Harlyn
I'm avoiding Finley. And Mum. And Elly. Everyone. I'm avoiding everyone. It's been three days since The Incident at work, and I haven't talked to anyone about it. Finley's had work the last few days so I've had an excuse to not go over even though it's the weekend, my days off, and when we usually have the most time to hang out or go out. I know he told Elly at least partially what happened because she keeps texting me asking if I'm alright. They both do. And I keep saying that I am.
I'm lying.
Mum and Dad don't know what happened, but I know they know something happened. I was a wreck when I got home from work that afternoon. Mum didn't ask. I didn't give her a chance. They've both been giving me strange looks all weekend. I just smile and hide in my room.
I'm lying to them too.
I hate that I'm lying to everyone. I hate that I'm avoiding everyone. I just...I don't know what is going on in my head. And I know what Finley would say. He'd tell me to take my time. Or just talk until it makes sense. Until something useful comes out. But this feels different.
Brandon and Hannah weren't outright homophobic or nasty. They didn't use slurs. They were just...ignorant. Asking if being bi and gay are the same. Saying I don't "look" gay, but Finley does. The pose he struck.
I have a feeling if Finley hadn't pulled me away from where I was frozen after my initial bravery flew out the window, they would have gotten nasty. So, some of my fear is that it could have been so much worse. But Finley didn't let that happen.
God, why did I come out to them of all people? They would've found out sooner or later. And I really did not want them to think Finley and I are just mates. But did it really have to happen like that? I know logically that that's how it kind of had to happen. There aren't many other reasons Finley would come up at work. I guess I just wasn't prepared.
That much was obvious by how I shut down as soon as Brandon started in on his jabs. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I've been lucky so far with the people I've come out to. Other than a tiny bit of awkwardness with Nan and a few weird comments on our social media posts a few months ago, everyone I've outright told has been so supportive. So, it would make sense to not know how to handle this situation, right?
But then...I think about everything Finley's been through. I know I shouldn't compare my hard to other people's hard. But Finley's own parents haven't completely accepted that part of him. Compared to that, I can deal with a couple of coworkers that I don't even like very much and don't spend much time with even at work.
I was able to avoid them at work on Friday because they worked in the morning, and I worked in the afternoon. But I don't know how long I'll get lucky. Will I have the courage to say something? Will they say something?
All of this has been swirling in my brain for the last three days. And I know I'm stuffing it away without processing it fully. I've been trying to be better at that. But this is just... I don't know where to start. And I wouldn't know where to start talking to Finley about it, even though I know he'd listen to my jumbled thoughts for hours.
The thing is, I can't avoid everyone forever. It's Sunday so that means family dinner with Mum and Dad, and I'm fairly certain Mum will ask what's been up. Even if she doesn't press, I know I should at least tell her what happened. And tomorrow is Halloween, and Finley and I made plans with the girls and Fran's boyfriend to dress up and go to Club Chemistry for their Halloween celebrations. I can't skip that.
As I think about that, sitting in bed with music blaring in my headphones, I get a text from Finley.
Finley: Are we still good for the costumes we got last week?
What he obviously wants to ask is "Are you actually coming tomorrow night or are you going to keep making excuses not to see me?" but he's too polite to ask it that bluntly. I can't imagine the havoc I'm wreaking on his anxiety.
I text back, choosing my words carefully.
Me: Yeah of course. We're meeting at CC at 8?
Finley: Yeah. We'll wait in front for you?
Perfect. I'll meet them there and cut the chance of being questioned in half. Elly will still interrogate me, but maybe I'll get away with a worried look from Finley. He would never initiate a heavy conversation like that in public.
Right now, though, I have to get through dinner. Mum calls me down not long after Finley texts, and I help set the table in silence. We get halfway through the meal when Mum finally gets her fill of my half ass answers, sets her fork down, and looks at me.
"Alright, what's going on with you, darling?" She asks it gently, but I can feel the exasperation. "You've been mopey for days. You haven't been to see Finley. Or Elly. You haven't even talked about them. Did something happen with Finley? Are you two ok?"
"Yeah, of course," I say immediately. But then I pause. Are we? We haven't seen each other since Thursday, and I've been dodging his questions about the state of my mental health. God, I'm a terrible boyfriend. "Well, sort of. Other than the fact that I've been avoiding him for three days."
Mum's eyebrows pull together and Dad frowns around a bite of potato.
"Did something happen?" Dad asks.
"Sort of. Not between us. Like, our relationship is fine as long as he doesn't hate me for freezing him out." I sigh and recount The Incident as succinctly and unemotionally as I can. It's the first time I've said it out loud, and I'm just waiting for my parents to say that it wasn't that bad or that it could have been worse. But they don't. Mum's face falls more and more into sadness and Dad's frown deepens until he's nearly scowling.
