speak for the first time at the class. "It's Chance."

The girl nodded with excitement just as I finished saying the two simple words. Mrs. Glasgow thanked the teacher as the two of us proceed to the next classes.

---

So, why am I here? Standing among hundreds of school kids, feeling their glances at me, maybe some glares also, the uneasy atmosphere surrounding me like they're going to jump on me and press me to death.

First, I am going to be paid. Soon I am departing to Montreal to take my master degree, I have full scholarship, but I also need some money to fulfill my secondary needs. I no longer have parents, and none of their siblings want to help me with my needs. I'm alone, and I have to struggle alone. This school counselor job is giving me lots of money just by sitting behind the desk, waiting for the kids to come and consult their problems. And there is no guarantee they will be coming either.

Second, being a school counselor is the best practice for what I have been studying. I took psychology when I was in college. I have this interest to help people. Not being nosy and act like a saint, but I know everyone has problems. Problems aren't something nice, it bites on you while you still have to go through your life. Like trying to walk with a spike in your feet. From what I have been learning, teenagers, those who roam the high schools, have too much problems that they stated cannot be faced anymore. That's why they often commit suicide. I was a teenager, I know what it feels like when they ignored us or when our parents didn't buy what we want. Even though I was not having any problem in society and my parents were not there when I was in high school. They already died.

So, here I am. Twenty two years old substitute teacher, standing awkwardly among the school kids. They don't really welcome me, I think. I hope this eases up soon after I got into the counseling room and they start to treat me like any student will treat their school counselor.

In order to mingle better with them, I decided to have lunch in the cafeteria. It's really crowded in there, I wonder how the school managed to find enough stools and tables for all the kids.

I look around with the tray held firmly in my hands, trying to find an empty spot to sit. A group of kids, who consists of some jocks and girls with miniskirts waves at me, inviting me to come sit with them, which I accept gladly.

"Hey, Mr. Gorgeous," the blond girl said seductively soon after I sit down on the stool. I recognized her as the girl named Mandy in the eighth class I entered today.

"Still Mr. Gregory, Mandy," I replied calmly, making her giggle. "So, thanks for accepting me to sit here."

"No worries, we just want to know more, bro. You know, you're kinda popular even just being here for the first time, everyone talks about you," said the jock in front of me. I look up from my soup to glance at him.

"Seriously?" I asked. He nodded. "I don't even talk to you all directly."

"Oh, you did. To me," the girl who's sitting beside Mandy responded, she speaks calmly but I can see gleam of pride in her eyes. "You told me your name. Chance. Chance Gregory. How cute."

"Yeah, I did, just for saying two short words. And I don't even remember your face, sorry," I replied, smiling a bit. "I guess we should know each other. As she said, I'm Chance Gregory. I am going to be the substitute school counselor."

The kids started to tell me their name, one by one. I don't have to give much effort remembering their name, they have nicknames which are really short compared to their real names. I can just remember their nicknames, it won't be a burden for them also.

As I talked with the kids, who proudly told me their achievements, how popular they are, how many girls they have been sleeping with, I cast my glance to every part of the cafeteria, seeing many kids with difference in each one of them. I was going to stop looking around when I caught a sight of a boy wearing all black clothes sitting on the corner of the cafeteria. He's sitting alone, facing his food and eat slowly.

"Who's that kid?" I asked them. "He seems really alone."

"Nah, that's all those faggy emos wanted," Stan-the jock who greeted me before-answered. "They liked to be alone. No, they like to pretend that they like to be alone. Such fakers."

"What's his name?" I asked again, eyes glued at the boy.

"Not many of us knows, he doesn't expose himself and seems like not having any friends," Mandy answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I am a school counselor. The kid is not befriending anyone and it's not good, everyone especially teens need to socialize," I said, finishing up my food. "That's a bit… abnormal."

"He's the only emo kid in this school, no wonder he doesn't have any friends," another girl, I can't remember her name, said.

"Why don't you befriend him?"

"What? No way, he's an emo, means he's overreacting, means he's a fag, and means he is not popular!" Mandy responded immediately.

"Why won't you befriend him just because he is not popular? if you do, he will be popular like you all, and, problem solved."

"Where are we going to put our faces if we have that kind of friend? Ew."

Why, so high school has their own castes? The jocks and cheerleaders are in the highest caste and the emos are in the lowest caste?

