Freed, page 8
“Dylan, can you please go with Miss Humphries?” she asks.
And just like that, all of the eyes on the newcomer turn to me and I feel my face flush with heat. I hear a few whispered voices floating around the room and then somebody whistles low as if they know who she is and why she’s here. I gather my things as quickly and quietly as I can, then dash down the steps and out of the room to where Miss Humphries, whoever she is, waits for me.
As I step over to her, she gives me a look of utter disapproval that freezes the blood in my veins. Whoever she is and whatever this is about, I’m guessing it’s not good.
“Please follow me, Mr. Whitford,” she says.
I do as she asks and listen to the hollow click of her high heels on the tile of the virtually empty hallway. I can’t help but think this is how a prisoner must feel as he’s walked down to the death chamber before being strapped into the chair.
“Can you tell me what this is about?” I ask.
“Dean Hilton would like to speak with you,” she answers curtly.
“Dean Hilton?” I ask as I feel my stomach fall into my shoes. “About what?”
“You’ll have to speak with her I’m afraid.”
She walks on, her steps as sharp as her tone of voice and with each click-click-click of her heels, my sense of apprehension grows exponentially. Margaret Hilton – or the Grim Reaper as she’s known in some circles – is the Dean of Student Affairs. It’s a lofty title for what she actually does – handles disciplinary matters and hands down punishments to offenders. And she’s notoriously heavy handed when it comes to doing that. She’s a big believer in spare the rod, spoil the child.
This tells me that although I have no idea what this is about, I’m totally and completely fucked.
* * * * *
I knock on the door and step back, waiting patiently – more or less. My stomach is churning wildly and my heart is beating as hard as if I’d just run a marathon but for the first time in what feels like weeks, my head is amazingly clear. I don’t know why, it’s not like I’ve had any sort of a mental or emotional breakthrough about anything, but for some reason, I just feel a sense of clarity I haven’t had before.
The lock clicks and the door opens about a foot. Wes fills the opening and stares at me, his face shrouded in shadows cast by the darkened interior of his apartment. I can see the emotion in his frosty blue eyes though. I see anger and confusion but more than anything, I can see the hurt in his eyes.
“What do you want, Dylan?”
His voice is rough, hoarse, and he makes no move to let me in. I slip my hands into my pockets and clear my throat as I lean against the wall across from Wes’ doorway.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I say softly.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
I shake my head. “I disagree.”
Wes sighs. “Fine. Then talk.”
I look up one side of the hallway and down the other, my discomfort growing with every passing second. But I force myself to stay right where I am and take a few deep breaths to keep myself calm and my wits about me. What I have to say is important and no matter how uncomfortable I am, I need to say it. I owe Wes at least that much.
“Can we talk inside?” I ask. “Please?”
Wes stands there staring at me so long, I get the feeling he’s not going to let me in. But then he turns and walks back down the hallway gingerly, still in obvious pain as he leaves the door open behind him. Taking that as my invite to come in, I follow him in and close the door behind me. A light flips on in the living room and when I step in, my heart sinks into my stomach.
It’s been a few days since everything happened but Wes is still a mess of bruises and scrapes. Some bruises are a vivid purple on his cheeks and also coloring his arms. And judging by how stiffly he’s moving, his body is probably covered in more of the same.
He’s sitting on the chair in front of his desk, leaving me to take a seat on the couch. I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and look at him, collecting my thoughts for a moment before I begin.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Nothing’s broken and there was no internal bleeding,” he spits. “Thankfully.”
I nod and swallow hard. “I’m sorry that happened, Wes,” I say. “I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
“That’s great,” he snaps. “I’m sure that’ll help me heal faster.”
“I never wanted that to happen.”
His eyes widen and a look of disgusted shock crosses his face. “What in the hell did you think was going to happen, Dylan?” he sneers. “You asked your goon – somebody, who’d already punched me, oh by the way – to drag me outside. What did you imagine he was going to do?”
I shake my head. “I honestly hoped he was just going to make you leave the bar.”
“If you really believe that, you’re either very naive or very stupid.”
“Wes, I –”
“I’m not interested in your apologies,” he growls. “They’re meaningless to me right now.”
Silence descends over us for a long moment as Wes continues to stare daggers at me. I knew he was going to be upset but I guess I didn’t expect him to be this mad. It’s knocked me off the script I’ve had in my head this whole time and I don’t know how to get it back on track.
“I’ve been suspended,” I say just to fill the silence in the room. “A week. Spencer and the others are out for two.”
Wes scoffs and shakes his head. “Gee, I’m sorry you got such a hard slap on the wrist,” he sneers. “How will you ever recover?”
“What do you want from me, Wes?” I snap. “I didn’t decide on the punishment. Should I ask them to fucking expel me?”
