Elysha snatched the phone resting on my right thigh faster than I can even blink. My annoyed glare is no match for the scolding her icy blue eyes return. So I just sigh and pout for the rest of the class. Usually she is the cause of my phone vibration. Even when she’s with me, she constantly feels the need to have our private conversations. I secretly allow it because it keeps her comments away from hurt feelings.
I didn’t realize how much I was staring at the clock until it turns one and students jump up and file out of the room. Elysha drags me out of the room by my arm instead of her usual nail grip to the ear, which I’m secretly thankful for. “Quit stalling we are going to mine to sort this out.” she huffs without even looking back at me. Other students stare at our seemingly cruel relationship, but we call it tough love.
On the way to her dorm room, my phone buzzes again so I finally decide to open the HIM app to investigate. Even with all of the messages I’d been getting since that first Alliance meeting, I hadn’t opened any of the messages until now.
I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Well, I did have one in middle school for two weeks, but that doesn’t really count looking back as a 19 year old. Shuffling into my first semester in college, everyone was dumbfounded to hear 19 year old eternally single human still exists nowadays. Dating apps are like the new Facebook for a college student and I came to learn that fact very quickly. When I walked into the first Gay-Straight Alliance meeting of the year as a quiet freshman, I was introduced to a popular dating app called “HIM.” Because I was the token gay boy addition to the group, it was a must that I at least had a profile. The first meeting quickly turned into a mini photoshoot for my new HIM profile. Why not? First year of college is always filled with firsts for everyone. What could go wrong? My new friends glossed me up real nice and tied me in a bow before setting me loose to the dating scene.
One specific message catches my eye now as we walk back and it comes from a picture labeled with the name: Harden. The preview starts with, “I think you’re…” A warmness inside me flows all around which somehow encourages me to tap my thumb on the curly haired man in the tiny square picture. The full message reads, “I think you’re absolutely lovely, Thomas.” With that, I can’t control the smile pulling at the corner of my lips. I quickly conceal it before Elysha sees. Nobody will know unless this advances further. When I’m sure Elysha isn’t looking, I glance bac down at my phone, screen tilted away to reply.
“Thank you, Harden.” I reply while biting my lip and then quickly scan his profile once more. Harden was a six foot tall man with caramel-colored curly locks, a deep dimple in both of his cheeks and bright blue eyes just like my girl, E. The pictures he provided included a lot of him outside hiking or camping. As I was examining the last photo, I got another message from him.
“You’re very welcome, love. Tell me all about you.” Harden’s new message replied. So I went in listing off my age, school and anything else that I could quickly tell him. “Nice. But I’d like to know about the real you. Not just what you want to do for a living.” He replied straight after mine.
This started a five month long chain of messages about the real stuff. I felt like I got to know him better than any of my friends and he got to know me; specifically our insecurities and daily struggles. This virtual shoulder seemed like all I needed at the time.
“Can I be personal for a moment?” Harden asked suddenly after a string of dad jokes to cheer me up after a long day. Since I’m the number one best person to listen to hard times, I agree.
“Of coarse. What’s up, love?” I reply, almost nonchalantly as I sit at a forced family dinner. Nobody is going to talk to me so I might as well text Harden with a heart.
“You are always there for me. You’ve stuck by me through my anxiety spurts and me pushing you away. Thank you. ” Harden starts in one message and my screen has three little dots on it for a few minutes. I take this opportunity to get a reply in.
“Of coarse love. I’m here.”
“I hope so.. Because I love you.” he replies finally and my eyes widen.
“Uh. C-can I be excused, mum?” I choke out, tossing my napkin down onto the table. My legs don’t let me wait for her yes. I rush up to the connecting bathroom to my bedroom and lock the door instantly. Even though I stare at the message all night, I don’t reply. How can I reply when I’m not sure I feel the same way. My mind is full the whole night at the next day before class I sip a large coffee while I write back.
“Sorry I didn’t reply last night. I just never thought someone would say those words and mean it to me.” are the words I pull together in a message. “Do you mean it?”
“Of coarse.” Harden replies instantly which warms my blood and wakes me up more than the java.
“I love you too.” I reply without even thinking. My eyes fill with hearts and the details of the room sink into my mind forever. The time passing this big moment before class I came to soon regret. Back then, I didn’t know text conversations shouldn’t lead to those three words after just two months. That quick, it just becomes a new excuse.
“Can you send me a photo?” Harden asks one day and I know a smirk covers his face, but I reply with a picture of my smiling face: what a good man should be asking for. “You’re cute babe, but you know what kind of picture I want.” he replies exactly as I was hoping he wouldn’t.
“No” I insist, holding onto my dignity by a thread.
“You know I love you.” Is all it takes me to give in. That excuse Hardin learned can now be used for any deed he needs done. He also liked to use it after to make up for treating me horribly.
“Why do you always treat people like crap?” Harden questions one day and I’m caught off guard.
“What do you mean? I thought I was always pretty nice to say the least.” I reply by myself while chewing on my bottom lip.
“Oh. I guess it’s just the way you talk.”
“How do I talk?”
“It’s kind of condescending. I’d quit speaking to me if I were you.” Harden replies and he may as well come over to slap me in the face without context or contact ever again. The worst feelings in life come on suddenly without warning. The worst things in life aren’t explained. They aren’t polished and tied up in a nice little bow. That’s why they are the worst things and that’s why hearts break. One string of support can be pulled and send everything else crashing down.
