Shattered Beliefs

by Maggie Jane Schuler

  “We don’t want fuckin’ faggots in here,” he yelled. “You can sit there and let this AIDS ridden fucker breathe the same air, but I won’t.”

  I assumed he was talking about me and, not being the type to avoid confrontation, I confronted him. “Is there a problem?”

  Mark had an imposing physique, well over six-feet tall and built like a Trojan warrior. I didn’t know his sport of choice, but he would be a formidable opponent. Yes, he was the typical handsome jock, immaculately styled, short black hair, tanned, gleaming white teeth and hench to boot. Despite the moment at hand, I did wonder what he was packing in his jeans, but he was an arsehole which negated every other positive aspect about him. I watched the clench of his fists as he strolled toward me. “You’re the problem, gay boy.”

  “I don’t want any trouble in here, or I’ll call the cops,” Seth warned.

  “There won’t be any as long as he finds somewhere else to eat.”

  “I’m about to eat my lunch, so if you don’t mind...”

  “Take it with you.”

  “What part of I’m eating my lunch did you not understand?” My tone deepened.

  “You’re not welcome here, fag.”

  The other jock rushed over. “Come on, Mark, we’re gonna get busted if the fairy calls the cops.”

  I’d had enough and pushed my chair out from under the table. “Listen to me, dickhead…”

  “Who the fuck are you calling—”

  I picked up the large wooden peppercorn grinder and held it perilously close to his face. “Any more trouble from you and I’ll ram this so far up your arse it’ll take a team of surgeons a week to find it.” Hatred didn’t colour my world, and it certainly wouldn’t exist here.

  Mark appeared flabbergasted by my bravado, but I meant every word I’d said.

  “Guys! Come on...” Seth appeared at the table. “I want you both out of here, right now or I’m calling the cops.”

  “Homophobia does not sit well with me, Mark.” I deliberately used his name to piss him off. I was about to deliver a low blow, but nothing he didn’t deserve.

  “Homo—what?” he replied.

  “It means dislike of or prejudice against homosexual people, but you’d know that already, being what you are.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Most closet cases are the same,” I spat. “They force their despicable hatred onto the one thing they wish they could be, and in my case, a raging faggot.”

  He had no words, but Seth grunted, trying to stifle his laughter.

  “Fuck this shit,” Mark replied, anger bursting from every pore. “I won’t be coming back to this fag’s palace,” he roared before storming away. I noticed the red bandana in his left back pocket. I had all the ammunition I needed and fired it at him with pleasure.

  “Oi, Mark,” I shouted, catching his attention. He turned, his eyes narrow slits. “You do know shoving a red bandana in your left back pocket means you’re into fisting...” I allowed my words to drift into the ether.

  Mark’s deathlike pallor told me I’d scored a home run. Their exit was silent and swift.

  Seth lost his composure and erupted into raucous laughter while I savoured my victory.

  “I’m so sorry about that.” I didn’t have an ounce of regret, but manners mattered. “I would never usually cause such a fuss in public. It’s very un-British of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He got what was coming to him.”

  Since stepping out of the closet almost three years ago, I’d admired plenty of guys; some from afar, others in a more up close and personal manner. But in a relatively short space of time, I experienced more than most in my twenty-one years of life.

  I’d always known I was gay but didn’t see why I should have to announce it to the world. It was my private business, after all.

  Still, I wasn’t the most effeminate of guys so assumed my sexual persuasions weren’t blatantly obvious to the people around me.

  But the time came for them to know, and as I wasn’t overly keen on the idea of repeating my news, I decided a family gathering would be the right time to tell them my supposed secret. So, I blurted it out, expecting fireworks, tears, tantrums and a lot of foot stamping where my parents were concerned. But the reality of the situation was altogether different from what I had imagined.

  I tapped the side of the cut glass champagne flute carefully. Clink Clink. I held the room in the palm of my clammy hand.

  “I’ve got something to tell you all,” an announcement greeted by a sea of blank faces.

