Author Note
This is based off a character from one of my books. It's not true to the character exactly. Just something I wanted to try out and experiment with. As well as use to practice some writing! This also hasn't been edited, and I probably won't, so good luck :)

I often questioned what really drove a teenage boy to become homophobic. What really went on in their minds? Was it their parents? Religion? Was it the fear or misunderstanding on the topic?

Or was it what I liked to call the straight game, which exactly was what Richard played.

I will never understand why. I can never understand the shame that went on inside, the mask he hid behind. But there was more to Richard merely anyone saw - a side I once got to meet.

It was last Summer when I came to visit my family for a few weeks. My cousin hosted a house party to celebrate some football match win. I didn't want to go. I hated parties, drinking and anything else that went down at such events. But he claimed my simple, party free lifestyle embarrassed him, so he insisted I went.

I knew no one there, of course. It was just a big house full of strangers that I endlessly wandered around, observing the types of people, listening to the conversations. Then that's when I met him.

"Having fun?" Mark joked, handing me a plastic cup filled with some sort of liquid that resembled pee.

"If boredom is what you consider fun then, yeah, I guess I'm having a blast," I said, taking the cup.

"Come on! Lighten up. You'll be fine. Just talk to some people," he suggested. I just folded my arms and rolled my eyes.

"Parties are fun. You need to stop being such a party pooper, " he shouted over the loud music as he stumbled sideways. One of his friends jumped to grab him, and they both laughed at his state.

"They're a chance to get laid." A friend of his added, and they all broke out into more laughter as they all lifted their hands to high-five him.

I gawked at him, narrowing my eyes at his tall, muscular body and brown hair styled with a point and shaved at the side just as Mark's entire group wore their hair. He stared at me intensely with these intimating eyes that were hard to read, but I instantly knew from his football jacket and attitude what type of person he was.

Yeah, I stereotyped him your typical high asswhole jock. Nonetheless, I proved not to be wrong. The only difference he had was a difference I wondered did he share with more than we were all tricked into believing.

"Right, " I responded, nodding my head slowly. I spun around and walked away, taking one last glance at the boy before I disappeared into the house.

It didn't take long for me to become fed up. So, eventually, I hid upstairs in the guest bedroom, where I laid on my bed as I read my book and listen to music to try to drown out the chaos
downstairs.

Time passed by. I'm not sure how long, but it must have been at least half an hour, if not, more when this sense inside me developed as though I was being watched. My eyes travelled from the words on the paper to the door that stood in front of me, where Richard stood in front of me.

His body was stiff, and he held a glass bottle in his hand that dangled by his side. He never peeled his eyes from me once.

I pushed myself up on the bed and removed my earplugs.

"The bathroom is down the hall," I said.

"I know. I've been here many times to figure that out."

"Oh... Well, can I help you?" I asked, closing my book.

He paused before he let out a mocking chuckle and smirked.

"I don't know. Can you?" He muttered, his smirk fading into a frown as his attention drifted towards the floor, and his body loosened.

"Do you need some water?" I asked him when he suddenly sidestepped, tripping over his own feet.

"No. I need to leave." He huffed.

"Ok. Well, why don't you?" I questioned as I approached him. I stopped in front of him and looked up into his those dark eyes that masked pain so well. He looked back down into mine until his face became closer, and his lips smacked against mine.

I jerked away, pushing him with my hand.

"What are you doing?"

"What did it look like?" He spat.

"I... I... Sorry."

"Whatever." He walked past me, taking a swig of his drink.

"Maybe you should sit down?"

He obeyed and sat down, colliding hard onto the bed. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs, and he glared at the floor. Reluctantly, I perched next to him. My knees turned to him.

"Are you ok? Are you sure you don't need water?"

"I'm fine, " he said, his tone gentler than earlier. I nodded and pursed my bottom lip.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, but I broke the unbearably awkward tension when I offered to call him a taxi. He quickly refused, almost scared at the thought. But it wasn't going home he worried over. It was the idea of being the first of the boys to leave. He couldn't dare to appear weak.

I opened my mouth to start a conversation to prevent that awkwardness that crept in the atmosphere, but I swallowed my words when he began to cry.

I widened my eyes, lost for something to say. I put out my hand to tap his shoulder but reframed when his cries turned into sobs. I searched my brain for a response to his emotional drunk state. However, my social skills lacked when it came to these types of situations. In fact, any social case, at all.

"Are... Are you ok?" Was the only reply I could manage to muster.

"I'm fine, " he said, drying his eyes with his blue sleeve. "Just something in my eye."

"Both eyes affected by something in your eye?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up." He hissed, and I giggled.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, remembering a conversation that had gone on between my mother and her friend when I was younger.

It turns out. He just wanted to talk. He needed to speak. So, we did. He told me everything, and I guessed he would regret it in the morning. It was all truth I could tell he hadn't admitted to ever. He hadn't confessed to his sexuality. He hadn't confessed to the real person he was. He pretended to be a straight alpha male because he had to, from what he saw. He played the "act straight" game to make himself feel better when really, not only did he hurt others, he corrupted himself.

Our conversation escalated into a make-out until he finally decided to leave and join his friends again, and I never saw him for the rest of the evening.

Once everyone had left, Mark told me about his friends. Unware of our moment, he talked about Richard and how evil he was, but I didn't see it. At least, not until three days later.

I had guessed right when I thought he would regret everything. And how wrong I was to think he was some sweet guy, to disbelieve my cousins' claims. I mean, deep down he was, but this shame he held defeated him, turning him into some sort of monster.

I greeted him when I passed him on the road that morning. I had continued walking, but he stopped. Once I noticed he had stopped and now stared at me, I too halted. I waited for him to say something. And he did. Just not what I wanted to hear.

He marched towards me, grabbed my collar and lifted me to his face. My eyes gaped at his teeth that showed when he snarled at me, and my body trembled, and my heart raced.

"Stay the fuck away from me," he warned. Then he released my collar, and I fell to the floor. Quickly, he stormed off, leaving me to blink at his shrinking figure rapidly.