"Thank you for the nice talk. I think I should be going to the room. I'll be there if you need me," I said, picking up the tray.

I cast one more glance at the emo boy who sits at the corner of the cafeteria. I thought he knows I'm looking at him through his black bangs which covered his eyes like a curtain. He immediately stands up, leaving the tray on his table and walks away quickly as though someone is chasing him.

I walked toward him, in a speed which is just as fast as his. He looked at me so dully, not even startled.

"What's your problem?" he asked. His voice is so low, husky yet he keeps it small, almost like a whisper.

"I've been watching you sitting alone there," I replied.

"I thought you didn't notice me," he snorted.

"I did."

"You didn't. Did you notice me in my class?"

"Which class are you in?"

"That's it. You don't even know. So stop pretending like you care and get out of my way."

As he pushes me away to continue walking I stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Meet me in the counseling room."

"Why should I go meet you?"

"You have a problem. I am the counselor now. You should talk to me about it."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll tell your homeroom teacher to give extra bad grades for your behavior."

He hissed. "Fine."

---

A few minutes after I arrived in the counseling room he knocked the door.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing his lean body, clothed with all black attributes. The t-shirt looks too tight, it's like sticking right on his skin. On his neck he wears checker patterned scarf.

When he saw my face he immediately turns around to leave.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"You just asked me to meet you. I've done it. Bye."

"No, sit here. Talk to me. Consult."

He gives an icy glare to me, though one eye is hidden behind his straight black bangs, it still gives a strange feeling to me. I point at the chair in front of me, indicating him to sit. With a murmur he throws his back on the chair.

"What's your name?" I asked, taking out a pen to write.

"Blake," came a short reply.

"Last name?"

"Chalifour."

Another short reply.

"Do you mind to tell me about yourself?"

"Yeah, I mind."

Silence. I thought he will start to talk eventually out of guilt, but after a few minutes, he just stares at me with his light blue eyes.

"Nice shirt," I started.

"Keep pretending, hypocrite. I bet inside you think that I'm a fag wearing too tight shirt which actually only fit for girls," he replied sharply.

"I didn't mean to…"

"What, what else you're going to insult? My eyeliner? My piercing? My pants?"

"Geez, Blake."

"Have I allowed you to call me by my first name?"

That's it.

"Stop talking like that to me. You are being too rude," I said, using the harshest tone I have. "Keep in mind that even if I'm new here, I am still your teacher and you should behave."

He look at me like someone had just slapped him on the cheek. His eyes bulged like they're going to jump out. His mouth slightly parted, revealing the piercing he has on his tongue, a perfect accompaniment to the one he has on his bottom lip.

"Sorry," he said, voice husky and low, as usual.

"That's okay," I said, sighing. "At least you can be sorry. I heard what they talked about you., you're in some… emo community right? I don't know much but you're not much into having friends, are you?"

"The world is too miserable," he said, barely audible. "The people inside is also too miserable. I won't befriend those kinds of people. I'm also not in any community. I think they are posers. Real emo got alone, not mingle around."

"So you isolate yourself from the others, just because you wanted to be called a real 'emo' guy?"I asked. He doesn't give any reply. "Geez, you know, it's not something you should be really proud of. Not befriending anyone is a social phenomenon. And especially, you are in high school. Aren't you supposed to have many friends just like all those other kids?"

"I became like this not because of wanting that kind of image. But because I feel better to be alone," he said. "Is it okay for me to talk to you about this? I haven't told anyone else."

"That's alright," I replied. "I'm your school counselor, I'm here for that purpose. Talk as freely as you want."

"Well… There were… some bad things happened in my past, what makes me wanted to be alone," he started. "Those kids are so happy it makes me jealous."

"Will you tell me about what happened in your past? If you don't mind," I said, looking inside his eyes. I can see the pain clearly.

"Too hurtful," he said shortly. "I don't want to tell anyone about it."

"That's okay," I said. "You have just known me like a few minutes ago. If you have known me better and feel easier toward me, you can tell me everything you want. Well, are you taking any class?"

"I have chemistry starting in 10 minutes," he answered, standing up from his chair, "Thank you, Mr. Gregory."

"Wait, Blake," I called. He turned to look at me. "Um, don't tell anyone, it's just you and me. I hope you can treat me as a friend so you can talk to me freely. Just call me Chance. I'm just like, you know, having only 5 years age gap with you."

