I felt like I needed a beer after that, so I stopped at the store on the way home and picked up a case of it.
I had rarely seen the powers shells had at their disposal because the clinicians did such a good job of helping them keep it under control. I often forgot that they even had such powers, which was silly considering those were the reasons that they were kept behind glass.
My hands still stung lightly from the burns they had received, but I knew the pain would fade away by morning. I grinned and bared it and bought myself some burn cream while I was at the store.
When I came back home, I immediately cracked a beer open, switched on the TV, and laid down on my couch.
My eyes felt heavy.
I could barely pay attention to the old, black-and-white movie I had switched on.
I kept thinking of that nonsense I had told Kay. Your life has value. All life does.
Those were just the lies I told myself when I looked in the mirror, and for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to spread those lies to Kay.
I knew the life of a shell had no purpose in the long run, just like I knew that mine had none. I could not give the world children, and I had no friends or family that would remember me fondly when I died. Shells seemed to be a mockery of the human spirit, just like my sexuality was a mockery of romance and love; it was as pointless as it was perverse.
I snorted. “These thoughts… I must need a session with Pamela.”
My mind drifted to past events while watching the movie.
__
Because all religions had been banned, me, my parents, and every other Christian in the neighborhood liked to pray and pay services at a friend’s house.
We all had to be very careful about it, of course. If we were caught, we would be imprisoned just like anyone who was caught passing around provocative art.
I loved our makeshift church; I loved the idea of someone always watching over me and loving me unconditionally even more.
God was a friend to me—perhaps my only friend--when I discovered I had no romantic feelings toward girls. Not even I was a friend to me when I found out I was gay.
I was already an insecure person as it was. I had been struggling with negative thoughts and low self-esteem since I was a very young child and I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my parents rejected me. My peers in school had already rejected me, after all, and if my parents rejected me, then I would have no one left.
And so, at the ripe old age of fifteen, I had no friends, a bad case of the blues, and wanted nothing to do with boys for fear that I might develop a crush on one of them and nothing to do with girls because I feared I would be ousted as gay.
The world looked like a dark place. School was toxic; everyone talked about each other behind everyone’s backs, and there was always this unending and pervasive feeling of stress that I couldn’t shake.
My parents noticed that I was miserable. They tried to get me to tell them what was wrong, but I never told them. I never told them because not even I was precisely sure why I was so upset. Being gay seemed like far too small a reason to be as sad as I was.
No. It had to have been everything that was making me sad; it had to have been the consistently overcast sky, the stress of getting good grades, and the torture of having my peers talk through me when they sat on either side of me like I wasn’t even there.
When the English teacher sat across from me in the library that first time, I felt apprehensive at first.
But then, I felt special.
When I jerked my hand away from him, his expression was compassionate and understanding.
“You’re very smart; you get some of the best grades in class. You’re so polite and respectful, too.” The teacher flattered me.
Being the downer that I was, I crossed my arms and replied sarcastically, “You think so?”
“Of course. I was wondering why such a brilliant and respectful student should have no friends and spend all his time in the library.” The teacher continued with his flattery, and I found that I couldn’t help but feel comforted and lucky that such a well-liked and handsome teacher should give an invisible student like me such praise.
“I don’t deserve any friends…” I murmured, swallowing a lump in my throat.
His facial expression was perfect; it showed just enough concern to be genuine, but not so much that it felt forced. “You do. That’s why I’ll be your friend.”
I said through a lump in my throat, “You will…?”
“Of course I will. You deserve a reward. Come meet me at the juice bar on Friday after school; I’ll get you something to eat and drink. I don’t want your parents or the other students to think that you’re getting special treatment, of course, so let’s just keep it between us.” The teacher suggested with a brilliant smile.
Nobody had ever asked me to keep a secret before. It made me feel even more special.
“Okay…” I whispered.
__
I met up with Rosy’s friend, Janie, on Saturday. She was a tiny, five-foot-tall blond woman with hazel eyes and a reserved nature.
We met in front of the Mexican restaurant that we had previously decided on over the phone.
She was wearing a pink dress with a hem that hung just above her knees and a neckline that seemed to show the appropriate amount of cleavage for a first date (not that I would know).
I expected to have to pay for her since she was a woman, but the first word out of her mouth was, “By the way, I’ll pay for my own meal.”
The hostess showed us to a booth for two. The noisy cacophony of the customers surrounding us filled in the momentary awkward silence.
Janie cleared her throat and flashed a white smile. “You look very handsome!”
She clawed at her hair nervously.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You look very beautiful, yourself.”
She giggled. “Really? I put my makeup on in such a rush that I thought it looked positively clownish!”
I laughed. I liked her very much right off the bat.
