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"Unnatural Tendencies" - Chapter 5

By: Ty the Fox

I didn't get much sleep that night. Each time I closed my eyes and dozed off, I saw Darryl splayed out like a rag doll beneath the oak in the courtyard, coughing up blood. Those big, blue eyes, dolefully and silently crying out for help, bored twin holes in my chest and pierced my heart. And then, before I could rush over and save him, a faceless assailant swung down one last time with his bloodstained bat and bashed his brains in. His eyes went glassy and dull. His attacker disappeared. I was alone once more.

I couldn't get the images out of my head, or the sickening feeling of helplessness tightening my chest. After about three hours of fitful tossing and turning in my bed, I gave up and resigned myself to the only thing I thought could quiet my restless mind: booze. I snuck out of my room and stole away to my parents' liquor cabinet, where I found a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's. God, that shit burned as it went down, but I drained it in a few long swigs nevertheless. Ugh. I winced and doubled over, retching - I really thought I was going to just vomit the whiskey right back up - but somehow I managed to keep it down. To rely on a drug to quell my angst was about as hypocritical a decision I could make, given how I inwardly scorned my classmates for their wanton drinking habits, but tonight I couldn't care less. And, it's hard to argue with results. It only took a few moments for it to kick in, and when it did it hit like a freight train; holding onto the nearby banister for support as the empty bottle slipped out of my hand, I stumbled back into my room and flumped onto my bed. The whole world was spinning...spinning, swirling colors that gradually faded to black.

"Get your ass out of bed, now!"

"Unngghh...please just close the damn blinds." I threw my blanket over my head and turned to face the wall - the sunlight bearing down on me was making my blinding headache even worse.

My mom ripped the blanket off, prompting me to bury my face underneath my pillow. Fuck the sun. "It's twelve-thirty in the afternoon, Robert. Get up!" She tried to pull the pillow away, but I steadfastly held on; it was my last line of defense against the light streaming through my window.

Wait a minute - twelve-thirty? But today was Thursday, a school day...suddenly, the entirety and enormity of the yesterday's events came crashing in all at once. Being outed. Beth. And...crap. Despite my hangover, I came out from under my pillow and sat up, looking over to my mom...who was holding the empty bottle of Jack in her hand with an accusatory glower on her face. I knew she was expecting me to say something, so I stammered, "Ma...I'm, um, sorry about that. I...I don't know what came over me."

Her unflinching glare made clear how ineffectual my apology was. "We tried to wake you up for school, but you were completely passed out. What the hell were you thinking?" Her voice started to crack, and I could see her eyes starting to well up with tears. Great. The only thing that could make me feel worse than having her angry with me was seeing her cry. "We called 911, but then we found this" - she indicated the bottle in her hand - "and they told us to just lay you on your side and keep an eye on you, based on your condition." She dabbed at her moist eyes, then sat down on the bed next to me and rested her paw on my leg before continuing, "Robbie, this is so unlike you. What's going on?"

I let out a deep sigh. That was a very complicated question; how much should I tell her? My gut was telling me to lie outright and say nothing of the events of the past couple months, let alone the disturbing bit of information Beth had shared with me yesterday, but that seemed a bit cold. She deserved to know something, at least. After a few moments of organizing my thoughts, I replied, "Ma, if you found out a good friend of yours was seriously depressed, what would you do?"

There was a long pause as she stared up at me; I got the vague sense that she was silently scrutinizing me, trying to catch some facial tic that would give her more information. Finally, she said, "Robbie, is this about you?"

"No, not at all!" I exclaimed. "This really is about a friend."

She nodded. "Well, then, I guess that depends, honey. Do you think they might harm themselves or others?" Leave it to my mom to immediately ask one of the questions that had been plaguing me all night.

Feeling my headache gradually starting to subside, I sat up in my bed and looked down at her. "I honestly don't know. He might have in the past, but it doesn't seem like it to me now." I sighed again. "He's kept a lot from me, though, so it's possible that he's hiding this from me too."

"I...see," Mom said, hesitatingly. Subtle though it was, there was a change in her tone of voice that immediately made the fur on the back of my neck bristle. Somehow I'd already tipped my hand; she knew, or at the very least, suspected. Pressing further, she queried, "Is that really all?"