  My dad took a small sip of his champagne then spoke. “What is it, son?”

  Just say it, and fast. “I’m gay.”

  A few shuffles of feet broke the silence and left me wondering if I’d made a huge mistake.

  I looked to my mum, but she fell unusually silent. The fact her eyebrows almost met her hairline told me it was news she hadn’t been expecting tonight of all nights.

  “Bloody hell, is that it?” Dad exhaled loudly.

  “Yes! What else were you expecting me to say?” I replied a few octaves higher than usual.

  “Jesus Christ, Edward, I thought something awful had happened, or you’d crashed the Porsche again.”

  I prepared for the mounting of my high horse, ready to wage war. “I tell you I’m gay, and you’re more worried about the fucking car.” My hand found its way to my hip. I wasn’t in the least bit camp, but my flair for the dramatic was unparalleled. When emotions ran high, I tended to screech and gesticulate wildly with my hands—more than necessary.

  “Language, dear,” Mum scolded while finding her voice. “We do not wish to hear any effing and jeffing, thank you very much.”

  “It’s typical of this family,” I complained. “I bare my soul, and you stand there and pretend you already know.”

  “We do already know,” my sister, Felicity snapped before delivering a fake yawn. “Big bloody deal, yah.”

  “Flick is right, dear.” Mum glanced my way with the I pity you look in her eyes.

  My sexuality appeared glaringly obvious if the collective and resounding response hailed any truth, sending my blood pressure skyrocketing toward the ceiling. “What do you mean, you know?”

  My mum opened her arms; the first to offer me a reassuring hug. “Edward, you’ve never had a girlfriend, and it wasn’t so long ago you followed that gardener of ours around like a love-sick teenager—how could we not know?”

  “I DID NOTHING OF THE SORT!” Outrage burst through my veins, slopping expensive champagne onto the polished floor of the drawing room.

  Dad looked at the mess but remained tight-lipped.

  Mum ignored the spilt drink. “Oh, come off it, darling, you were positively salivating, and I don’t blame you, he was scrumptious.”

  “Oh, God, Mother, Jago was positively rank, yah,” Felicity added, unhelpfully. “Smelly old tramp he was.”

  “Don’t be mean, Flick, he is at one with nature.”

  “If you say so, Mother.” She turned and headed toward the table filled with various platters of cold meat.

  I held myself as a staunch pescatarian, so the idea of consuming any of it was repugnant.

  “Take no notice of your sister.” She patted my hand. “You know she hates any attention not focused on her.”

  The Baines-Tennant death stare achieved nothing because she busied herself by shovelling a slice of pink-tinged roast beef into her mouth.

  “You’re a glutton,” I accused.

  “And you’re a puff,” she volleyed back without missing a heartbeat.

  “Come on, you two.” Dad played referee as usual where Felicity and I were concerned. “Don’t start, not tonight.”

  Felicity made her way along the table and ignored the proceedings.

  “Now, darling, don’t you feel better getting all that off your chest?”

  “You’re wrong about Jago.” Fuel fired in my veins for the lack of enthusiasm over the insight my
parents quelled into a life I thought I kept hidden, or the fact Mum and I shared the same taste in men. “Hmmph!”

  What else was I supposed to say?

  My moment in the spotlight lay in tatters, but remembering the handsome, eco-warrior—the one who tended to the acres of grounds my family owned—ferociously destroying my virginity behind the tool shed was enough to help me get over any ill will I felt at them ruining my coming out.

  She kissed me on the cheek. “Daddy and I appreciate your honesty, darling, but we love you just the same no matter who you fancy.”

  As it turns out, my explosive coming out likened itself to more of a fizzle.

  Remembering that particular evening brought a smile to my face, and although I was hopping mad my grand coming out had been gazumped, it led me to where I am now in my life. The past is past, but the present, and what could be has me excited.

  The gift presented to me in one Milo Garcia—he exuded an air of mystery that hit me like a drug to which I could easily form an addiction.

