Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 10

The holidays are so goddam packed and yet I'm so goddam close to getting rid of this story from my overloaded brain. So I'm going to be posting more here. LFG.

Nothing in the world can get me to stop thinking about it. Sex with Dillon. I fucked him. He liked it. He said it was good. Not ten out of ten, but at least edging up on an eight. I fucked him. Dillon showed me how to fuck him, and I did it. We had sex.

I don't know what to do with this information.

With a girl, I'd be like, "Finally out of the friend zone, fuck yeah, motherfucker!" and tell everyone and then try to get her to have sex with me a lot more. With Dillon…I didn't set out to have sex with him and then get put in the friend zone. I set out to have sex with his lady friends, and then got put in their friend zone. Then I fucked Dillon.

My first thought, no joke, is, should I text him? I don't know what the hell I'd say, though, so I don't. "Hey, thanks for the post-concussion care. How's your asshole today?" This is like the time when he kissed me, except a million times worse. All that not-thinking I did on purpose last night is just following me around now, biting me in the ass.

When Carter comes back I almost tell him. I feel like I have to look different. Act different. Sound different. Not gay, because obviously I’m not, but like, more adult, maybe? But he just goes “How’s your brain?” and I say “Still hurts” and then Carter says I should get a doctor’s note to have extra time on my finals.

Finals.

Fuck.

That’s a good reason to message Dillon, though. I have passed Stat, but that’s the only early final I have this year. Our Human Biology final is two-parter. I have notecards to write for an in-person essay, a project to finish for Macro, and in Spanish we have to do a full presentation, no cheat sheets, so I have to memorize all of my lines. I focus better when there’s someone else working nearby, another thing that Dillon helped me figure out, so, like, just…goddammit, he’s my tutor. He has a job to do, and that’s to help me pass two more classes.

So I text him.

Study tomorrow?

I can’t, he replies so fast. You’re on your own this week.

I stare at my phone for a second. The fuck? Our final is in two days and he punched me so hard I went gay for a little bit. Isn’t it Dillon’s responsibility to make sure I pass? Is this because I wasn’t an eight? Should I have been a better fuck, and then I’d get to sit next to him while I try to find pictures for my Macroeconomics slideshow?

Or maybe I should have been nicer to him afterwards. And yeah, Dillon only punched me because I misunderstood, overreacted, called him a slur, and shoved him to the ground. Which is fucking crazy on my part, so why the fuck would Dillon let me fuck him?

“God fucking dammit!” I say out loud, and Carter looks at me in surprise. “No, I just…I really need to pass these exams.”

“Let’s go get that doctor’s note,” Carter says.

It’s not that I study only because I have a really nice memory of being congratulated for my B in Statistics. There’s also anger in there, like, oh so you’re going to fucking ditch me at the most critical time in the semester? Fine. I don’t fucking need you anymore.

There’s stuff that does work. Being around people in the library. Taking breaks. Setting timers. Some of my classmates from Spanish let me join their group, and they take my suggestion that we practice presenting to each other. I can do this, and it doesn’t goddam matter that the guy who taught me how to study is apparently not talking to me after we fucked.

Like a little bitch I try texting him again on Sunday morning, though. Carter and I are going to study for Human Biology in the lounge, if you want to join. No reply. Like, part one of our test is tomorrow, man. 

When Carter pauses to order food I check my phone again, but Dillon is leaving me on read. Feeling like an absolute creep, I actually call him. Of course he picks up; a phone call is insane behavior.

“Are you okay?” is literally the first thing Dillon says. He sounds like he’s ready to come running if I tell him my head still hurts. Gotcha, ya smooth bastard.

“Hey, can we study?” I ask. “I for real am trying to pass at least three more classes.”

“Are you kidding me? This is why you call—ugh. Oh, my god, Jay.”

“I’m obviously desperate, man!” I say too loud, and Carter glances over at me. I give him a look like I’m playing it up for Dillon, but just in case I go into the hall. “Seriously, like, great job helping me set up a healthy study habit. Please, please don’t ruin it now.”

God, I sound so fucking pathetic.

Dillon sighs, and I can almost hear him rubbing his forehead in frustration. “We can study. We can only—hey, hear me when I say this—only study. And I think it’s a good idea if we only ever study from now on.”