"Yeah, Ma, that's it," I answered. "I'm not sure how to help him. I'm not even sure he needs help at this point. He hasn't said anything about it to me; the information I got was from a secondhand source, but I think it's reliable." I was being far franker with her than I'd initially intended, but I was hoping that if I limited the conversation to this topic only, I'd manage to skirt the more sensitive subjects I desperately wanted to avoid.

I turned my head to quickly scan for any nonverbal cues that might give me a hint as to what she was thinking. As our eyes met, though, I found myself unable to maintain contact and looked away. I didn't know what to say, what to do...these secrets were making me feel unbearably uncomfortable, especially since I was keeping things from my own mother. After an agonizingly long pause, she said, "Robbie, unfortunately, I don't think there's much you can do. If it is as serious as you think it might be, then the best you can do for him is to give him your support and try to direct him towards a professional who's trained to give him the help he needs."

"But..." I interjected, "What if he doesn't want that kind of help? I..." I couldn't hold back a silent tear that slid down my cheek. "He could hate me for it and never want to talk to me again."

Her hand rubbed along my bare calf soothingly as she sighed. "Sometimes, loving someone means doing what is absolutely best for them, even at the expense of losing your relationship in the short term." She reached up and stroked my cheek, then guided my head around so that we were again making eye contact. "I know that if he truly loves you back, he'll forgive you."

I took a hard gulp; clearly he hadn't cared enough about Beth to make any attempts to salvage their friendship. And yet, everything about it seemed wrong and pathological somehow. What they had wasn't so much a friendship as a counselor-patient relationship. Darryl and I...we shared so much more than that. Maybe Mom was right.

"I know this is an uncomfortable thing to talk about, but I have to ask," she continued. "Robbie, is this person...more than a friend to you?"

A cold shiver ran down my spine as a sense of panic washed over me. I knew it; I knew I'd said too much, or given too much away in some other way. Fuck, why did I have to cry? Still, the longer I waited, the more suspect it would seem, and she'd know the truth without needing me to say it out loud. Apparently I'd waited too long already, because she followed up on her question before I could respond. "I don't care either way, honey. And I promise not to tell your father anything, unless you want me to."

After a moment to gather my thoughts, I said quietly, "Please get out of my room now." I'd had enough of her poking and prodding at me with her questions. This was _my_life. I hadn't planned on keeping Darryl a secret forever, but when I was ready to tell my parents, it would be on my terms, not theirs. She'd just asked me a loaded question and I fucking resented it; even if I said no, she'd figure that I was lying to her. Avoiding it altogether wasn't going to convince her otherwise either, but since the cat was out of the bag anyway it at least allowed me to keep my dignity intact. And as for the mess of a situation I was in right now, I'd figure out a way to clean it up on my own. I didn't need her help if in return she was going to demand to know the private aspects of my life that didn't concern her at the moment.

Mom removed her paw from my leg and stood up, noticeably tenser than before, but as she rigidly walked away and opened my door, she paused and turned around to face me. The expression on her face was surprisingly soft, as though her anger had already dissipated. "I love you, Robbie."

Sighing, I replied, "Love you too, Ma." And truly, I did.

She started to walk out the door, but then turned around again to say, "Oh, and there's still the subject of your punishment. For the next two weeks you are to come straight home after school. You will clean up after dinner every night. We're also going to take away your allowance. However," - her stern tone softened a little - "don't worry about coming up with an excuse for missing school today. I'll write you a note saying you were sick." With that, she stepped out and gently closed the door behind her.

God dammit. How was I going to patch things up with Darryl if I wasn't going to be able to stay after school to spend time with him? Stopping the influx of cash also meant that I wasn't going to be able to get new fish for a while, which sucked, but in light of everything else that was trivial. It's not like she was doing me any favors by writing the note excusing my absence, either; all you had to do was write up some story, forge a signature, and give the secretary your friend's phone number so that they could confirm the excuse when she called to make sure the note wasn't a fake. Getting home early enough to erase the message on the answering machine when she first tried the home phone number on record was pretty easy as well when both of your parents have full-time jobs. Not that I was one to skip school all the time, of course, but I can't say that I hadn't taken a couple of 'personal days' in my time. I suppose my mom's offer was a gesture of sympathy at least, but now things were much more inconvenient.

