No fucking way. I block his path and grab his arm. He doesn’t fight it, which throws me off a bit, only lets his head drop forward until his chin hits his chest.
“I’m studying,” he whispers. “To get my GED. So fuck off with your judgment.”
“I’m not judging.”
“Sure, you’re not. You—”
I pull him to me and give him a one-armed hug. “Get that GED. It will open more doors. You’re a bright guy, Jet Jackasson.”
I mean it.
He punches me in the arm and snorts. “Fuck off.”
I let him go, change the topic.
Slowly. One day at a time. I’m wearing him down, finding out more and more about him. But one thing is for certain, and always was:
Jethro is my bro, and I’ve got his back, always.
***
Jethro and I have been friends for the past four years—since my last year at high school. He was the new kid on the block, quiet and sullen. I was the rising track star athlete, president of my class, surrounded by friends.
Not real friends, though. And he was the real thing. Genuine. Trustworthy. Not kissing my ass like everyone else, but looking for something true to say. To connect. And we did—over martial arts and video games, talks about chicks, violent Japanese comics and historical battles.
But above all, he stood by me when everyone else didn’t. When nobody could. When nobody else understood. He never turned his back. And I’ll never forget it, though he never opened up to me, even after that. Even after all these years.
There’s a mystery about him. There always has been. I’ve realized time after time how little I know about him. But he’s opening up, month after month, year after year.
After what he’s been through in his life, what he hinted at about his past, I can understand he needs the time to trust again. I’ll be by his side when he does. I’ve been working on making him accept I’m not going anywhere since we met. He was very skittish then when it came to talking about himself. About what he needed, what he wanted. He’s much better now.
And what do you want? a tiny voice whispers in the back of my mind.
Same as always. My best friend by my side, and a girl who gets me and turns me on in my arms. The latter is proving harder to find, but nerdy girl has given me hope.
I’m hard every damn time I’m around her. Every time I imagine things I’d do to her, her cries of pleasure.
Yeah, maybe this time it will work out.
I still haven’t told Jet about this. Still not sure I fucking should. He’s a pretty laid back guy—I mean he knows all about what happened at college, things nobody else knows—but I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries and make things awkward. Don’t wanna jinx our friendship.
So I’m at work, my mind working overtime—and I still haven’t heard from my boss about the incident in the copier room.
Now every fucking time I go in there, I feel watched, and jumpy, and I keep my hands so far away from my crotch I keep hitting things. Broke a crystal clip jar this morning.
I mean, who in their sane mind keeps crystal clip jars on their desks in this time and day, huh?
Fuck, boss is staring at me again through the window. What the fuck does he want from my life?
I grab the copies from the printer and hurry back to the office I share with two other guys—both BA majors, like me. Both bored with their lives and trying to hide it.
I’m not feeling bored. I’m fucking pissed at the world, at my goddamn bad luck, at the boss for not calling me to get it over with, and at myself for being so paranoid.
I pretend to be working, waiting for the boss to call and tell me to step into his office for a little talk. I read and reread the company policy book that I’m supposed to know by heart, my gaze rolling over the words, grasping nothing. I tidy up my desk, check my emails, start replying to one and then stop, realizing I have no clue what to say.
I glare at my phone. Call already. Call me and get it over with.
Nothing.