If I complain it’ll sound gay, so I just go, “Yeah, definitely,” even though Dillon himself said it was a seven and a half, almost an eight, even though it was my first time fucking anyone’s ass.

“I mean, you still have people to hang out with outside of homework and class,” Dillon continues. “You should do that. Reward yourself for all the time you spent in tutoring.”

“What,” I joke, “are you trying to preparing me for Spring semester? I gotta find a new sucker to tutor me?” What I want to ask is if he’s trying to break up with me, but I don’t know if that would land as funny now.

Dillon chuckles just like I wanted. “Build those bridges early.” Then I hear someone call his name, and he says to me all fast like he doesn’t want to be caught on the phone with me, “You can handle the first part on your own, I promise. I gotta go. We’ll study tomorrow night.”

I exhale. He has other classes. I’m still getting what I wanted, which is a study buddy who actually likes helping. That’s all. And that’s cool. I don’t need anything more.

“You good, bruh?” Carter asks me when I walk back into the lounge.

I fix my face. “Fuckin’ scared about these tests, man. Let’s go.”

When Dillon walks into the Human Bio final he looks, like, messy. He’s still in his button down and quarter zip, but his jaw is covered in stubble and his curly hair is frizzier than usual. He also reeks like old booze. 

"You okay?" I ask. 

Dillon just glares at me with red eyes and sits down.

I'd like to tousle his hair. I also very much don't want to be anywhere near him because he’s really, really distracting. Fucking awkward. "You smell like death."

"Give me some gum or leave me alone, asshole." he growls, rubbing his temples.

"Geez, fuck you, too.”

"Something you'd like to share, Mr. Givens?" Dr. Aulgur has a special radar for my voice I swear.

"No, ma'am." I wait until more students have filled in the room to whisper my follow-up. “What crawled up your ass?” Aside from my fingers the other night. And then my dick. Oh my god, I fucked this guy two days ago and nobody knows.

“I’m hung over, obviously.”

Dr. Aulgur is handing out the order for our exam—we have a written test and then have to do an oral test individually with the cadavers, so she’s not paying attention to me. I pull a packet of electrolytes out of my backpack and toss it to him. Dillon glances at our professor, then quickly pours it into his water bottle and barely shakes it up.

“What happened?”

He takes a gulp, then quickly hides his drink so we don’t get in trouble. “I went on a bad date, and then I got drunk.”

“When, yesterday?”

“Yep.”

“Did you…” Too many questions. “Why was it bad?”

“We had nothing in common.”

Dr. Aulgur calls me over then to talk about my extra test time. I have it if I need it, but I’ll need to start with the cadaver stuff and then do the written while everyone else is doing their oral exams tomorrow.

“Unfortunately, that’s the best I can do with such short notice,” she tells me. 

Yeah, sucks to get a concussion on the weekend, doctor.

“Can I do the written test in another room?” I ask. “I have a hard time filtering out distractions.” Another thing Dillon pointed out for me.

Dr. Aulgur sighs. “I’ll see if I can find a monitor for you.”

“Jesus, am I that much of a burden?” I mutter, and am embarrassed to see that not only did my professor hear me, but she’s turning red.

“My frustration is with a system that makes it difficult to adjust quickly for students with specific needs,” she says quickly. “Not about you, Mr. Givens.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry.”

“No, I apologize for giving you the wrong impression.”

Not once in my life has an adult said a genuine sorry to me, so I don’t really know what to do here. I just mumble something and go back to my seat. Dillon snorts a little bit. Honestly, what the fuck is with him today? I want to tell him he’s being a bitch, but like, am I just mad that he’s not showing, you know, the care and kindness from Friday night? After my head trauma?

It’s a fucking chore to focus on my exam after that, but I do it. Dr. Aulgur has me come to the cadaver room with just her, and I have to examine the female body and point out various organs. Spleen, gall bladder, uterus; this part is actually pretty easy after spending the last month paying attention. I’m not going to start looking at medical schools or anything, but if you ask me to palpate a liver then I fucking can.

Dr. Aulgur tells me good job.

Holy shit.

I can’t go back to the classroom while the other students are still finishing the written test, so I wander over to the cafeteria. Carter will join soon enough, but I’ll bet that Dillon meets up with Viera or Kayleigh or somebody and tells them all about his bad date. Is that who he was with yesterday?