As it turned out, Darryl made things easier by cutting his 7th period class and approaching me in the courtyard. Apparently his assessments of Mr. Brubaker and English class in general were about on par with mine. This was my lunch period, and when the weather permitted it I'd sneak out here by myself to eat. It was so quiet and peaceful: a temporary sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the day. As I saw him walking across the manicured, grassy lawn towards me, he flinched slightly before traversing the remaining distance between us. Sitting down next to me timidly, he said simply, "Hi."

"Hi..."

He cleared his throat before opening, "Look, I'm really sorry for blowing up at you on Tuesday and treating you like dirt yesterday. I still think you're being naïve by putting up this façade that nothing happened when everyone pretty much thinks otherwise, but I get it. This is new for you, I guess...I've known I was gay for years now and have had all that time to come to terms with it. It was unfair of me to expect you to do the same so soon, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Darryl," I replied softly, turning to look him in the eyes with a small smile on my face. "I'm not ready yet. It seems that I'll have to be ready for it sooner than I'd like, though."

He blinked and tilted his head quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Shit, why did I say that? Sure, I could tell him that my mom found out, but that would beg the question of how. That explanation would prompt the question of why when it was so out of character for me to get drunk. The answer to that was one I needed to steer clear of entirely: Beth. He couldn't know that I'd talked to her; he'd automatically assume (correctly) what she'd told me and that would be disastrous. I had to keep that knowledge hidden away - it was just a bit of context should things between us head in that direction, and nothing more. Only a warning. Hurriedly, I replied, "Oh...just that you're probably right. Anyone who's going to judge me unfairly for this isn't worth keeping around as a friend or even an acquaintance. And..." - blushing a little, I reached over and clasped my paw around his - "I'm definitely not ashamed. I'm still glad we did it."

I thought I saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes, but he blinked and wiped them away too quickly for me to be sure. The comforting warmth as he rested his head on my shoulder and nuzzled up at me was enough to convince me that he took that to heart - exactly how I intended it. What felt best, though, was that it was the honest truth; I wouldn't have traded those moments of bliss for anything in the world.

"I-I'm so happy, Robbie. You make me so happy," he said quietly as he purred into my neck. "I never thought anyone could make me feel like this. Or that I _could_feel like this..." He trailed off, wrapping his arms around my waist and slumping against me.

Letting out a deep sigh, I hugged him back and basked in the comfort of his body heat radiating through me. We weren't in plain sight, but we weren't exactly hidden from view either; at that moment, though, getting spotted didn't matter to me. Nothing else mattered. The outside world slowly faded away, leaving only the expanse of the sprawling green lawn around us and Darryl's body pressed against mine.

Though part of me didn't want to disturb the tranquility of the moment with talking, there was one thing Beth had said yesterday that piqued my interest and continued to bug me even as we sat together. Of course, to find out more, I had to guide the conversation carefully so as to not arouse suspicion. "It's gorgeous out. On days like this I like to sit outside with my guitar and strum away."

"You play guitar?" Darryl stirred and glanced up at me. "You never told me. What kind?"

I nodded. "Acoustic. I don't really talk about it all that much because it's mostly a personal thing for me. I've never had the desire to take it out and play for anyone...at least, not until now." I petted between his ears, grinning slightly. "I wouldn't mind playing for you a little, if you wanted to listen."

Darryl laughed brightly and beamed at me, quickly replying, "Yes, of course! What sort of music do you play?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." I shrugged. "Mostly I just play whatever pops in my head. I'm not all that good, though. Haven't ever been given personal instruction or anything like that. I've just watched some tutorials and master classes online and practice in front of a mirror, so don't expect greatness," I said with a chuckle.

The otter gave me a playful shove and rolled his eyes. "That's total crap, Robbie, and you know it. I'm sure you're pretty good at it if you're mentioning it at all to me. Don't play games with me," he snorted. Of course he was right; I may not have been a guitar prodigy by any stretch of the imagination, but over the past couple years I'd become fairly skilled. 'Passable' was the best way to describe it I suppose.