"I'm so sorry, darling," Mum murmurs once I've tapered off. "That's...that's not...Ignorant is a good word for it, yes."
"I...I've been lucky to have really amazing people around. And the people that really matter. I know other people aren't that lucky. Finley hasn't been that lucky. And it wasn't even that bad and -"
"Now hold on," Dad interrupts, setting his fork down and leveling a look at me. "Just because it wasn't violent or out and out homophobic doesn't mean it was scary or sad or traumatizing for you, son. You can't discount your hardships just because someone else has it worse. You can be grateful that it wasn't worse, but your fear was and is valid."
What did I do to deserve my parents?
"I know." And I do know all that. That's exactly what Finley will say when I finally talk to him, I guarantee it. I just...can't seem to get my brain to believe that.
"And Finley?" Mum says. "He loves you. And he was there. He's not going to discount your feelings just because it wasn't as bad as his experience. He knows what it's like to be stereotyped and teased better than we do. Did he make you feel like it wasn't a big deal when it happened?"
No. He hugged me. He held my hand. He offered to just be with me even if I didn't want to talk. He did everything perfectly. And I just left.
"Of course not," I say.
Mum smiles. "Then you should talk to him, darling. He's probably worried sick about you."
I feel rightfully called out, and when I get back to my room, I promise myself to talk to Finley after we go out tomorrow night. I owe him that much.
***
Two weeks ago, when we made these Halloween plans, I was very excited to do a couples costume with Finley. It felt like a rite of passage. Finley wasn't as excited to go all out. So, we compromised and agreed to dress up as simplified salt and pepper. I'm in jeans, a white t-shirt with a big black puffy paint S on the front, and a silver headband. When I get to the club Monday night, after passing at least fifty kids dressed to the nines and high on sugar, Finley's in his jeans, a black shirt with a white P, and a matching silver headband. He also agreed to let Elly put silver makeup under his eyes like a rugby player.
Elly brought it along to put under my eyes too. And when she spots me - before everyone else, of course - she stalks over to me and pulls it out, keeping me at least ten feet away from the rest of our group. Under the guise of doing my makeup, she starts in on me. "Harlyn Evans. Where the hell have you been the last few days? No texts? No calls? No visits? Finley's heard from you, so at least I knew you were alive."
"How is he?" I ask, peeking over her shoulder to where he's chatting with Polly, Fran, and her boyfriend. He hasn't come over yet, but he keeps glancing at me.
"Finley is fine. He's worried about you, you absolute knob." She pauses after my left cheek and glares at me.
"What did he tell you?"
"Just that something happened at work when he visited you." She swipes her makeup brush under my right eye, and her voice softens. "Are you alright, babes?"
I suck in a long breath. "I'm...getting there. Can we just...have fun tonight and I'll tell you all about it tomorrow? I promise."
Elly snaps her makeup kit closed and tucks it back in her purse. "Alright. I'm holding you to that. Now go hug your man and let him know you're not dying or second guessing your entire relationship."
"Right." We join our group, and I scoop Finley into my arms before he can say anything. "I'm sorry, love. I promise I'll tell you everything tonight when we get home, ok? I'm so sorry."
He slips an arm up around my neck and presses against the back of my head. "It's ok, sweetheart. As long as...as long as you're ok."
"I'm alright. Not perfect but fine. Let's just...have fun tonight."
When I pull back he rolls his eyes and smirks. "Ah yes, because I have so much fun at clubs."
"We won't stay long. I'm not really feeling it tonight either." I press a kiss to his forehead, already feeling the tension that's been holding me together seep away. "I just want to show my beautiful boyfriend off for a bit. Maybe get him dancing a little."
"Good luck with that."
I greet the rest of our group. The four of them are dressed as the Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles - t-shirts with turtle shells on them and colored face masks. It's quite hilarious to see Donatello (Fran) being hugged from behind by Rafael (Fran's boyfriend Nate). Polly and Elly have gone all out with makeup and hair color coordinated with their face masks. They're adorable.
Turns out most of our fellow club goers went a bit more...sexy. There are scantily clad nurses and doctors and firefighters and every other profession you can think of. Thankfully, everyone's already distracted by dancing, talking, and drinking, and we don't really stand out.
We all order drinks and drink them at the bar before heading to the second floor to dance. And that's when it hits me. There are so many people. I'm about to dance with Finley in front of so many people.
Panic.
I've done this before. Finley did dance with me when they took me out the weekend after my birthday. I've been so excited to show him off. Walk through town hand in hand. Take him out every weekend. It's the best thing to be out and not have to hide.
But this...all my brain can see is a hundred Brandons and Hannahs waiting to look us up and down and judge us silently. Or out loud. It's so stupid. There are literally other queer couples dancing not ten feet from me.
So, I push aside the worry and go for another drink at the bar. Finley follows and - to my immense surprise - orders a beer.
