The Art of Faking Straight

Chapter Nineteen

         Guilt can be a funny thing. It can eat at you until you feel compelled to come clean to whoever you did wrong. Guilt is closely related to your conscience. A conscience can be a good thing, yes, but to many it can also be a terrible thing. It may make you more aware of what is deemed right and what is deemed wrong, but when you're already very aware of both it does you little good. It's like a parasite, but instead of sucking up your blood to use for its own it sucks away the core of your very being: your soul.

         I've been keeping busy by doing things of little to no importance. Yet, no matter what I choose to do, nothing occupies my time long enough for me to stop feeling bad. . I've never been the sort of guy who lies to their best friends. I mean I tell white lies, everyone does every now and then, but I have never excessively lied to anyone about anything. It's not that I don't lie because I know it's wrong, it's just that can't help but feel bad each and every time I do. It's simply how my brain works. Usually it's not too awful, always manageable, but this is by far the worst its been.

         Despite how much it feels like its killing me, I've been lying to Jack all week. He's been continuously asking me about what happened on Friday at his house, but I just can't bring myself to tell him so I've been using excuse after excuse after excuse.

          He's my best friend, he may be understanding, I know that, but I just can't do it. I know I need to, but it's just too damn hard. I know he knows something isn't right because he's never before cared about what I do at parties and who I do it with, but getting the balls to tell him is harder than it seems.

         For the first time in the last few days I catchJack at his locker. He's usuallyevading the entire Senior locker section on his way to class. Instead he's been using other kids' books or somehow managing to beat me to the lockers before school starts.

         But today, I caught him.
         
         “Hey Jack,” I say casually as I stand beside him as he digs his books out of his locker. 

         “Hey,” he says, but there's no enthusiasm in it. He doesn't care.

         “What're you doing?” I ask even though I can clearly see he's getting his books.

         “Going to class..”

         “Sorry, I'm just a little out of it,” I tell him honestly. 

         “Yeah.”

          “Really rough week.”

         “Yeah.”

         “And then there's this history test next hour that I'm pretty sure I'm going to-,” I say, but he cuts me off.

         “So look Liam, I keep hearing things about Friday night. Wanna talk about them? I just want to know something, anything.”

         And there it is again, he's asking me about Friday, not letting a chance to bring me misery slip past him. Straight and to the point, that's the way Jack is now.

         Biting my lip, I try to think of a reasonable answer but can't come up with one. Eventually I say, “I don't know what you're talking about,” but it sounds false even to me so I know he sees right through it.

         A flicker of pain crosses Jack's face, but it disappears just as suddenly as it appeared. “Please just tell me what happened,” Jack says persistently. The look he's giving me makes me want to tell him, I swear I want to, but what will he say? What will he think? More importantly, what will he do?
   
         “Nothing happened,” I say, and I'm so used to saying it now that I almost believe myself. Almost.

         “Okay,” he says. “I'm gonna get to class then.”

         And I just let him go, because I'm running out of lies.