I swallow and look down at the relatively fresh tattoos on my knuckles. They’re not peeling anymore, but they have started itching, and I silently chide myself for not keeping lotion in my bag. The moon on my thumb is the worst offender.
“Are you seeing anyone?” My question is barely audible.
“Nope,” he says, buttoning and unbuttoning my collar. “I’m as single as it gets.”
“That’s not what your Instagram suggests,” I say, catching his hands mid-buttoning. Our eyes finally meet. “Looks like you have a different girl every week.”
Arthur bites his bottom lip and wags his head. “You know everythin’ posted on the Internet ain’t real life. And besides, I wouldn’t lie to ya.”
Arthur has asked me out twice now, and both times I have turned him down because I’m not ready for a relationship. Or rather, I’m not ready to have my heart broken by this man. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t come home this past year. Actually, he’s the main reason, if I’m being completely honest with myself.
The moment I first laid eyes on Arthur, I knew he would be my undoing. I can’t resist a man with blond hair and brown eyes—they make for a deadly concoction when combined.
At first I told myself to resist his charms because of our age difference—he was in the ninth grade when we met—but then last year he texted me on his birthday at midnight, an image of a pack of cigarettes and two porno mags. An announcement to me—and the world, I guess, as the image later popped up on Instagram—that he was of consenting age. I never saw so many people like an image of a Playgirl in all my life.
“I didn’t call you a liar,” I reply. “But you ain’t exactly some sweet, innocent boy no more.”
Arthur exhales loudly and sinks into the futon cushion. “Lance,” he says. “I don’t want to be turned down a third time.”
“So then don’t ask me if you think you already know the answer.”
We sit in silence until Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. The sound of the spark catching fills the small room. I turn around and see a joint in his hand.
“God, see how far you’ve fallen? When did you start smoking weed?” I ask.
Arthur answers, but hesitates at first. “September, I guess. Do you want some?”
I know my body—smoking weed will only act as an aphrodisiac, and I’m already at my limit.
“No,” I say. “But it doesn’t bother me. What time does the party start?”
“Are you that eager to get away from me?” Arthur asks, then starts coughing.
“No,” I lie. “I was just wondering.”
Arthur leans forward, puts the joint into an ashtray on the coffee table and slides his arms around my waist.
“Arthur,” I protest. “What are you doing?”
“Can I hold you?”
Being in love with your best friend is literal torture, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. It doesn’t hurt that Arthur is the world’s biggest flirt, and that he doesn’t always understand the necessity of boundaries.
“Yes,” I say, cautiously. He wraps his arms around me, and I can feel his heart thumping through his shirt.
The last time I let him hold me like this, we fell asleep on his bed and awoke to his father bursting into his room like the mattress was on fire. We hadn’t even been doing anything other than sleeping—we’ve only ever slept together on a bed. Hell, the door hadn’t even been locked.
When his father had put his hand on my arm, I’d thought the night was going to end with Arthur going to jail. Arthur’s parents’ constant invasion of his privacy has been a sore spot for the past five years, and has further solidified my fears that no one will ever accept us as a couple. No one wants their son dating a trans man, at least not in this part of Kentucky.
Arthur is a fiercely loyal friend, but I hadn’t expected him to respond to the incident by moving out of his parents’ house the day after his eighteenth birthday and cutting all ties with his family, except for his mamaw. I never asked him to do that, and I refuse to believe that I’m the sole reason for his moving out of that hellhole.
“Is this okay?” he asks, sliding his hands under my shirt, keeping them carefully planted on my waist. He hasn’t seen me since I had top surgery, and should know from past