Letting out a soft growl, I suddenly turned and tackled him to the ground, pinning his lithe frame beneath my considerably bulkier one. He put up almost no resistance at all, though I did manage to espouse a surprised squeak from him, which I found both satisfying and adorable. He wasn't even making much of an attempt to escape my grasp, instead just weakly worming around on his back with a cheeky grin on his face. With a smirk, I said, "Aren't games fun, though? Like now: I've got a cute little otter in my grasp, who I'll only let go if he does something for me in return."

"Oh?" Darryl asked, giggling. "What's the big, tough otter want me to do?"

"I don't know! There are so many things, heh." And...now for the question I knew enough not to ask directly: "Maybe you could give me a little performance too? Do you play any musical instruments yourself?"

To my chagrin, Darryl's face fell and he glanced away from me. Sullenly, he replied, "Well...I used to play piano, but I haven't touched it in a while. Definitely haven't performed in front of anyone for at least a year now."

"Oh..." I rolled over onto my side, freeing him from the pin - so much for the playful mood. I just had to push him. Reaching over and stroking his head, I said, "That's OK, I'll just have to make you do something else instead." I tried to give him a smile, but he was staring blankly up at the sky. Sighing, I turned onto my back and did the same.

"No." After an awkward moment of silence, Darryl sat up and looked down at me resolutely. "I'll play for you. Now."

"Now?"

He nodded and replied, "Yeah. The practice rooms are usually free this time of day. I'll just have to grab the key, but they know me there. It won't be a problem."

Bewildered, I stammered, "Yeah, but..." but cut myself off as he continued to steadily gaze down at me. He was serious. With a shrug, I just nodded and got to my feet, allowing him to lead the way.

Getting into the practice room was just as easy as Darryl had said. The secretary had practically fawned over him when he asked for the key to the piano, though when she handed it to him she asked why he hadn't been around for so long. I was wondering the same thing. Unfortunately for both of us, he just shrugged dismissively and said that he'd been busy with schoolwork and other after-school activities. Bullshit. I knew he'd spent almost every afternoon for the past few months reading for pleasure, either in the library or outside; that is, when I wasn't with him. Still, I wasn't going to press my luck with another prying question, so I kept quiet.

We made our way past the rows of band lockers and quietly slipped into the practice room. I couldn't stop myself from fervently glancing all around, checking to see if anyone was looking, but fortunately my fears were unfounded; after all, the school day hadn't technically ended yet. I'd never had a reason to be in this part of the building before, so I was somewhat surprised to see that there was a grand piano in one of the practice rooms. No wonder they kept it under lock and key. The paint was starting to peel off in places and the corners were worn, but otherwise it looked to be in fine condition.

"I'm surprised that the school would front the money for something like this," I said dryly.

After taking a seat at the piano bench, Darryl turned his head and smirked back at me. "There are actually two of these. The other one is behind the stage," he replied. "I wouldn't go about changing your opinion about the school just yet, though. They're in decent shape, but these were purchased over a decade ago. You know, when the school had money and actually cared about giving us a well-rounded education."

Despite my chuckling, the otter's face quickly fell as he turned around, staring down at the keys with what appeared to be trepidation. Pulling up a chair so that I could sit next to him, I put a hand on Darryl's shoulder reassuringly. "Listen, you don't have to play if you don't want to. I'd be nervous about playing in front of other people too."

"It isn't that, Robbie, it's...never mind." He let out a sigh and placed his hands on the keys gingerly. "I'm just going to warm up a bit first, okay?"

I nodded; even if I had comparatively little experience with music, I knew the importance of getting acclimated with the instrument and allowing my mind and body to settle into position before practicing, especially if I hadn't played for a while. And a year was a hell of a lot of time. If he'd been telling me the honest truth before about not playing for that long, though, it sure didn't show. He started off with some simple scales - and by simple, I mean played flawlessly at blazingly fast speeds - followed by some more complex ones where he'd play them in different kinds of chords. The warmth of tone that resounded throughout the room as his hands flew up and down the keyboard, though, was what really made my jaw drop. It was incredible.

After about 5 minutes of 'warming up,' as he put it, Darryl stopped and gave me a timid glance, ears folded back. Was he really looking for reassurance from me? Could he not see for himself how great he was? Whatever his inner conflict was, however, I was more than willing to dole out words of praise. "Darryl, that's how you play after not touching the instrument for a year? You're absolutely amazing." I beamed at him and stroked his shoulder fondly. "Why do you still look so nervous? It's just me, you know. I already think the world of you."

