Queer bent bastard

“Well?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I said again.

“Come on man. If something’s bothering you, tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he responded with concern.

“Nobody can help with this,” I replied.

“Bullshit!” he exclaimed.

“No bullshit man. Nobody can help with it. Nobody can fix it. Nobody can change it,” I stated as my eyes started to tear up.

“What’s goin on Chad? You’re startin’ to scare me here, man,” he almost pleaded.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been fightin’ with this for a few years now. I tried everything. It’s not gonna go away,” I replied.

“Years?” he questioned. “Why didn’t you come to me before? Years? Fuck man, there’s no problem so big it can’t be fixed. Together, the two of us can fix anything.”

I almost laughed when he said that, partly because he was so serious and partly because I knew this couldn’t be fixed. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to fix it, as it was that I needed to tell someone. I was so tired of trying to hide it, of being scared, of feeling alone, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed someone to support me and be there for me. That person, I assumed, would be my best friend. That’s why I had started this conversation and that’s where I hoped it was going.