Smiling, I wander over and take a seat. I don’t move for long moments, not until the weight of my drenched clothes, which hang from my frame, dictate my need for warmth.
The rain gets heavier, so I drag myself from my seat and run inside. The moment the hot shower hits my skin I sigh loudly. Everyone has left, so instead of the typical shouting, jeering and general ball-busting that normally happens after a game, I’m wrapped in a blanket of silence. The complete absence of sound allows me time for quiet reflection. I close my eyes, stand still, and let the rivulets of water run down my body, easily slipping into tranquility.
A sudden bang of a locker door causes me to startle and look around. I can’t see anyone, but suddenly aware of the situation I’m in, I quickly finish my shower and grab my towel rushing to get dressed.
Before I came out, before I let people glimpse into my world, into my heart, and before I thought that my sexuality was anyone’s business but my own, I never worried what people thought about me. And except when I was around my dad, I never felt scared. When I first came out, I knew there was a chance I’d be bullied, called names or possibly worse, because I know that ignorant assholes exist. But I always felt removed, like that sort of thing happened to other people. Never me.
Two weeks after coming out as gay and living honestly for the first time in my life, I went to a gay club. I met a guy that night, we didn’t do anything more than chat. He seemed really into me and appeared to like my inexperience. When he asked if I wanted to go somewhere a little quieter, I agreed eagerly. We headed to a late night diner so we could talk more, but when he took a left turn down a street I wasn’t expecting, and I called him out on it, he pushed me into a side alley. He was hitting me before I really knew what was happening, punching me in the side of the head and spitting vicious insults at the same time. I fought back, but without warning there were three more guys on me. His buddies—it was a setup.
I was lucky that night, I got away when someone happened to walk by. The guy started shouting when he saw what was going on. I rushed away, and never even thanked the stranger. I suffered a few bruises on my abdomen and a cut lip, but it could have been so much worse. I never told anyone what happened to me, blaming my injuries on football.
That day the ugly side of the truth found me. Since then, I’ve never forgotten what I was forced to learn that night. I shouldn’t have to worry about being treated badly because of my sexuality, but sadly that’s the ugliness of this world.
I need to always remember that.
I realized something in the days following my attack. A time when I was so low, so down, so alone, that a million thoughts I never want to relive flooded my mind and are now seared onto my heart. Be true to yourself, not everyone will support you, accept it, move on, live life. But always… always, remember the ugly. Because recognizing the ugly gives me my power back. It reminds me that I want better. I’ll always strive to turn my ordinary, into something truly exceptional.
The locker room is still empty as I scan it, and I’m starting to feel a little on edge. Pulling out my cell I tap the screen, bringing it to my ear and listening as I walk outside. It only rings twice before it’s answered.
“Caden?” Tarrant asks obviously surprised.
“You still around? I walked to the stadium tonight, felt like some air.” I tell him my dilemma without asking the specific question.
“Yeah, I just dropped Laura off. I’ll be back in ten, okay?”
“Thanks, brother,” I murmur and hang up.
The tense feeling from before builds like a lead weight in my stomach as I look around the nearly empty parking lot. The rain is still hammering down, and I will Tarrant’s car to arrive soon as I stride toward the entrance.
“Need a ride?”
Lifting my head against the downpour, I swipe the rain away from my eyes as I come to a stop. Casper stands before me, and I wonder how long he’s been here. Soaked through, his clothes stick to every glorious inch of him, and I shake my head, unsure of what I’m supposed to do. He’s pushed me away at every turn. I’ve wanted him like I’ve never wanted anyone, but I’m done trying. I’m done chasing him. I’m just… done. Period.
“No thanks, I’m good,” I answer, pulling down on the ties hanging from my hoodie, drawing it closer around my face. Swiftly, I walk away from him, but I can hear his footsteps closing in, so I pick up my stride. I shouldn’t be surprised when he grabs my arm, but still, I am. I don’t turn around, refusing to let him see how much his constant rejection has hurt me.
“Come on, Caden, don’t walk in this weather. Coach will be pissed if you get ill. Especially if he finds out I didn’t give you a ride home.”
Snatching my arm from his hold, I shake my head. It’s the first time he’s said my name with such tenderness, and although I want to close my eyes, soak in his tone as it wraps around my name, I ignore my inner longing determined not to fall again. “I won’t tell