The diminutive otter gave me a small smile in return as his cheeks flushed, he replied, "Thanks, that really means a lot to me." He glanced down at his hands. "I'm a bit surprised myself, honestly. It doesn't feel quite as natural as it used to, but I guess if you practice for hours every day for years and years the muscle memory doesn't fade very much."

"Apparently not!" I exclaimed.

Without another word, he turned to face the piano again, and after a few moments of what I supposed was inner contemplation, he closed his eyes and began to play. The piece started so soft and melancholy, Darryl's fingers tenderly coaxing out each note with his delicate keystrokes. And yet, despite his lightness of touch, there was an ever-present undercurrent of intensity, a flame of passion tempered by the piece's wistful, contemplative mood. I hoped it would never end. End it did, however, and immediately he transitioned into something with a much lighter mood, and yet it still seemed to naturally follow the first - was this another part of the same piece? I can't say I knew much about classical music, nor was it something I listened to very often. Just as that part ended and I was about to interject questions about the music, though, he immediately proceeded to yet another segment. In stark contrast to the previous two, this piece was up-tempo, furious and vigorous; it was as though the simmering passion underlying the first had been fully unleashed. All the while his fingers danced across the keys - he made it look so effortless - pounding out the relentless torrent of notes. One year out of practice and he could still play this well?

Jesus.

After he struck the decisive final chord - and it was clear to me that the piece was over - I couldn't help but clap. The otter turned and gave me an adorably bashful smile, prompting me to sidle up next to him on the piano bench and give him a fond smooch on the cheek in return. "Darryl, that...was amazing. I had no idea you could play like that."

To my surprise, Darryl suddenly gave me a tight embrace and buried his face in my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Too flabbergasted to say anything, I simply wrapped my arms around him, trying to keep his lithe frame from quaking too violently, but it seemed to have little effect; he just cried and cried and cried. Finally, he tilted his head up to look at me, eyes red and cheeks stained with tears.

"I've missed it so much..."

Being grounded made the final weeks of school painful. Occasionally Darryl would cut class to see me during my free periods at the end of the day, but I saw much less of the otter than I was used to and I missed him. I had to make up some cock-and-bull story about staying late at a party and missing my curfew to explain why I couldn't stay after with him and he seemed to accept it. It pained me to lie to him, but the alternative was worse. On the one hand, if Darryl was still suffering, but in silence, I would want to know about it so I could do everything in my power to help him through his problems. On the other, the cost of probing too deeply was steep; I couldn't bear the thought of creating a potentially irrevocable rift between us. Hell, Beth might be wrong and he could already be seeing a professional, and then I'd have really stepped in it if he'd wanted to keep that a secret. I could clearly imagine how the scenario might unfold: I'd ask a personal question and he'd be immediately up in arms, furious that (from his perspective) I thought he was a fuck-up and a basket case and defensive about seeing a counselor.

Of course, I blithely hoped that his problems had already worked themselves out and he was totally fine. My rational side, though, knew Darryl was still harboring some significant issues; no one would be so emotionally raw all the time without some underlying cause. I just hoped that I could be effectual in some way once those issues rose to the surface. Begrudgingly, I was starting to see Beth's dilemma.

I found out that the music he'd played for me was in fact the Moonlight Sonata, and I had to agree with Beth's assessment of his playing. The few times I heard him play since then weren't quite as exciting for me - he said he had to practice so that he could get back in shape -so all I'd ever hear were scales, etudes ("Pieces written to strengthen technique," he'd explained to me), and short passages from other pieces that were particularly challenging. Even so, it was all too obvious how gifted he was. He truly seemed to be enjoying himself, too; I'd never seen him so self-assured and content as when he sat at the piano. It warmed my heart every time he turned around to smile at me while he was giving his hands a brief rest. I couldn't fathom why he would have given something like this up. Had he simply burnt out after so many years of rigorous training? Maybe, but I didn't think so. I suspected that something must have happened a year ago, but I didn't want to run through the dark possibilities in my mind. Still, I decided to hold off on the question for now; though I didn't think that probing into this particular issue would strain our relationship, I had no intention of forcing him to revisit the memories of whatever had precipitated his decision to stop playing. After contemplating what Beth had told me in the weeks following our conversation, one thing was clear to me: I had to make sure that we weren't emotionally dependant on each other. Why risk ruining one of the only things that seemed to give him genuine happiness and peace of mind?