  Cast aside the dark, brooding Latino looks that fit into place in a glossy magazine or featured daily on one of those dodgy daytime soaps Americans love so much; this guy resided in the stuff of dreams—my wet dreams.

  Spotting him for the first time in my philosophy class, it was hard to avoid the rippling muscles, his well-formed biceps enhanced by the tight fit of his white T-shirt or the pull of the material across his rock hard pecs.

  Instantly, I decided he was somebody I had to know.

  Aiming to make conversation with him happened easily. But the boy, adept at swerving my attention, only served to magnify the intrigue and mystery shining from within.

  I formulated what I considered a cunning plan and cornered him in the library. His own fault; after all, he volunteered the information.

  It was the last class of the day, and I kept a watchful eye as he stuffed his books inside a tatty old brown rucksack and rushed for the door.

  Despite my trim physique, I wasn’t the athletic type, far more cerebral in fact, but I could move gracefully when the need arose. Seconds later, I walked out of the room in step with him. He offered a quick glance, nodded, then turned away.

  I wasn’t giving in so easily. “So, what do you have planned during your free period tomorrow morning?”

  “Naw much.” His Texan drawl sent tingles coursing through me to parts that should behave while in public. “I usually study in the library after my morning jog.”

  I caught the look of instant regret. Word vomit. The first thing that had sprung to mind after my not so random question. He spoke the truth with no time to process a lie.

  “The clever and sexy type, huh?” I cringed inside, reprimanding myself for my piss-poor attempt at flirting because Milo appeared skilled at deflecting what made him uncomfortable or perhaps, he thought I was pulling his chain.

  “Listen, dude, nice talkin’ to ya, but I gotta go.”

  In a whirlwind of aftershave, he fled. I inhaled the delicious aroma.

  I berated myself for the missed opportunity, so hatched the ingenious plan to corner him in the library. It worked, but only in a fashion.

  When I arrived the following morning, my heart sank. I’d made a concerted effort to look irresistible, and he wasn’t there, or so I thought. As I turned to leave, deflated, I spied him huddled in a quiet corner. I swiftly headed his way.

  He never noticed my approach as his nose was buried in a book.

  “Good morning, Milo. How are you today?”

  He appeared irritated at the disruption. “Hmm, Edward.”

  “I’m not disturbing you, am I?” The interruption brooding in his brow and down the sinew of his muscled arms, but how else were we supposed to have a conversation without him dashing off and leaving me hanging?

  “It’s fine, wassup, man?”

  It was sink or swim time.

  “I wondered if you fancied grabbing some dinner with me on Friday?”

  The awkward silence that followed intensified my already shattered nerves.

  “Sure.” His single word response shocked me.

  Then I was flummoxed, questioning why he turned me into a quivering wreck? Never a nervous one before meeting Milo threw me off-kilter.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why not? I know a great little burger joint outside of town.”

  Outside of town. A curiosity as to why washed over me for a moment, though it didn't matter because a date settled with him inked on the books meant the most. Or was it a date?

  He wrote a series of numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “My cell. Send me yours and let me know what time to pick you up and where.”

  “You drive?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll message you as soon as I get back to my house.”

  He appeared surprised by my living arrangements. “You live off-campus?”

  “Yes, I live in Kissing Hills, which is about twenty minutes away.”

  “Isn’t that one of those gated communities?”

  “Yes,” I replied, not wanting to delve into the nitty-gritty of how I afforded to live in such an affluent address. “I feel secure there.”

  “Cool.”

  “It was too late to rent anywhere else by the time I decided on Fort Worth.” I slipped the out and out lie to Milo out of sheer embarrassment. Studying abroad and away from the grasp of my family rested entirely on their approval of my living situation. Suitable premises could not be secured closer to the college, so my father waved his cheque book in the air, paid substantially more than the palatial property was already valued at, and then added a couple of extra zeros to ensure the current occupiers vacated within the month. Money did make the world go round, but in this case, freedom was worth considerably more to me.