At my raised eyebrows, he shrugs. "I'll just drink one. It's Halloween."
I nod and down the drink I originally ordered and order another. His eyebrows raise this time, and I shrug back. "It's Halloween."
Turns out one beer Finley is already tipsy. He doesn't drink often, and apparently does not have any sort of alcohol tolerance. And since I'm a few drinks in and more than slightly tipsy, it's easy - well, easier - to start dancing together.
Finley, while looser and less self conscious, is still a stiff dancer. I don't push him. I just pull him in close and coax his body to move against mine to the beat. As the alcohol starts to take effect more and more, I can feel my panic fly out the window and everything turns just slightly fuzzy. Finley's smiling and sweating and laughing. And the world is good.
It's not until we've been dancing - and drinking - for a while that I realize I may have had a drink or two too many. It hits me over the head when Finley grabs me by my shoulders and shakes me a little to get my attention.
"Harlyn? You ok?"
I try to focus on his face, and it swims. I groan. "I don't feel so good."
"How many drinks have you had?"
"Too many."
"Alright. I'm taking you home."
He pulls at my arm that's still wrapped around his waist until he's dragging me through the crowd. The whole world is swaying, and the music blaring in my ears sounds a thousand times louder than it did fifteen minutes ago.
We finally stumble into Elly and Polly dancing together near the middle of the dance floor. Finley puts his mouth to Elly's ear. They exchange a few sentences, but it's too loud and I'm too drunk to hear them or even pay attention to facial expressions or body language.
Elly stands on her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow you're filling me in on everything."
I nod as slowly as I can to avoid making the room spin even more. And then I'm being led down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. As soon as the cool air hits me, so does a terrifying thought: Going home to Mum being this sloshed. I really don't want to see her disappointed look when I walk into the house stumbling drunk.
"I can't go home," I mumble, pulling Finley to a stop.
He keeps tugging on my elbow. "No no. We're not going back. You've had enough to drink tonight. And if you keep dancing like this you'll end up vomiting all over someone."
"No, I don't want to go back. But I can't go home. Mum will kill me." That might not be entirely true, but she certainly won't be happy.
"Ok." Finley starts pulling me in the opposite direction. "Come on then. I'll take you to our flat. And I'll text your mom that you're staying with us."
"Like a sleepover?" I ask. The thought makes me giddy. "We've never had a sleepover."
"No, we haven't," Finley breathes.
I try to focus on his face through the fuzziness to gauge his thoughts on this. I can't seem to get my brain to process enough, so I decide just to ask.
"Are you ok with that?"
"Of course. Just...we're just sleeping, right? Nothing more."
That's enough to shock through my alcohol induced haze, and I pull him to a stop again. "Absolutely not, love. I would nev- No. Not without talking to you about it first. And definitely not while drunk."
Finley nods and starts pulling me along again. Their flat isn't that far from Club Chemistry, but it feels like it takes forever. Stumbling a bit every few steps doesn't help. Eventually, we make it to the front door, and Finley digs his keys out of his pocket.
Once inside, he props me against the door frame next to the stairs, disappears, and comes back with two bottles of water. He does the same thing on the second floor, slipping into Elly's room and coming back with a package of wipes.
"Elly said we could borrow some makeup wipes, so we don't get silver eyeshadow all over," he explains. Right. I'm wearing makeup. We're wearing makeup.
He helps me up the last set of stairs and sits me on the edge of his bed. Then he wanders around a bit, turning on his bedside lamp, setting the water bottles and wipes on the nightstand, kicking his shoes off. I watch him wipe the silver makeup off his cheeks, and it has no business being so attractive.
"You gonna help me with mine?" I ask, trying not to sound whiny.
Finley doesn't hesitate though. He moves in front of me and brings a new wipe up to my face. I study his face through my slowly fading buzz. I'm nowhere close to being sober but I can feel it fading just a tiny bit. Finley's face is clearer at least.
And it hits me again how long it's been since we've been this close. And how it was all my stupidity that kept us apart for four whole days. That's not long in the scheme of things really. But at this moment, it feels like eternity since I kissed him.
And then I remember I promised myself I'd talk to him tonight. And suddenly it's all I can do to keep from word vomiting all over him. Or real vomiting. Do I need to vomit?
No. We're good.
"Finley?" I mumble, closing my eyes as he moves to the other side of my face.
"Hm?"
"I've been avoiding you."
Finley's hand stills and then keeps going. "You have."
"I'm so sorry. Like...so sorry. I was overthinking everything and I...I shouldn't have shut you out. I just didn't know what to think. I don't really know what to think now and -"
"Whoa whoa. Slow down, sweetheart," Finley whispers. He tosses the used wipe in the little trash can he keeps under his desk and takes my face in his hands. "We don't need to talk about this right now."