The summer came and went rather uneventfully. I took some driving lessons and got my license by mid-July, which was freeing in so many ways. Not only could I now get to my summer job (retail at a clothing store, of all things) on my own, but I could go wherever, whenever. My parents owned two cars and they'd given me the privilege of using one of them at my leisure as long as I paid for my own gas, came home by a certain time, and did the chores that were asked of me. Gas wasn't exactly cheap, but with full-time hours at my job, I was able to afford the trips to and from work and then some.

'And then some' often involved Darryl. Though the first half of the summer had been disappointingly otter-free (well, not really, but blue-eyed-blonde-otter-free to be sure), now that I had a car and some pocket money, I could whisk him away from that hellhole of a house he lived in and take him out. Sometimes we'd grab a meal and a movie, other times we'd go to a café for some coffee, and once in a while I'd take him bowling or roller-blading - the choice of activity didn't matter all too much to me. I was just glad to see him, and see him happy. Invariably, each time I turned the corner onto his ill-paved street, I'd see his face light up in recognition as he waited on his front porch for me. I lived for those moments.

The only thing that continued to frustrate me, though, was the ever-present, nagging feeling that this period of pleasant calm would only last so long, like my life was teetering over the brink and the slightest tap would send it spiraling into an abyss. It seemed untenable. For one, it was only a matter of time before I'd have to come clean to my parents, or at the very least my mom. There'd been an uncomfortable tension growing between us ever since she confronted me about the drinking incident and it was getting to the point where we hardly spoke anymore. By now it was pretty clear that she knew I was in the middle of a same-sex relationship. I was also pretty sure that she had kept her promise and hadn't said anything to Dad about it, for which I was very grateful; he wasn't homophobic per se, but I had no idea how he'd react to finding out that his only son was 'gay.' If you could call it that, anyway. Aside from the pejorative labels of 'deviant' and 'pervert,' I didn't have a good way of describing my sexual identity. Not at the time, anyway.

Ultimately, though, I felt I had an obligation to tell them, whether they already knew or not. Unlike most other parents I knew about, they'd given me unconditional freedom to explore the world and develop into my own person, and in return they deserved to know who that person was, for better or for worse.

Part of the reason I remained reluctant to be open with them was that I was still a bit unsure how to characterize the relationship between Darryl and I. Things were going smoothly enough on the surface, but without really knowing the crux of his internal struggles, it was very difficult to evaluate what it was that we had. As the summer began to come to a close in the last couple weeks of August, I knew little more than I did at the beginning, which I found somewhat disconcerting. I'd been patient for two months, careful to avoid any topics of conversation that might send Darryl into a tailspin, but by now I'd expected for him to open up to me at least a little bit. So far, every time I'd tested the waters with a personal question, he'd been evasive and cagey, quickly shifting the focus of the conversation. If I pressed further, he'd get irritated and force me to back off. Maybe he was worried that he might lose me if he let me in, just as I had feared that I would lose him if I became too entangled. Lately, though, the feeling that he just didn't care about me the way I cared about him had been gnawing away at me. Was he just a leech, mooching off my willingness to give and give and give without asking for anything in return?

Fuck that. We'd been seeing each other for long enough now. I was done playing caretaker. We held hands, we kissed, we cuddled, we fucked (we found...places); for me, the physical intimacy was an outward expression of the strong feelings I harbored for him. I wasn't some boy toy just looking for tail. I knew, of course, that Darryl didn't think of me that way either, but I was starting to feel used nonetheless. I had the future to think about, too; by this time next year, high school would be over and we'd both be preparing to go to college...probably. I still hadn't given that much thought, despite the fact that application deadlines were on the horizon. Certainly Darryl would be, though, and his choices might factor into my decision-making process. I wasn't about to throw away the next few years of my life in a futile effort to maintain a relationship that wasn't even there to begin with.