"Chance?" Blake repeated. The corners of his pale lips raise up, forming a faint smile. "I'd love to call you that way. Thanks. I'm leaving."

As the door shut, I sigh deeply. Later the kid will open up more to me. I hope.

---

I made a schedule for him to come everyday to the counseling room. A lot of other kids come, and most of them are just here to tell about how popular they are, some of them even come just to ask my phone number.

Still I concentrate at Blake.

He needs treatment. Who knows if he became that way because he has some trauma? Since he doesn't want to talk to anyone else, I should be there to listen to all his complains.

Eventually he got used going to the counseling room after he had his lunch. I study much about emo music so I can have something to talk with him. And especially, looking for the way out of his emo-ness. I plan to change him to a normal teenager. This emo stuff is what made him tortured. Everyone mocked him because of this.

"Having a bad day?" I asked one day. He nodded lazily, his gaze focused to his black-painted fingernails. "What happened? Just talk to me like you used to do."

"I messed up my biology report," he answered. "We were having an experience. Nobody wanted to be my partner, so the teacher picked up a random guy to be paired with me. The guy just kept saying bad words to me, calling me a fag, emo, overreacting, anything else. He messed up what I write. So I have to write a new report."

"That's too bad," I sighed. "Does becoming an emo really bad?"

"I don't know, he said. "I just have to get used to it."

"No, you don't, fight for it. It's you, Blake. It's your decision to become an emo. It's yourself, your personality that you are living. Don't make people hate you, show that you are outstanding and you cannot be underestimated," I snapped. He looked at me, not believing what he had just heard.

"You… don't hate me because I'm… an emo?" he asked, his voice barely escapes his lips. "You accept me for who I am. Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah, that's it," I replied. Actually that's not really it. But in order to make him happy, I think that's the better thing to say. "That's your true personality. What I should do is accept you and befriend you, for you will be more open if you can move in your own space."

I don't like emo kids, to be honest. They pierced a lot, have tattoos, wear too tight clothes and drink. I think their lifestyle isn't something that is okay for teenager, and won't guarantee them to grow up being a good adult.

"You think that way?" He asked again, still skeptical. "Thanks, Chance."

"Yeah, anytime," I replied, smiling. "But hey, you really do care about your grades. It's a good thing."

"The woman who gave birth to me and the man who married her are both smart people. The woman was a teacher and the man was an engineer," he said with a dull tone.

"Why do you call your parents like that?" I asked. "Why won't you just say 'my mother and father'?"

"Because they are no longer my parents." He answered. His voice thick with pain and hate. "The woman just gave birth to me, and in order to do that, she needs a man to marry her and make love to her."

"Gosh, Blake. No matter what they are still your parents."

"You don't fucking know!" he shouted. Rage fills his eyes, his chest rises and falls to the unsteady rhythm of his breath. I was a bit surprised with his sudden change of mood. "They slapped me a lot, they told me that I have no talent. They told me that nobody wants me. They pushed me to study a lot, they forced too much knowledge in me. And then, what? They got divorced, they drank, used drugs and then they blamed me for all their frustration. And I didn't know any single fucking thing! Do you think those assholes can still be called 'parents'?!"

"Calm down, and mind your language," I said, trying to ease him down. "Where are they now?"

"I don't know, and don't even want to. I live by myself now," he hissed in anger.

"Well, everyone has their own problem," I said after some silent minutes. "Mine also can be classified as a serious family problem."

I take a long breath before I start. "I am the son of my father's mistress. My father's legal wife died of heart attack because of my birth. So my father married his mistress. And you know what? They killed each other out of frustration, leaving me alone at the age of twelve. Nobody fought for my custody, none of my father's siblings wanted to take me in for I was the son of his mistress. I live alone with their inheritance as my capital, at a very young age I learned how to manage my economic condition. How difficult is that? But I didn't surrender. I keep on living until I become like now. You can also be like me, Blake. You can even do better. You are young and have a strong pair of legs. Stand up, start walking toward your dream."

He looked at me with such a surprised expression. "I'm sorry to hear that, Chance."

"That's okay, I sometimes use it as a motor to motivate me so I can keep on going forward without looking backward," I replied. "So you have to feel grateful. Many people have worse life."

"Yeah," he said, biting his lower lip, flickering his tongue over the ring pierced on his lip. "Sorry for saying such harsh words."

"Emotion is uncontrollable, you know," I replied, smiling. "Sometimes it just blurts out without us knowing. Nobody can blame you for it."