"But I promised -"
"I know. But that was before you got drunk." Finley chuckles. "We can just talk in the morning once you've slept this off."
I shake my head. Too hard. "I didn't just promise you. I promised...m'self. I promised my. Self. That I'd talk to you. Please?" I don't realize I've started crying until Finley's fingers swipe at my cheeks.
"Ok ok. Breathe, sweetheart." He grabs one of the water bottles from his night table and hands it to me. "Drink something first. Try to avoid the worst of your hangover tomorrow."
I guzzle the first water bottle while Finley tugs at my trainers and pulls my headband off. The rolling in my stomach is still a bit too present for total comfort but the fuzziness in my head is starting to subside. I'm still fumbling over my words when I start talking.
"I'm just going to try to say everything that's been in my head the last few days. Will you just...not say anything until I get it all out? And then we can...talk about it?"
"Of course." He sits next to me on the bed, one knee bent and pressed into my hip so he's facing me and can reach up and pull on some of my curls.
I nod and take a deep breath. My thoughts have been jumbled for four days and now I've added alcohol to the mix. I try to line my thoughts up in, at the very least, full sentences.
"So, Thursday. When...whatever happened with Brandon and Hannah." Finley opens his mouth and then snaps it closed. I smile. "That really shook me up. Obviously. You were there. I've, uh, I've been really lucky with the people I've come out to directly. They've all been amazing. And I guess I knew that couldn't last forever. That, well, that came up on our first date didn't it?"
Finley nods and smiles sadly, sliding his hand into mine in my lap.
"So, I'm-I'm not surprised it happened. And honestly I'm not surprised that Brandon and Hannah are homophobic. Or ignorant. Or whatever they are. It doesn't break my heart to lose our work acquaintances. But...it does make me scared for how bad it could've gotten if-if you hadn't been there. If you hadn't said anything or pulled me away. And scared of something similar or worse happening in the future."
I scratch at the back of my head where the headband was earlier. "But at the same time, it wasn't that bad. Compared to stuff you've gone through, what other people have gone through, it was tame. And I know." I cut him off before he can argue. "I know I shouldn't compare like that. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm complaining or whining.
"Anyway, I wanted to come back with you that afternoon. I did. But I just...I don't know. I know you would have listened or let me not talk or whatever. It was just a lot. And so, I...avoided. And I'm really really sorry."
Finley smiles at me again while I catch my breath. "Can I say something now?" I nod. "You don't need to be sorry about any of this, ok? I'm going to be honest with you. Not to make you feel bad, but because you deserve it. The last few days? I started to wonder if you were reconsidering being out and being with me, especially in public. But I don't think that now."
"No?" Hope punches its way through my drunken haze.
"No." He smiles wider. "Because I know you love me. You were nervous about how they would react, but you still told them. You didn't want to downplay my coming out experiences. And you needed to process."
"Yeah."
"That's all totally understandable. But..." He scoots even closer and cups my jaw. "You need to realize that you also went through something scary. And I know you needed to process, but...I don't want you to think you have to process all of that on your own. Just because it wasn't 'as bad' as my experiences, you can always talk to me about anything. You shouldn't have to be alone with that, sweetheart."
I drop my head to his shoulder and breathe a deep sigh. "Ok."
"Ok." He runs his hand from my jaw to the back of my head and scratches little circles there. "How are you feeling about all of this now?"
"Nauseous."
He giggles. "I think that's the vodka."
"Mm. Probably."
"Why don't we go to bed, then? And we can talk more about this in the morning?"
He maneuvers me so he can untuck the duvet and push me back onto his pillows. Now that I've gotten all of that off my chest, I can feel the exhaustion that's been building the last few days dragging my eyelids down. But I snap back wide awake when Finley tucks the blanket around me and starts to move away.
"Wait. No. You're not gonna -"
"Oh, I was going to sleep on the floor." I shake my head, grab his hand, and pull him forward. He chuckles. "Ok. Ok. Let me just do two things. And I promise I'll come get in bed with you."
He pulls the trash can out from under his desk and sets it next to the bed. And then he pulls off his shirt and jeans to slide into pajama pants and a t-shirt. I'm still fuzzy enough not to fully appreciate that this is the first time Finley has changed in front of me. I wonder distantly if he's counting on me to be too drunk to even be paying attention. So, I don't say anything. The last thing he does is tap away on his phone for a few minutes before he climbs under the covers with me.
We've shared a bed before. Once. In Paris. I'm pretty sure it was only a few hours, because when I woke up the next morning, he was back in his bed. But for that little bit, I felt so safe and warm. Tonight is no different. I snuggle my face into his chest and cling to him, worried he'll disappear if I let go.
As I'm drifting off, I can't help but mumble, "I'm never going to change my mind about you. About being out. About showing you off. Even to nasty people. Because I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you..."