The Art of Hero Worship (16 page)

His forehead wrinkles in his sleep and I
wonder what he’s dreaming about. This reminds me of another aspect
of a relationship with a guy that could be called
challenging
. In my relationships with girls, they’d stood up
and screamed when I did something stupid, and chased after me if
I’d refused to communicate or tried to run away. But open
communication is hard for us. Neither wants to be the first to
speak or to do anything that could be perceived as nagging or
overly emotional.

I brush my fingers across his long beard and
allow them to linger on the bottom where it’s squared off bluntly.
“Hey, Liam, you have to wake up. You need to study.” His dark eyes
flutter open and I’m lucky enough to witness an honest expression
of pure pleasure at seeing my face looking down on him. I
immediately feel warm and it quickly turns into arousal, proving my
theory that the love I see in his eyes leads me to sexual
desire.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“No apology necessary. You look peaceful
when you sleep, so it was all good.”

Liam smiles and stifles a yawn. “I feel
peaceful, Jase. You make me feel peaceful.”

I want to plead with him to tell me what’s
bothering him, but I don’t. I’m confident that he’ll either clam up
or give me a vague answer that’s really no answer at all. “Let’s go
to the dining hall and then the library. We’ll study better on full
stomachs.”

“’Kay. I’m gonna go rinse off my face. Be
back in a few.” He pulls himself up off the bed and rises to his
full height. “You look sexy, sitting there with your book open.
Just saying.” He gazes at me for a minute wearing a sweet smile,
but that strange haunted expression clouds his eyes before he
leaves the room.

I need to know what’s causing his pain. Part
of loving this hero of mine requires me to dive headfirst into the
darkest parts of his mind so that I can lift him into the light.
And I have an idea about how to figure out what puts the shadows in
his eyes, but I’m reluctant to put it into action.

Word is out around school that something
more is going on between Liam Norwell and Jason Tripp than just
being two survivors of the most violent event in the history of
Batcheldor College dealing with their pain and anguish as a united
front. We’ve kept our relationship quiet for a month now, but it’s
hard to hide
inseparable.
Neither of us is dating women and
I’m missing-in-action all weekend, every weekend, because I stay at
Liam’s apartment. Students realize this is way beyond
we-survived-hell-together behavior.

Maybe they think it’s a “Post Traumatic
Stress Romance,” or hero worship to the nth degree. And maybe it
is
both of these things, or maybe it started that way, but
has evolved into much more.

BJ was the first to figure it out, which
really isn’t surprising because, of the time Liam and I spend
together on campus, much of it is in our dorm room—Liam and I
sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on my bed, and BJ on the other bed,
trying to figure us out. Like right now.

“So do you guys feel like you’re totally
over the Harrison Theater shooting? I mean, you act normal enough…
in most ways.”

Liam, sitting on my bed and leaning against
the wall, looks to me to provide an answer. I say, “I’m not over
it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be over it. Whenever I’m out in
public, I’m aware that I’m at risk.”

“And we both question our actions in the
theater last April, every day,” Liam adds, still watching me
closely.

“Yeah, we both have a ton of guilt… mine’s
about Ginny.” This has been the most difficult part of surviving.
“I don’t think I did all I could have to help her.” I’m proud that
I’m able to voice this thought aloud; I’ve been struggling with the
guilt for months.

“You’re a journalism major, Jase. You should
write about all the shit that went down that night, and also what
happened when DeSalles came after you at the hotel… you know, so
other people can relate better. And then some Hollywood dude can
make it into a movie.” BJ’s first suggestion is a good one because
a lot of Ginny and my friends look at Liam and me rather
scornfully, like I’m somehow cheating on Ginny’s memory. But I’m
not ready to write about it yet; I’m still making sense of the
entire experience. And I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for the
movie version of that night.

“Maybe I will someday.” Liam reaches out and
squeezes my knee and I know he’s doing what he always does for me:
making sure I’m okay.

“So, I’m just gonna put it out there…. Jase,
you were straight last year and you’re pretty much gay now. Did the
trauma turn you gay?”

Liam stiffens up, as if he’s going to come
back at BJ with a “fuck you” or maybe worse. But I cover his hand
with mine to calm him, which is what
I
often do for him. I
know that BJ is not cruel; he’s just inappropriately direct, and
sometimes overly curious. And I’ve faced it—his curiosity is
natural. In fact, Liam and I have wondered the very same thing.
“What happened at the theater bonded us in a way we can’t
reverse.”

“We don’t want to reverse it.” Liam’s gaze
hasn’t strayed from my face. It’s unusually penetrating, because
this issue is one that we don’t fully understand either.