"You're so nice," he whispered, only loud enough for me to hear. "You never snap at me or call me a fag, saying bad words to me. You never hate me for who I am. Even you don't laugh at my past. Why are there such a good-natured people like you living?"

"I'm not a good-natured person," I said, taking his hand into mine and place it on his chest. "It's all here. It's our feeling. I care for you. I want you to be happy. That's why I try to understand you."

He looked at my hand for awhile, then stands up, walks around the table and hugs me. I pat his upper arms gently and he nuzzles my hair.

"You're even better than my parents, no, than anyone else," he croaked, his voice completely helpless. "I'm so happy to meet you."

"We were born to help everyone," I whispered. "That's why I'm here as your school counselor."

The bell rings a few minutes afterwards and Blake excuse himself to go back to the class.

"Chance. Thanks for today," he said to me before leaving. "Thanks for letting me know much about you. You really are my best friend."

---

The time passes by and I realized I've been here for six months. With Blake growing closer and closer to me, he's like my little brother now. He even paid some visits to my house if he needs additional assistance.

It was kinda happy, he's open now, even just to me, I'm sure he will soon befriend some other kids. But then something surprising-well it is not, actually-was told to me.

"Seems like you're enjoying your time here, Mr. Gregory," said Mrs. Glasgow when I arrived at her office. "The kids also like you, right?"

"Yeah, this is a great job, I must say," I replied. Putting on a wide grin, I continued, "At first I think it's scary and the kids will hate me, but they don't. They treat me like a close friend."

"That means you're skillful enough to be a psychologist," she praised. "You can stand on your own. Even though you have to leave the kids if you're going to be a permanent psychologist. And you have to leave them eventually. Too bad, it's the time now."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Glasgow?"

"We've already found a replacement for Mr. Duncan. He will be the school counselor, a permanent one. Let this experience be something useful for your next study. And thanks for helping."

"What?" It was like something is being hit on the back of my head. "So… I will leave? When?"

"Next week to be exact," she smiles, widely, as if there's nothing difficult with it. And there's nothing, really. I am the one who thinks it can be so hard. I can't leave the kids. They rely on me. I can't leave Blake. I'm the only friend he has.

"Can't I just be the permanent counselor?" I asked absent-mindedly. All I want is to stay here, to be the kids' best friend, to be Blake's older brother, to look after him.

"What's wrong, Mr. Gregory? Why asking it so sudden? What about your Master degree?" Mr. Glasgow looks surprised. "We would love to accept your offer, but we also think of your future. You're still young. The school will not pay you well, you can be someone richer, with more prestige."

"I know," I said after some aborted words. "I'm sorry. I will prepare."

"Do I have to tell the kids?"

"Let them know by themselves," I said, standing up and walk out of the office. "Thanks, Mrs. Glasgow."

As I made my way to the counselor's room, I think of what should I tell the kids. Actually they don't need to be told, when they see I am not there, they will ask each other and then they will know that I have already departed. The only problem is Blake.

The boy is sensitive, like a fragile glass which will break only by a light touch. He's easily angered, his temperament is really bad. I just think how much pressure will he receive when he knows this. I made him befriend someone. Then I go away from him, leaving him alone again. What's good, when I tell him he should have a friend, so I befriend him, just to leave him alone? It's just meaningless.

So how should I tell him?

Hi, Blake, I'm leaving. You know what, I'm bored of you. So bye.

Won't work.

Sighing, I turn the knob of the door, seeing Blake sitting on my chair.

"What are you doing?" I asked, surprised. "It's not recess hour."

"I know, I just want to meet you," he replied. There's a hint of anger in his voice.

"What's the matter?" I asked again, as soft as usual, trying to coax him into telling his problem.

"You're going to leave, right?" when he said that his voice started to tremble. "I'm sorry, but I eavesdropped. It shocked the hell out of me."

I just stand there, mouth opened, as some pathetic sounds escape my lips. I can't say anything. The good news is, I don't need to tell him. The bad news is, I can see how he's going to react and it cannot be good.

"I know someday you're going to leave. However you're just a substitute teacher. I knew and I have prepared," he keeps his head ducked, his hand is moving somewhere under my desk. "And I knew this for a long time also, still I kept my mouth shut and deal with this. Even though actually I'm hurt."

