| CHAPTER SIXTEEN
| for what it's worth

ɴᴏʟᴀɴ ᴍᴜʟʟᴇɴ

I didn't know why I was torturing myself. Maybe it was just masochism, maybe I hated myself so much I wanted to get heartbroken again. Maybe I wanted to lose all my friends because of the shitty being I was becoming by distancing myself from them. Or maybe I was too careless. The one thing I knew since the moment in the car, was that I liked him more than just a friend, and it had become too substantial to just call a crush.

I was sweating and he could probably tell. He could probably feel the clamminess of my hands as he adjusted my fingers. He could probably hear my heartbeat trying to drill a doorway out of my ribs.

"So that's an A."

"You know what?" I said, looking at the side of his face. We were sat close together, so every little speck of color in his eyes showed itself. "Guitar playing isn't that difficult. Maybe I should take over your job."

He laughed, the dimple in his cheek facing me as he looked down at our hands, his still placed over mine to get the shape right. His hands were larger than mine, and his finger tops were rougher. They felt almost scratchy on my skin.

"The basics are never hard. I wouldn't wanna frustrate you."

I was totally sending him fuck-me eyes. Not intentionally, of course. But his proximity, combined with the constant contact between my fingers and his, his eyes focused on my fingers, or the smell of green and lemons lingering around, definitely did something to me. Deeply in the pit of my stomach could I feel it. I knew I was staring at him in a way that would've betrayed me to anyone else, but he didn't seem to catch on. Not at all. And if he did, he was insanely good at hiding it.

He looked up and smiled. Everything about him was so nonchalant and laidback. He was the polar opposite of me.

"Got it?"

I forgot to pay attention and I had no clue what he'd been talking about.

"I— I don't think so," I said, trying to hide the fact that I was too distracted by him. Too distracted. And just like that, memories of the last week came flooding back.

Kylan following me to the trailer. Him wanting me to be friends. Him telling me he was done protecting me. I didn't even know what he was 'protecting' me from, but every time I thought about it, I got shivers.

"Got it now?" Oakley asked, pulling me back into the real world.

"I'm uhm... I'm sorry, I zoned out."

"That's okay," he said, his eyes focused on me. He took the guitar from my lap and gently placed it down next to him. "Do you wanna talk about it now?"

I sat up a little straighter when he asked the question.

"It's... I— uhm, can't..." I couldn't tell him about Kylan. Hell, I couldn't even tell him I'm gay, because that would make it all too easy for him to put two and two together to realize I liked him. And I didn't want that to happen, as he was the only friend in the state I could talk to.

"Sometimes it's better just to tell someone. You can trust me."

"It's just a small issue at work. Nothing too serious."

"Talk to me then. I'm not judging," he said, resting his hands on his legs.

Even if I didn't mention Kylan, I didn't want to dump all my trauma onto him. I didn't want him to think differently of me. I wanted to be a good friend.

"Wait, let me go over everything I know about you," he said. I looked at him, not understanding why he found this important. "You are Nolan Mullen, eighteen years old, born into fame. You're an actor, just like your dad. You like baking and you're really good at it. You love chocolate and ice cream, and especially chocolate ice cream. You get panic attacks sometimes. You have anxiety. You pull at your cuticles when you're stressed." He placed his hand on mine, just like in the car, where I was doing exactly as he said.

"And you have terrible eyesight."

I looked up, watching him as I tried to figure out what he was trying to say with all this.

"What are you trying to say?" I asked him quietly.

"I already know a lot about you, and I like every part I got to know so far. Nothing you could say can change the way I perceive you."

I took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. I hadn't noticed the little lamps scattered all over it. It was like an elevated version of those glow-in-the-dark stars kids would have in their bedrooms.

Oakley lied down first, right next to his guitar, with his hands behind his head. "Talk to me."

"I... I knew someone. Like a best friend. He didn't want people to know we were friends, but we were."

I was sounding stupid.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this," I said.

I was ready to walk away, but he stopped me before I could walk out the door. He had gently placed his hand on my shoulder, and it was like everything inside of me was falling apart. I didn't know how to deal with this situation.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm being too pushy. You don't have to tell me," he said. "Please, stay?"

His eyes had become a deeper shade of brown as his furrowed eyebrows cast a soft shadow over them. He let go of my shoulder. "We could do something else instead. We could watch a movie, if you want to."

The room went quiet as my eyes scanned his mannerisms. His fingers moved around a lot mostly, as the rest of his body had went stiff as a board. Was he nervous?