  He quirked his head. “Accommodation?” A smirk lifted on his lips, and a chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You’re lucky.”

  “Thankfully, my parents foot the bill for my education and living expenses.”

  “I see.” And he dismissed me. “Look, I really need to get back to this and finish the chapter, so message me, and we can set up a time on Friday.”

  Had I said something I perhaps shouldn't have said? “Okay, I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Me too, man.” He opened the book and continued to read.

  I shuddered inside, feeling silly and turned away without another word.

  The very idea of me asking any guy out made for good fodder, quite preposterous and unheard of in my world; I’m Edward Baines-Tennant: serial shagger and master of the one-night stand. I was a lot of things, but the loving kind wasn’t one of them.

  My friends back home, in my small village of Milton, Cambridge, would never believe this strange turn of events.

  Why? I’m the boy constantly in lust and never growing a hair of emotional attachment. I’m young and therefore have plenty of time to meet the man of my dreams. But on the other hand, I sensed a uniqueness in this Latin God-like creature before me. And as Poseidon was lured by the sea, I was inexplicably drawn to him.

  Flutters in my tummy spoke in tongues to me as I was about to set sail into the unknown. Still, there was a niggling doubt I’d already muddied the waters slightly. He was under the impression I was playing the lonely student card, looking for friends, when what I truly desired involved something more along the lines of burying my cock deep inside his arse.

  Or was I trying to convince myself that carnal knowledge drove my desires, not an actual connection?

  Yes, Milo Garcia roamed the earth as the most beautiful guy I had ever set eyes upon, but underneath the superstar-like facade, hovering beneath the surface, I could see the silent, brooding type, masking an intelligence that could rival my own. A meeting of minds was something I’d yet to experience, but one I would welcome wholeheartedly.

  Maybe that was the most intriguing aspect of him?

  I wasn’t sure of anything, but come Friday, one way or another, I aimed to
discover what made Milo Garcia tick.

  Chapter Three

  Milo

  I pressed my white T-shirt against my nose, checking to make sure I grabbed a clean one. Jeans with a grease stain lay on my bed; they only had one streak down the left leg, and our washer broke yesterday. One more thing my sperm donor of a father couldn’t fix and left me holding the wrench.

  “What’s got you showered with your hair spritzed up?” Mom’s long brown hair hung heavy down her back. The dark shadows under her eyes worried me. For a woman nearing forty she wore her stress too close to the surface. Once more affirming she fueled the plan for the operation to leave the deadbeat behind. Something she should have done at eighteen when he left for college and left her knocked-up.

  “I’m meeting a friend from school for dinner.”

  “A girl kind of friend?”

  “No. Not a girl type of friend.” I air quoted the girl and sassed my answer mimicking her inflection.

  “Then who? Seth? You don’t fuss about your T-shirts with him or worry about your obsession with all things mechanical dripped on your jeans when you leave this house to go with Seth.”

  “He’s an exchange student.”

  A single brow lifted. “Oh, someone new? From where?”

  “England.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What?”

  “What?” She pretended to pick up my clothes, but I rarely left a mess.

  “He sits next to me in class, and I think he’s lonely, so he asked to hang out.”

  “Okay. Be home before midnight. Your dad won’t be happy if you’re late.” I nodded and understood what the translated code meant; If he’s been drinking, and you don’t follow the rules, I bear the brunt. The last thing I wanted was for him to lay his hand on my mother.

  With a kiss at the door, Mom straightened my leather jacket and gave my hair a finger through. Her brave body language failed her when I stared down into her deep chocolate eyes. The same eyes she duplicated when she made me. Every day the stress became worse, but something told me she hid a bit of the truth, and it killed more of her each day.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and as my fingers gripped it, I knew who the text glowing on the screen came from without looking. Guilt stabbed at my heart, knowing Seth loved me like a brother and keeping my Friday night dinner with Edward from him would indeed piss him off. We’d known one another all our lives and shared everything—no secrets between us. Until now.