There was a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop within a few blocks of Darryl's place that we liked to go to every so often. If we weren't sitting and talking over lattes, I'd be studying for the SAT (my test date was scheduled two weeks after school started up again), occasionally soliciting Darryl's help for questions I struggled to answer. He'd already taken the exam and gotten a near-perfect score - I suspected that he hadn't even cracked a book to study for it, either, the brainiac - but I had no such talent. I expected to get a middling to above-average score with some practice on my part, hopefully enough to get into a decent 4-year school if I decided to go that route. I figured it was best to keep my options open for as long as I could during this period of indecision - it would be a shame if I prematurely closed the door on something only to be kicking myself in the head five years later for locking myself out of it. In any event, it was under the pretense of studying that I invited Darryl out for coffee.

I actually did a couple of sample math sections under timed conditions, which unfortunately went poorly enough that I was put in an irritable mood before I even started to confront Darryl. I was even a little snippy with him as he carefully explained my errors. Normally that wouldn't bother me, and indeed Darryl's insightful analysis was almost always helpful, but given the fact that I was already on edge after steeling myself for this conversation for the past few days, the fact that someone one year my junior found these questions so elementary was a little irritating. Hard work was a poor substitute for natural ability. Maybe if I devoted enough time I could get a perfect score, but that accomplishment was still cheapened by the few people who could do the same without lifting a finger.

It would be many years before I reconciled this resentment.

Once I'd had my fill of frustration with the SAT, I closed the prep book and looked up at the otter across the table; he raised his head as well and our eyes met. His gaze, those beautiful blue eyes...they betrayed his vulnerability. Or maybe that was just me projecting. After all, he'd managed to endure this long in spite of the adversity (I imagined) he faced on a regular basis. Taking a deep breath, I said quietly, "Darryl, I'd like to talk to you about something that's been bothering me for a while now."

He blinked in surprise. "What's that?"

Sighing, I wrapped my paws around my coffee mug; the heat was comforting. After a pause, I replied, "You once asked me how I could love you when I knew almost nothing about you. I didn't have a good answer for you then, but I'd hoped that I would learn more about you if you gave me a chance."

"OK..." he said, nodding tentatively. I had the feeling that he already knew where this conversation was headed. That didn't matter much - in a few moments it wouldn't matter whether he knew or not.

"You did give me a chance, and I've never been happier. Spending time with you these past few months has been wonderful. And, in a sense, I have learned a great deal about you...your perspectives, your aspirations, your genius, your sweetness. All of these have endeared you to me even more. But..." I trailed off, taking a hard swallow. "I'm still worried about you."

I noticed that he was now clenching his fists, and he gave me a tight-lipped response: "Where are you going with this, Robbie? Cut to the chase already."

"A couple of months ago, Beth confronted me in the hallway. We had a long talk."

"What?" Darryl's eyes flashed angrily. "That bitch. What did she tell you?"

I let out another deep sigh stirred my latte, staring into the mug as the froth gently swirled round and round. I'd planned on finally tipping my hand and dropping that bombshell on Darryl, but that didn't make it any easier to come up with a direct but sensitive way to disclose what I knew. The cyclone of foamy milk-and-coffee was keeping stoically silent, though. Finally, I raised my head to meet his scrutinizing gaze and replied, "A lot." I took a deep breath. "She mentioned the letter you gave to her and how she went behind your back by slipping it to the school counselor."

Darryl suddenly slammed his fist on the table, causing both of our drinks to spill a little and earning some curious glances from the other patrons sitting around us. "God dammit! That two-faced little BITCH!" He turned to me now, glaring furiously as he spat, "You've known about this all along, thinking I'm a psycho all this time?"

I felt a twinge of guilt, but my anger from the verbal assault was far greater. I'd struggled for so long to cater to his oversensitivity, and this attack wasn't warranted. "Now see here!" I said venomously, trying to keep my voice from being too loud. "I didn't mention it for several reasons, all of which were centered around protecting you. I have not been judging you; all it has done is devastate me, knowing that you found life so intolerable that you felt there was no other option. If anything, it's made me admire you even more, that you've continued to succeed and persevere despite the problems you've been facing." I exhaled, starting to regain my composure. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't want to believe it at first. Hell, I drank myself into a fucking blackout that night. I've gradually accepted it as the truth since then, and to spare you the pain of having to relive whatever it was that you were experiencing I've kept silent."

"OK, then. Whatever you say," he retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If that's true, though, why the hell are you bringing it up now, then?" The anger still hadn't faded.