"Why do you want me to stay?" I asked, looking down at the floor. His plain tan carpet was soft beneath my feet, and I kicked at it gently as I awaited his answer.

"I don't know," he said softly. "I like your company. I don't want things to be awkward between us. I'm really sorry, Nolan."

I looked back up, and was met with eyes filled with regret, and maybe some anxiety. Maybe it would be a little dramatic for me to leave over this. He was just trying to be a good friend.

"Whatever it is that's been bothering you today, I don't want you to sit alone with it, all by yourself."

I crossed my arms over my chest, looking down again. But I stayed. I walked back over to his bed and sat down.

"Has this life ever hurt you?" I asked.

The mattress dipped beside me, and Oakley's arm brushed against mine gently.

"Hurt me?" he asked. "Hurt in what way?" His could be burning a hole in my skull right now. I felt them on me, staring.

"You know how sometimes in order to get somewhere, you have to do things you might not want to? Like, especially those who aren't like me. Those who didn't grow up with the status of their parents protecting them." I didn't want for him to reply. "I used to think I had it bad. But I think I got pretty lucky now. The person who I thought hurt me had it a lot worse."

"Your issues are just as important as everyone else's. You know that, right?"

"This isn't comparable."

"I understand. Maybe it's not, but you shouldn't compare them in the first place. You had a difficult time too."

"You don't know me."

"I do, Nolan! I know you." His voice had grown louder, and not as calm as I was used to. It made my heart drop, and it made my throat close up. Why was I no longer breathing? "We're no longer strangers. I know you. Anxiety is not easy to deal with. Neither are neglectful parents. You shouldn't feel guilty because others might have it worse."

Deep breaths, calm down.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, scratching at the dead skin on my nail beds. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," he said softly, an arm on my shoulder. "No, why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong."

I looked up, meeting his eyes. "I upset you."

He shook his head, smiling softly, but it held no true happiness. It was pity, like I was some frail, hurt animal. It was what Kylan did when I cried over my parents. He'd smile in pity, telling me how I should be happy, because without them, I wouldn't never made it big. I would've faded into the background, because I was mediocre. He'd told me that my incompetency wasn't my fault, because I was fed with a silver spoon. But not because they cared about me—no, he himself was the only one who cared—it was because they had to, after being saddled up with me. He told me, and all this time I thought he was a villain for it, but maybe he was right.

For the first time in months did I crave a long drag of a joint. I didn't enjoy the idea of that.

"How did he hurt you?" Oakley asked, his voice soft again. His hand found mine, and I flinched away at first, but I let him hold it.

"He didn't hurt me, not literally."

"Then what did he tell you?"

"The truth. My life has always been easy compared to his. Even at times I went completely no contact with my dad, his status still opened doors for me. And I expected things from him I shouldn't have," We were both wrong. Him because I didn't need to hear confirmation of what I was already insecure about, and me because I made it all about me. "I was there complaining because my mom left me home alone, while he was sole provider for his whole family since he was a child. And then I gave him an ultimatum, and when he couldn't decide, I left him to deal with everything all alone."

Oakley sighed, and squeezed my hand a little tighter. "Why has it only started bothering you today?"

"He's in the movie with me. I would just avoid him to the best of my ability, but he confronted me today."

"You were a child and you didn't know. What happened to him has nothing to do with you, Nolan. You couldn't have known."

"I still don't want him in my life," I admitted.

"That's fine. You don't owe him anything. Don't let him convince you that you do."

My eyes were stuck on our hands, his fingers in between mine. The heat and the weight of his hand on mine felt so normal, so usual.

I lied down on his bed, and little lights were scattered across the ceiling. Stars, I quickly realized. They were stars.

"They look better at night," he said, his head now next to mine.

I laughed, and tears started welling up in my eyes. Not enough to make me cry, but enough to realize I needed to get this off my chest. Maybe it was way past due, but it was working.

We were both quiet. I didn't know what else to do or say, so I just stayed there. My heart was still pounding at my rib cage, but it didn't feel suffocating anymore.

"Do you feel different now that you've told me?" he asked gently.

"I feel much better," I told him with honestly.

"Also, for what it's worth, I think you're an amazing friend. You're the best listener. You're funny, you're multi-talented, actually. Acting, baking, and an E minor chord."

We laughed both now, and as I looked over to the boy next to me, all I could see was art. The dimple in his cheek, the curls falling down past his ears, revealing more of his face. It took everything in me to not touch his face, trace his temple with my fingers, and then call him pretty right then and there.

"You're amazing," I said instead. "Thank you, Oakley."