My spaghetti and meat sauce doesn’t look as appetizing anymore, for some reason. I should be hungry, but I don’t know, maybe getting a concussion messed up my digestive system for a little bit. I look at my phone, but no new messages. Dr. Aulgur told me I did a good job on the oral exam, which is forty percent of the final, so I’m probably going to pass the class. That feels awesome, but I’m not going to get Dillon-level enthusiasm by telling some rando. Today I doubt Dillon would even be that impressed.

When my roommate joins me I’m still picking at my cold lunch.

“How did that go?” Carter asks as he sits down. “I think I fucked up at least three of the questions. What’s the oral exam like?”

For the first time in my life I don’t want to tell my friend exactly what’s on the test. “Oh, uh, you have to point out organs and shit,” I answer him. “I think it’s different for everyone.”

Carter sighs in relief. “Okay, I can do that. Was it hard?”

“Nah, but all I do is study now,” I say with a shrug.

“Nerd!” Carter yells, shoving me playfully.

Okay, we’re cool. This is normal, and I’m normal, and I’m only downplaying how I did because Carter still gives more of a shit about football than grades. He’s also trying to do the bare minimum so he has time to visit his girlfriend at Mizzou and do Sig Ep stuff, so obviously he’s going to care less about my academic shit than the guy who’s tutoring me. It’s normal.

“Was Dillon still in there when you left?” I ask, super casually.

Carter pshaws. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Can’t believe you still want to hang out with him after he sent you to the ER.”

“Hah. Yeah.” I twirl spaghetti on my fork. “That was bad, but I was out of pocket first.”

My friend makes a face that says he doesn’t get it, but whatever. “I think I’m good for the oral test, so can you study with old Iron Fist for the next part? Don’t want to leave you hanging with your head bonk shit.”

“I should be good.”

Which is why I’m still sitting alone in the cafeteria when Dillon finally slides into the seat across from me. His curls are wet and he smells good again. I give him a head nod.

Dillon’s first words are, “Did you not eat?”

I look at my sad plate. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“The salad bar is still open. Come get food.” He stands without waiting to see if I follow him, and even though I’m not concussed I’m still like, this is alpha shit. Taking care of the pack. Not that I want to be, like, be babied. I’m fucking grown.

As I put green shit on my plate I tell him, “Dr. Aulgur actually told me good job when I left, so I think I at least aced the oral exam.”

“Nice!” Dillon says, then he looks like he catches himself doing something he shouldn’t. The next part is in a more even tone. “Looks like all that time in the library paid off, huh?”

I don’t even get a high five? Not that it’s why I told him. “Well, thank you again. I owe you.”

He’s about respond, but then watches me pour dressing over my giant salad. “How much ranch do you need?”

“Enough that I don’t taste fucking spinach,” I reply, staring him in the face while I turn the bottle upside down over my plate.

“You still order from the kids' menu, don’t you,” Dillon says, but he’s smiling like when he told me I was adorable. Not that I care about the adorable part; I just mean that he’s not saying it to make me feel bad.

I fake a huge frown and make muscles at him. “Nuh uh, I’m a big boy!”

Dillon chuckles.

Okay, so we’re good, right? Even if we “only study,” Dillon isn’t still mad at me. 

“How’s your hangover?” I ask. What I want to know about more than anything is the date he went on two days after I fucked him.

Dillon grimaces. “Still not great, but I chugged a full Pedialyte and took pain killers, so I’ll survive.”

I almost don’t say it. “I can leave you to it if you need a nap.”

“Big talk after you called me on the actual phone,” he replies with extra sass.

“Okay, listen. Rude. You don’t have to put me on blast like that,” I complain to his guffawing. This is fun. Why can’t we just do this? But I can’t get out of my own fucking way, so I open my stupid mouth. “So why did this date suck? Was he a shitty lay?”

Dillon’s expression closes like door. He sits up all formal, pulling out our biology textbook with one hand while poking at his massive salad with the other. “It wasn’t like that.”

“So what was wrong with him?” I press. “I’m just curious. Too much like Marcus?”

Oooh shit, I’m not supposed to know his ex’s name. I go hot and cold real quick, but thank god Dillon doesn’t notice.

“Too much like y—all the guys I used to play with,” he responds. Then Dillon explains, “Just because I know you’ll keep asking, let me put it like this: getting trade isn’t enough for me.”

