Follow the River

If anything, I’m more concerned about having to explain the swelling to Coach Scott tomorrow.

“It’s fine, River,” I sigh when I catch him looking at it for the millionth fucking time when we’re stopped at a red light.

He nods slowly, glancing back at the traffic light. I will the damn thing to change, so I can be home and forget this entire day.

After the longest and quietest car ride of my entire life, even more awkward than the one to di

“I’m sorry for decking your father,” I mumble, still staring out the windshield. “I mean, I’m not sorry I did it. The guy is a fucking douche. But I’m sorry if it causes any problems for you. That wasn’t my intention.”

I hate the words as they leave my mouth. I can’t stand apologizing, admitting I was wrong. And while I might not be wrong in this circumstance, I’m most definitely not in the right.

I also fucking hate the kinship I’m feeling for him right now.

Seems we aren’t all that different when it comes to the relationships with the men who raised us. They are both complete trash.

River reaches up, turning the volume dial of the radio down, letting Deadset Society’s “Like A Nightmare” fade softly into the background.

“My father…” River starts, taking a deep breath as he turns in his seat to better face me, “he had a hard time accepting it when I came out as bisexual back in high school. And since, most often, I leaned more towards men, it was even worse.” His eyes shoot up from his lap, looking at me with pleading in his eyes.

What he wants from me? I have no fucking idea.

To listen? To understand? To get it?

“I don’t want to hear your fucking queer pride story, Le

But…what the fuck?

Why would he think he should be sharing this with me of all people?

One disaster of a Thanksgiving with his family and a shared hatred of his piece of shit father does not make us friends.

Swallowing hard, I break eye contact and fiddle with the door handle. I’m stewing with how uncomfortable I am sitting in this car now.

River lets out an anxious laugh and my eyes dart back to him as he pulls his snapback off and runs his fingers through his hair before putting the hat back in place. It’s a nervous tick if I’ve ever seen one, but it's out of place. Sure, I’ve seen him flustered, but never to this extent. Even on the football field or in the locker room before a game, he’s cooler than a penguin on ice skates.

I think back to the first game this season, the way he sat there tapping his hand on his knee to his favorite song of the week, and I catch his hand twitch, as if to tap along to the beat of an imaginary song. I briefly wonder which song.

Probably Beartooth again.

“What song?” I whisper, before I can stop myself, moving my gaze from down the street to his face.

River looks down at his hand on his knee, subconsciously tapping in slight movements. “‘Hated’ by Beartooth,” he says softly after a moment.

Called it.

And I hate that I know that about him.

That I would think to care.

Fuck me, but that’s all he wants right now. I can see it written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, guilt rising. “If you need to get it off your chest, you can. I can’t promise to be fucking nice or whatever, but…” I trail off, glancing up at him.

He gives me a nod and a soft smile filled with gratitude before continuing.

“That night, he and my mom fought about it while I was up in my room. They shouted at each other and my mother told him she was just as displeased by my a

My pulse quickens as his revelation sinks in, burning me alive from the inside out. I know more of what he is saying than I’m willing to admit.

A family, the worst kind of scum to walk the Earth.

Being told you have to keep a piece of who you are hidden from the world.

It’s for different circumstances, sure.

But I know what it feels like all too well.

“He comes by for weekly di

It’s stupid of him to say this to me, his sworn enemy. The amount of ammunition I gained from his disclosure is astronomical if I ever decided to use it.

Only, I know I won’t.

I let out a breath, the heaviness sitting on my chest making me feel like I’m drowning in his pain. My jaw ticks, my teeth grinding while I debate what to say in response.

Because I have to say something.

I nod once, twice, before sighing and rubbing my jaw. Opening the door, I prepare to bolt.

But then I speak the truth.

“You aren’t disgusting, River. He is.”