Wes looks startled for a moment as if he didn’t expect me to shout back at him. He probably didn’t since I don’t have the moral high ground here. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and let him, or anybody, try to make me feel shittier than I already do. I know I fucked up and I’m trying to apologize for it. Rubbing it in even more is just pissing me off.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “No, of course not.”
“Then what, Wes? What can I do to fix this?”
His bark of laughter is sharp and bitter. “Why would you want to fix it? You seem pretty determined to keep living a lie.”
I sigh. “Wes, I don’t know what’s –”
“You don’t want to know. That’s the problem here,” Wes snaps. “You are a gay man who cannot accept your sexuality.”
My stomach twists and turns around on itself, forming knots in my belly that are painful. Just hearing those words said out loud terrify me. Acknowledging them to anybody will change my entire life – for the worse in almost every single way.
And yet, I can’t deny that there’s something between Wes and I. There is something about him that makes me feel like I’m right where I should be. Being with Wes feels normal and natural. He puts me at ease in a way nobody else ever has. I feel comfortable with him and like I can be myself – like I am myself.
I hate the fact that I feel like this. It flies in the face of how I was raised and everything I’ve believed – or at least, what my father would have had me believe. I hate that I feel nothing when I’m with a woman but feel everything when I’m with Wes. He makes me feel alive in ways I’ve never felt before and even sitting here with him now, I feel more like myself than when I’m with anybody else.
“I wish I could just walk out of here and never speak to you again,” I say.
“So why don’t you?”
“Because I can’t,” I tell him honestly. “It would be so much easier for me but I can’t.”
“Is it because when you’re with me, you feel like you’re finally somewhere you belong?”
I hesitate for a moment but then nod and say nothing more. He doesn’t need me to say anything because he already knows it’s the truth. And even though it causes me no small amount of grief to acknowledge, I know it is too.
“I’m going to make this easy on you, Dylan,” he says. “We can’t see each other. When you leave, we’re not going to see each other again.”
“Wes, I –”
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “No, you obviously can’t accept who you are and I don’t see that changing anytime soon Dylan,” he says. “And I can’t let myself get caught up in that drama. I won’t. I’m not going to keep getting my ass kicked because you aren’t strong enough to admit who you are.”
“It’s not that easy, Wes,” I snap. “If I come out, I lose everything. My father will disown me, he’ll strip me of my inheritance –”
“And that’s what you care about most? That’s why you’re willing to live a lie and pretend to be something you’re not?” he yells. “Because of money and your fucking inheritance?”
“I’m glad you can stand on your moral high ground and fucking judge me,” I yell back. “But what in the hell am I supposed to do if my family cuts me off, Wes?”
“How about you learn to stand on your own two feet?” he snaps back. “How about you grow up and learn to be a fucking man?”
I recoil like he just slapped me across the face. I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this. I really can’t. Who in the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t know what it’s like to have so much on the line.
“You don’t get it,” I tell him. “You just don’t fucking get it.”
“Right. Because my daddy wasn’t some massively rich guy, I lost less when I made the decision to start living for myself,” he fires back. “I lost my family when I decided to start living my truth and be the man I truly am.”
I open my mouth to reply but no words come out. I’m angry and frustrated he can’t see or understand the dilemma I’m in. Yes, I’d like to stop living a lie and I’d like to live a life where I’m comfortable in my own skin. I’d like to live a life where I’m actually happy and not having to fake my way through everything. But without my inheritance – without my family name – what am I?
“You should go,” he says.
“Wait. Wes, I –”
“As I said, I am not going to get caught up in your drama if you can’t even admit who you are to me,” he says. “And believe me, until you come to terms with who you are, your life is going to be filled with nothing but drama.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Wes, come on. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about,” I tell him. “You need to go.”
He gets to his feet and ushers me to the door, shepherding me out into the hall. The door closes behind me with a resounding thud and I listen to the clicking of the locks being thrown. I stand there looking at his door for a long moment, waiting and hoping he comes back out. After a few moments though, it’s clear he’s not coming out.
With a sigh, I slip my hands back into my pockets and walk out of his building, feeling more than a little sorry for myself.
Chapter Ten
Wesley
I couldn’t sleep last night after my conversation with Dylan. I tossed and turned, my mind spinning a million miles an hour, and I could not get him out of my head. I replayed everything we talked about over and over again. And the more I think about what we said, the more I see how irrational I was. That’s what happens when I let my emotions get the better of me.
Oh, I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to get caught up in his drama. If he can’t come to grips with who he is and stop pretending to be something he’s not – especially when his denial has real world consequences for me – then I’m not going to be involved with him. I can’t.
But, knowing how difficult it is to come out – especially when it’s to your intolerant and homophobic family – I could have been a little more sympathetic to his situation. I know how difficult it was for me to come out. And I remember what it cost me. I remember it every day when I can’t call my family. Every holiday I don’t spend with them. And I don’t think I grew up in a family that seems as insular as Dylan’s – which would make it all the more difficult, I’d imagine.