“What is trade?”

The expression on his face tells me that I won’t like his answer. “Look it up. I’m done talking about it; I already told you that we’re only studying from now on. Let me see your notes.”

I don’t look it up because I’m not trying to have gay shit in my search history, but I do ask Carter if he knows. His girlfriend watches Drag Race and stuff.

“Dillon said it about a date he went on,” I say honestly.

“And you can’t ask him?”

“Fuck no” I laugh. “I know how hard he can hit.”

Ashlyn tells Carter what she thinks the definition is, and I’m like, Fucking god fuck shit damn shitballs. Whatever definition you use, it’s bad right? For me, I mean.

Two days later Dillon hands me back my notecards. “You should be able to get a full blue book out of that, right? You added the part about the birds.”

I scrub my hands through my hair tiredly. “Bruh. Tess of the D’Urbervilles fucking sucks.”

“And you can explain why in paragraphs of at least three sentences,” Dillon says cheerfully, tapping the cards between us. “Handwritten, because these teachers are sadists.”

They’re all afraid of ChatGPT, although Dr. Stadler says he knows when an essay is AI. He could at least tell when I used it, which is how I almost flunked a class so easy that you’re not allowed to drop it.

“Well, good fucking luck reading my handwriting,” I grumble, and Dillon chuckles.

“Okay then.” He slaps his thighs in that Imma-head-out way, but not too loud because there are still other people in the library. “I’ll see you around.”

Wait a second. Hang on, hang on, hang on. I knew this was the last study session, but come on, man. That’s something you’d say to someone you plan to never see again. 

“Does this mean you don’t want to know if I actually pass?” I ask, trying to keep my voice easy breezy. I’m chill. “What the fuck is ‘see you around?’”

“What? We don’t have any classes together next semester,” Dillon says easily, but his gaze slides away.

I grab the strings of my hoodie just to have something to do with my hands. “Yeah, but, like, we’ll still be friend…ly.”

There’s something that Dillon isn’t saying. Some things he has said include, “We can only study,” “I’m proud of you,” “I don’t think you’re stupid,” and most unforgettably, “Fuck me.” And I know! I know there’s not going to be a repeat. That’s not even really what I want, it’s just that I remember some part of it every now and then, even if I’m trying not to.

Dillon chews his lips—his full lips that are good at kissing, goddammit—and goes, “Does it make sense if I say that I need to recenter? This semester has been wild, and I need a break from all of it. The whole thing.” Then he shrugs. “We’re spending most of the time with my mom’s family in the Bahamas, anyway. International data is crazy expensive, so I just don’t use my phone.”

“Don’t use your phone?! What do you sit and look at?” I ask with fake outrage, trying to cover the bad feeling of not talking to him for a full month. Is this because I was a seven and a half? I’m trying so fucking hard not to be weird about it.

He looks kinda unhappy even though he laughs at me. “I think I’ll be a healthier person if I stay off the grid for a couple weeks.”

“Okay, sure,” I reply. “It just sounded like you were planning to, like, fully ignore me from now on.”

Dillon looks at me like I’m the most frustrating person alive. “Yeah. I am trying to tell you nicely that I would rather cut things off now, before it hurts too badly.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Huffing, Dillon starts putting his shit in his backpack. “You and I spent a lot of time together this semester. Maybe too much. Things got, you know, intense—”

I’m starting to get it. “Wait, are you blaming the concussion you gave me? You told me not to do that. So I didn’t.”

“You…made choices based on your own…circumstances. I, on the other hand, did not have head trauma and I made choices. Those choices would have made more sense if we…” He lowers his voice as people pass by; his bright blue eyes follow them as he talks. “Had similar interests. Right? But I guarantee that once winter break is over, when you’ve had time at home, and with your friends, then you’ll be back to chasing girls.”

“I’m not chasing you for round two, bruh,” I say, irritated. “Jesus Christ, dude, do I have to ask playground style? Dillon, do you wanna be my friend?”

He gives me this sad smile as he stands. “I’m really sorry, but I genuinely think it would be healthier for us both to be around each other way less.”

Dillon’s shoulders are straight as he walks away.

I can’t kick anything because I’m in the library, so I pull my hood up as far as it will go and put my head down on the table.