His arms felt strong as if they could protect someone from the heaviest storm. His breath gently caressed my forehead. I kept my eyes closed, lying in his arms. I was not fighting it, not getting mad, not knowing if I could or should enjoy this, even though I wanted to so much.

It was as if I was sucked through a needle hole into another world. A place where I could just be without anger, troubles, and obligations. He was an antidote to the coldness. Not the one outside, but the one I carried with me for two and a half years now. Am I allowed to enjoy this? How can he do this with me after I was so awful to him in the past? Had he really forgiven me, or was he playing games?

I took a deep breath.

Conor is not playing you, not right now.

The trailers screamed at me, trying to grab my attention, but there were just Conor’s arms around me and his heartbeat. Conor smells like home. I felt the urge to touch his hand—to hold it, squeeze it, maybe never let it go. So I slid my left hand slowly over my sweater, closer to my chest, where his arms were positioned. Do it. Or else you will never know if… this… is what should have actually happened back then.

As I felt my hand touching his soft skin, uncertainty fell upon me. If I go for this, I will eventually end up destroying it again. I can’t just allow myself to enjoy being reunited with Conor. He deserves better than you.

—

The last time we talked before tonight was Wednesday in the last week of school before our summer break in eighth grade. Every grown-up we knew talked about climate change, as this day was so hot that several streets in our county literally melted. And lucky for us, the A/C in our school building was broken, turning the classrooms into ovens. So they let us off early, and as our group already had planned to go to the public swimming pool, we decided to arrive earlier than anticipated.

Will, Leo, and Milo took the bus because they were eager to sit in the seats right next to the pool. But Conor and I didn’t join them, as he wanted to invite me to ice cream. It was on the way, but not the way the bus drove, so we walked, taking our time in the summer heat.

I ordered a double scoop of Moose Tracks, as I always did, and Conor asked for Carrot Cake and Cookies’n’Cream. His treat. I didn’t find that suspicious at the time. However, I understand now that this was an attempt to make it easier for me to process what he was about to tell me.

We walked down a three-lane street without trees or tall buildings to provide shade. But we didn’t let the scorching sun ruin our enjoyment of the ice cream that melted faster than we could eat it.

“There is something I have to tell you,” said Conor.

“Okay.”

He confused me by going silent after that. The further we walked, the more nervous I got about what he wanted to tell me. After about twenty feet, I silently exploded.

“Just spill it. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I think I’m gay, Ash.”

I didn’t exactly know how to react to a confession like that, so the first thing that came to mind was a dry “cool.” I put on a smile to somehow reflect the fact that I understood how challenging it must be for him to confess that for the first time. And to show him that I appreciate the trust he put in me.

“But… this isn’t actually what I have to tell you.”

I got distracted by some ice cream dripping from the cone onto my hand. “Oh shoot,” I said and licked my fingers to savor it. I couldn’t let it come to waste by dripping on the dirty sidewalk.

“I will move to the west coast in a month.”

I saw many cars passing us as we walked through the suburbs, but I didn’t hear any of them after this sentence.

“Why?”

“Mom got a new job, and it’s paying more than Dad's, so we will be moving.”

“That’s why you were there during spring break?”

“Yeah. We looked at apartments.”

“When are you telling the others?”

“They already know.”

And that’s when my brain just turned blank. I felt like the world was ending. It was already as hot as I imagined hell to be.

My mind created a trap for me that I fell into.

I am his best friend. Why has he waited for so long to tell me something that significant and didn’t hesitate a second to tell the others? I thought you trusted me. Why then cut our remaining time so short? Do you hate me that much?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

He put his hand on my shoulder, probably trying to calm me down, comfort me, or show me that he cared about my feelings. Bullshit. If he cared about me, I wouldn’t be the last to know he was leaving for good. Shrugging, I freed myself from his sticky grasp. Don’t touch me, traitor.

“But you are the first person I came out to.”

As if that would change things.

I was unable to say anything, even though I thought he would have liked to hear something from me. Even yelling at him would probably have been easier for him to handle than me remaining silent, just staring at the sidewalk.

I ignored Conor until we reached the pool located in the center of our small town in Baxter Park. He didn’t even try to talk to me further about it. No apology. No excuses. Nothing. Another sign that he doesn’t care about me at all, I thought, not realizing how I would regret those thoughts shortly after that. But at the time, I just wanted to hurt him as it felt like he had betrayed me.

I waltzed into the public swimming pool, changed into my swimwear, and looked for the others. I spotted them in the spot they announced to claim earlier, the chairs right next to the pool. I stomped over, followed by a slumped Conor, built myself up in front of Will, Leo, and Milo, and before anyone could even say hello, I declared, “Conor is gay.”

—

“You are a horrible friend,” the movie screen yelled at me.

I really am.

My head started spinning. The arms that held me close suddenly felt as if they were strangling me. The freezing I felt inside me turned into an oven. Sweat ran down my face. I have to get out of here. Cool down. Get away from Conor before I destroy him even more. I took Conor’s hands, and instead of holding them like I originally wanted to, I pushed them away.

“I’m sorry.”

I fought my way out of Conor’s arms and jumped up.

I can’t look at his face. I cannot bear to see how abruptly leaving will destroy him.

“Restroom,” I lied and fled the auditorium, leaving all my stuff behind. You don’t need that. Taking it would be suspicious. It’s just stuff you can rebuy.

I walked. Don’t think. Just keep moving out of the cinema. I had to get away from Conor, this situation, and those images plaguing me. I kept picking up speed without knowing where I was. Shops, people, the leftover Christmas decorations, airplanes, the snowstorm—everything blurred into one big blob. I ran through a door and found myself outside. Snow hit my face as if it wanted to punish me for running away. But I could see a promising darkness ahead of me that would keep me somehow sane. Just a little further. My shoes made a crunchy sound in the thick layer of ice on the terrace. I realized that I was on one of these decks where you could watch airplanes land and depart in the summer. Why was the door even open at a time like this? Who cares! He won’t find you here. No one will be looking here. You are safe.

My breath, crystallizing into steam, led me toward the aggressively orange glowing runway in front of me. Behind it was bare darkness that called for me. Thankfully, a fence kept me from falling twenty feet. Even though I wanted to get away, I wasn’t suicidal. Dying would solve nothing. However, being held up again made me unable to move away from my thoughts any further. Reliving how I outed Conor was challenging. But that’s not what I am really terrified of. It’s what comes after that…

“Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!” I screamed into the night and clenched a fist to smash it into my face. A sharp pain flashed through my body, instantly drowned out by the all-consuming cold.

I have to confront it…

“No…”

…if I ever want to have a chance of making things right.