All of that to say I probably could have been more compassionate. A little less harsh maybe.
If Dylan wants me to be a part of his life, he’s going to have to prove it to me. He’s going to have to show me that he can stop pretending to be somebody he’s not and be who he is. I don’t intend to take another beating for him again – ever – so he’s going to have to prove that he’s not going to sell me out to his friends just to hide his secret.
Dylan is going to have to prove himself to me in a thousand different ways before I’ll consider being part of his life again. It’s only because I can relate to where he’s at right now and everything he’s going through that I’m even going to give him this chance. I know if I’d had somebody there when I was first learning to accept myself for who I am, things probably wouldn’t have been so difficult.
So if I can spare Dylan some of that pain and frustration by being there to help him, to offer a shoulder to cry on, or some advice born of my own experience, I feel obligated to try.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I reach out and open the door to find Dylan standing there, an expression of hope and anticipation on his face.
“Hey, thanks for coming over,” I say.
“I didn’t think I’d hear from you again,” he replies.
I give him a rueful grin. “Well, a sleepless night provided a little perspective,” I tell him and hold the door open. “Come in.”
I close the door behind Dylan and follow him down the hall to the living room. We take the same seats we were in last night and sit in tense, awkward silence for a long moment. I’m not quite sure how to start what it is I want to say. I don’t want to give him false hope and I want to make sure he understands that he has a lot of work to do if we’re going to be in each other’s lives.
“I was about to take off,” he says as if searching for something to break the ice himself.
“Oh? Where are you going?”
He shrugs. “Since I can’t be on campus for the next week, I figured I was going to head home for the week.”
I nod. I hadn’t thought about what being suspended meant and wasn’t aware he had been tossed off campus for the week. I guess I caught him at the right time since I have no idea how I’d feel about this situation next week. My feelings may have hardened and not seeing him for a week might have convinced me I was better off without him.
I want to ask if he’s going to come out to his family but quickly stuff down that compulsion. I realize now that if this is going to work, this has to be a process. I can’t expect him to blow up his entire world in one fell swoop. If this is going to work, I need to be patient and realize this is going to require baby steps.
Auddie thinks I’m crazy and that I’m wasting my time. Not to mention she thinks I’m putting myself in a position to be hurt again. After a long conversation, she said she understood why I’m risking putting my heart out there like this and it’s because, at the end of the day, I care about Dylan. I care about him a lot and I’m willing to help him walk this path until all avenues with him have, in my mind, been exhausted.
Dylan looks at me expectantly. I called and asked him here, so this is my show and I know I need to get to it.
“I asked you to come over because I don’t like how our conversation last night ended,” I tell him. “And I think I was maybe a little harsher than I should have been.”
He gives me a tight smile but says nothing. I can still see the conflict in his eyes – even as he sits here, he’s warring with himself. I can tell he’s fighting with his natural impulses and trying to overcome a lifetime of programming. I have to at least give him credit for trying. It’s a start – a baby step in the right direction.
“Dylan, the truth is, I care about you,” I announce. “There’s something special about you and I can’t get you out of my mind.”
He purses his lips and nods. “And I think somewhere in this fucked up wiring in my head, I care about you, Wes. I do, but…”
His voice trails off and he shifts uncomfortably on his seat and looks away from me. I’m not going to bail him out or let him off the hook though. It’s time for him to start being open and honest with his thoughts and feelings. Like I said, that’s the only way this is going to work.
As if he knows I’m waiting for him to continue, he lets out a long breath and clears his throat again.
“I do but I’m scared,” he finishes his thought.
“I understand that,” I respond. “When I was in your place, I was terrified.”
He nods and a look of relief crosses his face knowing he’s not alone. I give him a smile of encouragement, glad we’ve moved past the hollow denials and vehement dismissal of the mere suggestion that he’s gay. I’m glad that he’s not still insisting that he’s straight and I see it as a good sign that he’s not denying something I know to be true.
“Look, Wes, this isn’t going to be easy for me. And it’s not going to be an overnight thing,” he says. “This is going to take some time.”
I nod. “I lost sight of that for a minute but I know that, Dylan,” he says. “I know it’s not going to be an instant thing. But at the same time, if you truly want to take a step forward with me, I need to see you moving forward on your own.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He’s as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him but I see a resolve in his eyes I’ve never seen before. It’s something that heartens me greatly. Dylan looks up at me, his face one of utter torment. He looks for all the world like he’s staring down a firing squad.
“The night outside the bar – when I saw what happened and what they were doing to you,” he begins. “It flipped a switch in me, Wes. It made me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world and I hated myself for what happened to you because deep down, I knew it was my fault.”