“So you two just fell hard—and gender wasn’t
a factor, right? I kinda get it. See, I was nuts about Ezra Koenig
of the indie band, Vampire Weekend, for my entire senior year of
high school. In my eyes the guy could do no wrong.” He lowers his
voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I wouldn’t have kicked him outta
my bed, no joke.”

I don’t know if BJ really gets it at all,
but I nod. “Yeah, it’s something like that.”

“And I fell hard for Dacia and, like…
shit!
I’m supposed to meet her at the student lounge in five
minutes. We’re gonna have coffee…. You guys wanna join us? It’ll be
a double date!”

I blush at his suggestion, but Liam replies
with a very straight face, “Yeah… a double date. Sounds good.” And
he’s off the bed, tucking in his shirt in a split second. I think
he’s ready for us to go public about our relationship at school.
It’s going to be harder for me because all of my friends knew about
my intense relationship with Ginny; I can guarantee that they’re
going to have plenty of questions about my sexual orientation.

And I have no concrete answers for them. I
love Liam. It’s that plain and simple, and at the same time,
completely confounding. I’m
in love
with him, too—with his
strength and humor, his devotion, the way he comforts and saves me.
The way he wouldn’t and couldn’t leave me—in the theater, when his
life was at risk, or now. And this unique and powerful love leads
me to
want
him
in every way possible
. I want him to
see only me, and I want him to desire what he sees. I want to turn
him on until he can’t stand it any longer and then I want to
satisfy him. Our genders, our orientations,
must
take a back
seat to these things.

“So I guess it’s a coffee date, then.” I
jump off the bed and run my hands through my short hair to put it
back into place. “But can I still have hot cocoa?”

Time to go public with this thing.

Usually, Liam and I don’t watch the
news—there’s too much on it that brings the haunted look into his
eyes, and most of it thoroughly depresses me. But since we’re
eating breakfast in a diner where there’s a television mounted on
the wall above the breakfast bar, we’re half-listening to the day’s
events between bites of pancakes and conversation. We can’t miss
the report that yesterday a fire had been set intentionally by a
disgruntled employee at an Imax theater where a group of school
kids were on a class field trip. One student had been killed. This
piece of news had hit us where it hurts most: murder in a theater
and death by fire.

The haunted look I see every so often—the
darkening of his eyes, a lowering of his eyebrows, a hollow
expression—appears on Liam’s face and refuses to leave. When he
drives me back to RetroHouse, he’s still preoccupied.

After he parks, and is reaching over the
seat for my backpack, I tug his sleeve lightly with my fingertips,
and he’s so wrapped up in his dark thoughts that my touch startles
him. He jumps a mile.

“Liam, you need to tell me what happened to
upset you so much. Do you think I’m completely out to lunch? I can
see that something to do with the fire in the theater has reminded
you of the event in your past that hurt you… so just
tell me
about it… we can talk it over.” I grab his arm. “You’ll feel
relieved.”

In an instant Liam’s face is bright red and
practically steaming. I’ve never seen him so angry. “You have no
fucking clue what you’re talking about.” His eyes seem to look
right through me. “Here, take your bag.” He shoves my backpack into
my arms. “I’m gonna trust that you can walk safely back to the dorm
on your own.” Liam puts the car in drive and stares out the
windshield as he waits for me to leave.

I reach out and place my hand on his
forearm. “Liam….”

He shakes my hand off and says, “Just
go.”

***

The night drags on forever. I’m angry as
hell at having been snapped at so unreasonably, and beyond that,
I’m devastated Liam won’t confide in me. And I’m worried about him,
too. The person who kicked me out of his car is not the person who
so gently and patiently walks by my side every day. I check my
phone before I go to bed and there’s finally a text message from
him.

Liam: Are you ok? Did you get back to your
room w/out a problem?

After I experience the rush of relief that
Liam still cares about me, a wave of confusion nearly knocks me
over. I don’t reply because I don’t know what to say.

Liam: Jase, I’m sorry. Please forgive me for
how I treated you.

My mind is clouded with the anxiety built up
during the past few hours. I can’t find the words to express how I
feel.

Liam: Please, Jase, text me one word just to
let me know you’re ok. I’m worried.

I have no interest in further torturing
Liam, seeing as he’s doing a damned good job without my help.

Jase: I’m okay. It’ll be okay.

Within a few seconds of sending my message I
receive a final text.

Liam: Thank you. I love
you
.

I’m going to do something about this
situation in the morning.

I skip my first class to do my research
privately in my dorm room. There’s something very wrong with the
prospect of snooping into Liam’s life while BJ prattles on and on
about the wonders of Dacia’s perfectly round ass.