Jack: I told her about her first year when Nate and I used to scare guys away from her.
Jack: And now she’s ignoring me.
Nuri: I knew you were up to something back then.
Nuri: She spent years thinking she was an ugly beast because guys were standing her up and avoiding her.
Jack: What?
Nuri: Don’t make me type it again. I wrote it right the first time.
Jack: Oh god, she hatesme now.
Nuri: She definitely has the right to be angry. You’re lucky she’s not like me, I would be livid and would make your life a living hell.
JACK
My whole body is screaming murder. My spine feels like it’s made of shards of glass, my legs like the muscles are filled with tiny rocks moving inside it, and my hands and fingers like the bones are actually broken branches of wood.
“Why don’t you just kill me now?” I grunt breathlessly.
Nate stays quiet for a few—too long—seconds. I’m laying on my stomach on his table, and I can hear him walking around, probably to get more of his stupid lotion.
“And miss out on you actually getting better? Not a chance.”
I scoff, but the sound is a little weak.
Because I’ve actually been getting a little better for the last week. The chronic pain hasn’t worsened, and my mobility has improved. I can actually type on my computer more easily, and I’ve been able to stand up from my chair a few times on my own.
“I’d like to try something out,” he finally says, placing his hand back on my shoulders, a little more gently this time.
I scoff again. “If you plan on coming out to me while I’m almost nakedon a table and with your hands on me, give me just a second to call Prue so she can gloat.”
He freezes and I curse myself silently. Oh my god, what if Prue was actually right and I made fun of him just as he was about to come out? Jesus, why am I so dumb?
I really need to learn to keep my fucking mouth shut.
“What?” He asks, and I curse myself again.
“Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business and if you truly are coming out of your closet, I should not have made fun of it this way. I’m sorry, please just…”
“Wait, you really think that I’m gay?” He asks, taking his hands away from my back and I feel compelled to turn so I can see if he looks mad or not.
He doesn’t. Just confused.Weird.
“I don’t,” I answer in a rush, trying to sit up as smoothly as I can using the little arm strength that I have. “Prue had that theory, I was just trying to make a joke about it. I’m sorry.”
“Pruethinks I’m gay?” He asks, eyes getting wider with each answer I give him.
“Well, I don’t know! She started saying that maybe you were fucking around in college because you had a crush on me but weren’t ready to admit it or something, and that I didn’t want her to be in the house during therapy because we were having sex on the table and…”
“Oh my god,” Nate says, horrified. I frown at his excessive reaction and he seems to notice as he quickly starts talking again. “Oh, come on! You know I don’t give a shit about people’s sexual orientation. It’s just that… Oh my god. She thinksI’m gay.”
He mutters the last part with a dumbfounded look on his face and my frown deepens.
“I assured her that I was certain you’re not. I mean, come on.I’mgay, and I’ve heard more women moanings than men, thanks to you.”
His blue eyes widen even more and he groans, turning around to fumble with random stuff on a side table.