I took a moment to organize my thoughts before replying, doing my best to keep an even tone, "I've been thinking a lot lately. About us. About what it is we actually have." Before Darryl could interject, I quickly clarified, "I want to call us 'boyfriends,' but I can't. I know you, but I don't know about you. And, I can't shake the feeling that the demons you were battling on your own years ago haven't gone away, even though you have me now. I'm not one to sit on the sidelines. I want to help in any way I can, but," - I slowly inhaled and exhaled - "you have to let me in."

Now it was his turn to blankly look down into his coffee mug. Since I hadn't exactly asked him a question despite all my rambling, I added, "What would you call us?"

He slowly raised his head to respond, one eyebrow quirked skeptically. "Really? You're asking me that? You of all people would know how artificial and problematic labels are."

"Labeling for the sake of labeling is problematic, Darryl. In this case, what's important is what the label represents." A few months ago I might have taken his bait, but now I knew better. Darryl's ability to spontaneously come up with ways to use misdirection to divert conversations away from subjects that he wanted to avoid was the best I'd ever had to contend with, bar none; however, I wasn't about to have a lengthy aside about the sociological issues with attaching labels to things when it really had no bearing on the subject. "What the term 'boyfriends' represents, at least to me, is...well, a deep bond between two people. More than a friendship, and not just because of the physical intimacy piece. It requires complete openness and trust. No secrets. And..." I trailed off as I took a hard swallow; all this talking was making my mouth dry, giving my tongue an uncomfortable, sawdusty feel. I took a few sips of my coffee, then continued, "I _want_that for us, Darryl. Do you?"

Faced with a direct question, the otter slouched and rested his head in one hand, using the table to keep his elbow propped up. I sipped my latte some more as I waited, even though it was already lukewarm. I hate cold coffee, but I hated the occasional long periods of silence in the middle of conversations even more. Drinking it was at least doing something other than staring at the ceiling.

After what seemed like an eternity - which was worrisome in itself; I didn't think it was a question that required much thought - he finally responded, still looking down at the table. "I see what you're saying. To be honest, I thought we were already at that point. Maybe I wasn't looking at the whole picture." He glanced up at me. "You remember what I told you a while ago, right? That you couldn't save me?"

"I think about it all the time. I didn't believe you then. I don't really know, though, because you haven't given me a chance." I breathed a deep sigh, not just a little relieved that he confirmed what I had hoped would be true: that he was intent on being committed to me as I was to him. The rest was just details...important details, of course, but nothing that couldn't be overcome. After draining the last of my latte, I elaborated, "Even if all I can do is provide a shoulder to cry on, wouldn't it be better not to go through this completely alone anymore? To have someone by your side who knows what you're facing and fully supports you if you need it? I _want_to be that person. I'm even asking you for that privilege."

I felt that I was literally prostrating myself to 'ask' for this directly, but I kept a lid on the resentment that was starting to bubble within me. I hoped he'd see it as a sign of my enduring faith and not simply an attempt to pry - that would make my resentment completely unjustified and it would wash away. As he tipped his head up so that our eyes met, I knew he understood. Even so, he seemed hesitant, still vacillating and weighing his options. I reached across the table and firmly clasped his paw in mine; he glanced down, but didn't recoil at the touch. When those blue eyes settled back on me again, I said in earnest the only thing left that I felt might sway him: "Darryl, I swear to you that I wouldn't do to you what Beth did. I'm here just to be a sounding board and something sturdy to lean against, and I would never take matters into my own hands unless you asked me to. I can take it," I insisted, taking another hard gulp. "However it is you see yourself, _I_know you're a strong-willed person. I have faith in you and trust you. Please, trust me."

As Darryl continued to stare, I began to feel as though I was being analyzed and judged; he was looking for any telltale sign that I lacked the conviction I emphasized in my little speech. That was fine. I believed every word I said and I was positive there was nothing in my facial expression or body language that suggested anything to the contrary. However, I was so focused on conveying my seriousness in every way possible that I nearly jumped out of my seat when the otter suddenly stood up, taking both of our mugs in hand and starting to turn towards the barista. Before he left the table, though, he gave me a curiously nonchalant reply:

"My coffee's cold and you've already finished yours. I'll go and get us refills. This will take a while."