He pulls out what he has been searching under my desk, raising it up high to show it to me. It's the articles I have been printing from the internet. "How to 'heal' an emo kid", "Urban dictionary: Emo always overreacted", "Emo? What's that? That's how those fags dress, right?" he opened my drawer and lots of other articles I've been reading spills out from it.

"You have never accepted me for who I am, Chance," he declared, like Franklin Roosevelt reading the Bill of Rights. "You think all this time I believed that you like me just the way I am? I know this. About two months ago. But you were so nice I just can't admit the fact that you're actually one of those people thinking that I'm some sort of overreacting kids dressing all tightly. You're just a hypocrite, Chance. I thought you want to be my friend, but you are actually thinking of me as your work. You need to heal me, you see me as a problem, a speck. I'm something weird in the society's eyes."

"Why are you thinking that way?" It's the only question I can say to defend myself.

"Why? Why, you ask?" he let out a scattered chuckle. Tears started to well up in his eyes. "Because you have these things! You are a counselor and are slowly turning me into some 'normal-looking' kids because you think, that way I could be in the society, I can be like those other fucking jocks doing, right?!"

"Oh my God," I whispered. "I'm sorry, Blake. That's what I thought at the first time. But seriously, time changes everything. I get to know you more, you're a nice boy, I should've known from the beginning. I just…"

"Fuck it, Chance," he cut. His voice cracked and tears started to roll down his cheeks. "I thought you were nice, I thought you are different. But I was wrong."

Both of us fell in silence.

He looked up to me, his cheeks black from those eyeliners. His tears ruined his makeup and he looks like Alice Cooper now.

"I spend everyday with you," he said again. "I got to know you more, and you treat me really nice. I… I was liking you."

Another silence. Then he speaks up. "I loved you, Chance."

I don't know what should I do, it's really sudden. I don't even know this was coming. I want to calm him down, so I walked toward the desk.

He suddenly sprang up, walks very briefly toward me and kisses all of my face. He's trembling so vigorously I need to support his back so he doesn't fall. His body is so small, so frail, like a thin glass-making me afraid I will break it to pieces that I cannot put back on again. I can feel his pale lips move all over my face. I can feel his tears dampen my skin. I can feel his black-painted fingernails clutching my shirt so tight his knuckles turn white. I can almost feel his despair, his anger, his hate, his disappointment.

"Chance," he whispers. "I loved you too much."

I can only stare at him, his sobs being the music surrounding the quiet awkwardness between us. What should I do? This kid is troubled, I need to heal him, but now I myself am being his trouble.

His lips brushed against mine, so light, almost feather-like. They feel so soft yet the ring pierced on the bottom lip is hard, adding another sensation. Pushing his kiss further, he started to tug on my bottom lip, desperately begging for an access to my mouth.

And my senses are suddenly back from their journey. I pushed him away, softly at first, but then I used some force. The boy clutched on my shirt so tightly, his teeth gritted on my bottom lip. It bleeds when he pulls away.

We stood there in silence, in confusion. I look at him, his lips slightly parted, his chest moving to the rhythm of his breath. His tears are still flowing, like a small stream. I reached up, touched my own lips and realized they're bleeding, though it doesn't hurt.

"Blake," I called. "We need to talk."

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Gregory. I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm really sorry."

He walks past me, still sobbing, out of the room.

I tried to look for him, but he isn't there anymore.

Then he never came back to the counseling room.

---

Six days passed and it's Saturday now, I have just finished packing. I will be departing to Montreal tomorrow, so I planned to spend this entire day just staying at home.

I sit on the porch swing, holding a can of beer and gazing at the orange sky. The afternoon breeze here must be different with Montreal. But I am not sure I will be missing this place.

As I started to doze, I heard someone approaching. He's not stepping on the ground, but riding on a skateboard, as I hear the sound of wheels. I opened my eyes to see who's coming.

"Hey, Chance," I narrowed my eyes, trying to recognize him through the orange glare of the sunlight. "It's me."

"Blake?" I asked, hopefully, though I'm not sure it's him. The boy's wearing a loose long-sleeved blue t-shirt and jeans. His hair looks brown under the sunlight but I think it's actually black. It's not really straight and it is not covering his eyes, which are not framed with eyeliners. It's so not Blake. Maybe just another student whose face I cannot remember.

"Just… dropping by to say farewell," he replied, not answering my question. "I came like this so you will be happy. You want to see me like this, right?"

