Take Me By The Hand

Territorial Pissings

I lean my forehead against the metal locker, hating the rush of familiarity when I slam it forward again. It feels like I've been in this situation before. I've fucked up and I don't know how to fix it. So I've resorted to helplessly beating my head against the tarnished yellow locker, attempting to literally knock the thoughts out of my head. But I only succeed in getting lightheaded and nauseous. What the hell is up with this nausea? Is it a symptom of cancer? Like possibly having some malignant tumor in my balls wasn't enough, let's add a weak stomach and vomiting into the mix.

Zacky has been avoiding me since my trip to Atlantic City. He won't answer my calls or texts. I've left him a total of twenty-three voice messages in the past six days and so far, the most contact we've had was when I practically cornered him at his locker on Thursday and tried to explain. He shoved past me and went to class without a single word. I even tried going to his house, but his mom told me he was out with a friend. At the time, I had contemplated calling him and acting like an over-possessive boyfriend, but that idea faded quickly when I realized that would only push him away more. So I waited for him to come to me.

It's Tuesday now, and he still hasn't spoken to me.

The final bell rings and I look up as students file into the hall. I can feel the bump forming on my head from my fight with the locker, but ignore it and make a beeline for Zacky as soon as my eyes land on his familiar form. I cross my arms, standing beside him, but don't speak. After a second, he sighs, glancing at me. "What?"

"You've been avoiding me," I state. I try to make my voice sound tough, but some of the hurt I feel sinks into my words.

"Yes," Zacky admits and more pain shoots through me. "You've got new friends to spend time with. You don't need me."

I roll my eyes and shift my weight. "Bullshit, Zacky. I told you that it isn't like that."

Zacky pushes his locker door closed and turns to face me. "Then what's it like?" He demands. "You don't want to come see me because you've got plans with Gerard. You won't tell me where you're going or what you're doing. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

"You're supposed to trust me." I emphasize the word trust, irritated by the accusing tone that laces his words. "You want the truth? I have some shit going on right now that I'm not ready to share with you."

"But you can share it with Gerard?" Zacky's forehead creases. "Why? What is so private that you can't tell your own boyfriend?"

I sigh, defeated. He has a point. I should be able to tell him these things. He should be the one to take me to the medical center and hold my hand when I'm getting blood drawn. Not Gerard. I close my eyes. "Can we go back to your place?" I ask. "I'll..." I take a deep breath, slowly letting it out and looking back at Zacky. "I'll tell you everything."

Zacky hesitates before nodding and turning down the hall without another word. I try to ignore the pang in my chest when his hand brushes mine but he doesn't make the move to intertwine our fingers. 

•••

My heartbeat involuntarily accelerates when the motorcycle comes to a stop in front of Zacky's house. When I climb off, I follow him inside and upstairs to his bedroom, trying to decide exactly how I'm going to tell him what I need to. I take a seat on the edge of his bed as Zacky closes the door and turns to face me. One leg bounces somewhat spasmodically as I search for words. "Umm..." I look up at Zacky and force a smile. "Can you sit down? You're making me nervous just standing there."

After a second, Zacky folds his arms across his chest and moves to sit in the desk chair a few feet away. Again, I ignore the distance and bite down on my lip. "Two weeks ago, my friends were joking around-- that's all it was, was a joke. Mikey was talking about how bitchy I was being and some weird eating habits and Gerard thought he was being funny when he suggested that I was... pregnant."