I never used to be.  Sure, I used to lie to Mom, sneaking out after school to hang with Daph.  Shit, did she really think Art Club met three times a week?  And I used to lie to Dad, but those were sins of omission, really.  If he noticed the level of scotch going down and I didn’t immediately step up to announce ‘hey dad, that’s because I’ve been drinking it when you’re not home’… well, is that really a lie?  And yeah, I lied about Brian.  About going to Babylon, about seeing him, about what he meant to me. 

Shit, I’ve always been a fucking liar.

But now one thing’s changed.  At least I never used to lie to myself. 

The park bench is cold, the air brisk enough that it seems as though my breath should be freezing as it leaves my lungs.  I should have a warmer jacket.  But I figured I’d be at Collier’s party all fucking night, not curled on a wooden bench, knees drawn up to my chin, watching the wind twirl the swings round and round and round and pretending that the teardrops aren’t rolling down my cheeks. 

See?  Pretending.  Another self-lie.  The thing I do all the time now, just to get through the days and nights.  Fuck. 

Pretending that I have everything I need with Ethan.    Pretending that when he showed up outside the diner, he didn’t cut a class to check up on me.  Pretending that he trusts me more than that, even when I’m not so sure I can trust myself.  Pretending that letting him speak for me didn’t rankle... Not just once, but twice.  Pretending that his friends weren’t pretentious assholes, and pretending that Ethan’s condescending attitude towards me at the fucking party didn’t make me feel two feet tall. 

Pretending that if I try hard enough, I’ll love Ethan the same way he loves me.

Pretending that knowing Brian still needed me didn’t send a thrill coursing through my whole body, a thrill it hasn’t known or felt since I left him.  Pretending that my nerve endings don’t spark beneath my skin whenever he’s near.  Pretending that I don’t think of him constantly.  Pretending that the tuition payment is just a business deal.  Pretending that I don’t see the look in his eye when he watches me, that fucking look that I want to mean so much but I can’t believe, it hurts too much to believe.  Pretending that when the trick took his arm at Carnivale, a surge of possessive jealousy didn’t flicker and flare and then crash when I remembered he was no longer mine.  Pretending that things will ever fucking change.

Pretending that if I try hard enough, the love I feel for Brian will slowly fade. 

I should go home.  To Ethan’s.  It’s been hours since I left the party… hours more since I left Carnivale.  He’ll be worried about me. 

I look up at the cloudless sky. I told Brian once that I wasn’t some scared little faggot.  He agreed.  But a line from some cheezy 80’s song keeps running through my head…  “And a thousand starry eyes have caught me crying.”  Right now, I feel like nothing more than a scared little faggot. 

Maybe if Brian was here… he’d be able to convince me otherwise.  If nothing else, he’d hold me while the tears flowed.

I’ve got to keep trying.  There’s a dozen clichés running around in my head too, and they all tell me the same thing.  You made your bed, now you have to lie in it.  You’ve got to play the hand you’re dealt.  You’ve got to roll with the punches. 

I‘ve never been a quitter.  I don’t know how to do anything other than keep plugging away.  I’ve learned how to build up my defences, and I’ve learned how to mount a pretty impressive offensive, too. 

I can dry my own tears.  I can go back to Ethan’s.  I can find comfort in my art, the one thing that never fails me.  I can continue taking each day as it comes, slowly learning to trust my instincts again.  I can have faith that no matter what situation presents itself, I’ll know what to do.  I’ll know, because I‘ll re-learn how to trust my heart. 

I can keep trying.  Keep trying and keep trying and keep trying, until the day I’m ready to be honest again.