But as the date continued, I realized that I clicked with her the way I would a good friend. I didn’t find myself having romantic thoughts about her the way two people on a date should. I wasn’t looking at her cleavage and dying to find out what the rest of her looked like underneath her clothes; her flirtations were going over my head and I found that I wasn’t returning them. I kept directing the conversation away from personal questions.
My heart sank.
I couldn’t lead such a kind woman on.
She wanted another date once we finished our dinner, but I let her down gently and told her no. She tried not to look devastated. I could tell that she was wondering what she had done wrong.
While I drove home, I couldn’t believe how cruel I had been to her. It was so deceitful of me to get her hopes up when I knew I couldn’t be attracted to her.
I was beckoned in by a cruel memory of my own.
__
I met the English teacher for a drink at the juice bar like I had promised him I would. I told my parents a lie that I had made a friend and was seeing a movie with them.
At the juice bar, the English teacher made me feel warm and accepted like he was so good at doing.
Before I knew it, I found myself hanging out with him all the time after school. Before I knew it, he was holding my hand and I was holding his. Before I knew it, I was in love with him.
Before I knew it, I was in his apartment.
I looked down at the rose carpet under his couch. “I like your carpet.”
He poured a glass of wine for me, and then one for himself.
“It was my mother’s.” He replied. “She used to tell the same thing about it over and over again.”
He handed me a glass of wine and told me to sit on the couch.
I obeyed, feeling guilty and frightened about it.
No drinking wine until you’re twenty-one. Mom’s voice warned me.
The whole situation felt hostile and uncomfortable to me, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I stayed. “What did she tell you about it?”
He sat down next to me and swished his wine around in his glass. “You might not notice, but the carpet is horribly discolored. it’s hidden by the large rose print.”
I avoided looking at the teacher; his tone of voice was scaring me. I kept my eyes on the carpet instead.
When I entered that house, I wasn’t seen again for a whole month.
The police eventually found me, battered and bruised.
Similarly, the carpet was found worse for wear--stained with wine and blood.
__
“You look a little down today…” Kay’s voice cut through my reverie on Monday.
“Do I?” I replied as he climbed up on the adjusting table.
Kay made sure he wore a compassionate frown on his face as he replied, “You do. What’s wrong?”
I shook my head with a smile. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me. You’re the one who lost someone important to you…” I changed the subject. “You know, it had been awhile since I’d seen a shell use their powers. Do you have powers?”
Kay nodded. “I do, but I have mine under control. Lyle doesn’t. My girlfriend didn’t have hers under control, either. That’s why they picked her to be Released. She was always having tantrums and hurting staff members.”
His shoulders slumped; he couldn’t help his tears.
My hands twitched. I wanted to hug him. Instead, I gave him a sincere word of comfort. “I’m sorry. She deserved better than that.”
He wiped his eyes and held my hand between his without permission.
I flinched.
Kay freed my hand when he saw my discomfort. “I’m sorry—it’s just, no one else has acknowledged that but you…”
He looked at me with adoring eyes.
Such an alien look.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s get to your adjustment.”
He went face down.
“You know,” I said. “I’ve worked here a long time and I didn’t know shells were allowed to have girlfriends.”
“Well…” Kay said a little mischievously. “We’re not allowed to have…”
He took a moment to think of the right (and polite) word. “Intimate relations with each other, but we’re allowed to hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek.”
“Ah, I see.”
I found speaking to Kay came very easily to me. He was a little awkward and shy, but I could relate to that. Because we had that underlying similarity, I felt like I could relax around him.
Thankfully, before I could acknowledge how much I liked to be around him, I had already finished his adjustment.
Lyle was up next.
He looked as sad as he did the other day. He also looked apologetic. Rosy held his hand and walked him over to me. When he was close enough, Rosy knelt and whispered to him, “What do we say?”
“I’m sorry…” His face went blank for a moment. He shook his head and came back to reality. “I’m sorry about hurting you. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
My hands, which had been scorched on Friday, were now entirely better. I shook my head. “Of course not, Lyle. You’re a friend. I won’t tell anyone.”
A smile twitched at his lips. He murmured, “Thank you…”
“So, what did you eat the other day to cause such a stomachache?” I changed the subject.
“I ate the same stuff.” He replied. His eyes lowered in embarrassment. “I don’t like my new—my new…”
“Clinician?” I reminded him of the word.
He nodded.
My stomach twisted with worry. “What did they do?”
Lyle didn’t answer for a time. Eventually, he replied, “I just don’t like her.”
I followed through with my adjustment, somehow managing to keep a pleasant affect despite the situation. I decided not to press him for details.
Once I finished the adjustment, Lyle told me, “my stomach feels better today. I think it’s thanks to you. Can I hug you?”
I shocked myself when I threw my arms around him without pause.
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