"Blake, it's so not you, I'm like seeing another guy," I said, totally sure that it's him now. "You want to change your image?"

"Not really, I just… come like this for you," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Thought you'll be happy. You've always wanted me to be normal. Well, dressing like this actually makes me move easier, and it's a lot lighter on my body. I also don't have to straighten my hair, so I don't spend much time in front of the mirror to dress like this."

"But… don't you feel… lost?" I asked, concerned. "I mean, you are expressing yourself with your style, when you dress this way, don't you think that… you are not you anymore?"

"I do, I know, and it feels so weird, my neighbors don't even recognize me," he answered with a chuckle. "But you are departing tomorrow. I need to come meet you. I… just want to say goodbye. I've been such an irritating student to you."

"You're not, Blake, I'm the one who should be sorry, I didn't understand you. Like you said, all I thought at the first time is to transfer you to a normal student who has many friends, who looks happy and enjoying life. When I saw you the first time, you looked so gloomy, so lonely, yet you seems like didn't care. That's why I asked to meet you at the counseling room. But then as I learned to know you more, I discovered your true personality, I see how you enjoy being an emo," I explained.

"Really?" another chuckle. "That's okay if you think that I'm strange. I can accept the truth. Anyway, I'm sorry for what I did the last time we met. It was kinda disgusting when I think of it again. Sorry. I just… lose my mind. It should've been secret and I cannot tell you. But I did. You can call me a fag or whatever, but still, that's what I feel for you. Don't be disgusted."

"No. it's not like that, I don't think that's really… disgusting, you know," I replied, trying to look away from him. "It surprised me, I was all awkward and I don't know what to do, you clung to me, clutching me really tightly as if you would die if you let go. You were shaking so vigorously I need to support you, you were like a thin, fragile glass ready to break anytime, I were so afraid to do anything else."

"I was desperate for you," he mutters under his breath, though I can still hear it. "I craved for you. You took my breath the moment I saw you, actually. I was like all those other kids thinking you're hot and stuffs. But I know you won't respond so I didn't say anything. It was really wonderful that you can be my friend, I was really thankful. I am also happy that you don't hate me for the filthy act I did to you."

"No, it… it was actually kinda cute," I replied, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

"What?"

"No, it's nothing. Sorry," I looked away. "I said too much 'no' today, huh?"

"Chance, seriously, what was that you were saying? I just want to know if I didn't hear properly. Were you saying my act was… cute?"

I take a long breath, then, "Yes. It was cute. It was so sad and so sudden and was not sweet at all, but seeing you actually have the feeling to love somebody else, it's like showing your humanity. And I saw the cute side of Blake."

He looked at me, gawking, his blue eyes wide with surprise. I took a long look at his face, no makeup, no long bangs concealing that beauty.

I stand up from the porch swing, reach up to touch his chin and give a brief kiss on his lips. When I pulled away, he looks like he has just been touched by the Pope. Awed, surprised, eyes bulging like they're going to jump out.

"Oh, God," he said, touching his lips. "Oh my God, did you just…"

I don't say anything, instead just leaning forward and captured his lips again. When he finally understands what is happening, he circles his arms around my neck to start kissing back. And as the kiss gets more heated, I feel something wet on my face. I realized he is crying, so I pulled back to look at him.

"If this can just continue, I cannot tell how happy I am," he whispered, voice trembling. "But you are departing tomorrow. When finally I can find someone who wants me, I have to lose him again."

"Shh," I put my hand on his lips. "I won't be far."

"What the hell do you mean, you're going to Montreal," he chokes out, crying even louder. "I don't want you to go, Chance, I love you."

"Hey, calm down, Blake, seriously," I chuckled. He's cute when he starts to cry like that. I dig inside my pocket, showing him a paper. "I won't be far from you."

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "You got two tickets?!"

"Yeah," I grin sheepishly. "I thought this will be useless, but I just have the twitch telling me I should buy another ticket. So… are you coming? I'll help you with the school procedure."

"Of course yes!" he jumps in my embrace, his tears got more rapid, but this time in joy. "Such idiot, why do you even have to ask? Take me wherever you want to go, I'll follow."

I hold him tightly, feeling his warmth pressed against my body. We walked inside my house as the sun settled down. Every step feels different, every moment feels precious. I am with him now and it makes me complete, though this is not what the society wanted. Screw society, the society can't even guarantee my happiness.

But he can. -----||------





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