shattered

Lance had been standing in the same spot for almost fifteen minutes and he still wasn't closer to coming to a decision. His mind was warring within him, split in half by conflicting desires. No, not desires, exactly, but needs. The need to tell someone; the need to keep quiet.

This is so stupid. He's my friend. We've been friends for...well, forever, practically. He'd understand.

Maybe.

Just knock already, you idiot. If he doesn't answer, fine. If he does...well, fine as well. But you can't keep standing here like this. You look like an idiot.

Nodding to himself, Lance knocked on the door, waited only a second before turning away. Nope, not in. Okay, time to go.

"Yes?" The door slid open, and Lance froze, half turned. "Lance? Hey, what's up buddy?" Keith smiled and slapped Lance on the back, gesturing him into the room. "Come on in."

"You--you're not busy?"

"Yeah, but I needed a break. Too much work and I think I'd go crazy."

"Oh. Okay." Lance slowly entered, feeling almost as if he had been shanghaied. "Um, can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course." Keith sat down on his bed, smiling. "So, what's on your mind."

"Well, uh...Keith, you're my friend, right?"

"Yeah..."

"And you'll be my friend no matter what, right?"

"Pretty much." Keith laughed. "Man, was that all? Did you just need an ego boost?"

"Not exactly." Lance looked down at his hands, wondered at the way his fingers twined together. "Um, Keith, I have something to tell you. I--I'm gay."

"What?" The anger in Keith's voice snapped Lance's head up, made him stare in wide eyed wonder. He shrank back from Keith's rage, afraid of the way his friends eyes blazed. "You're kidding me."

"N-no. I, I'm gay..." Lance trailed off, swallowed hard.

"Get out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Get out. Get away from me, Faggot."

"B-but I thought you were my friend!"

"I'm not friends with queers. Now get the fuck out of my room!" Keith grasped Lance the lapels of his jacket, hauled him to the door and threw him out. "Don't come near me--ever. I'm not your friend anymore. I don't know you."

Lance stared up at Keith in shock, scrambled to his feet as Keith advanced, arm raised and ready to hit him. Casting one brief, stricken glance at the enraged figure, Lance turned and ran.

~~~

There was a bubble of perfect silence around him, a sphere that muted the noises of the forest. But that was all right because Lance made more than enough noise that the night noises would have been overwhelmed. Besides, it let him believe that he was alone.

Damn you! Damn you! You were supposed to understand, to be my friend! Don't you think that I'm confused too? Don't you think that maybe I don't want to be gay?

The branches clutched at his clothes as he ran, the roots springing up to trip him. But he wasn't far enough away yet to rest, and he pushed past these impediments, irrationally angry that Nature herself was trying to stop him. After all, it was Nature that got him into this mess in the first place; it was Nature that changed him, made him into something that his friends hated and reviled.

Why'd you do this to me? I thought that friendship meant something to you. I thought that you'd understand I'm still the same person I was--I just don't want to sleep with girls anymore. I'm still Lance. I'm still your friend.

Sobbing, choking on the salty tears that dripped into his mouth, Lance ran on, further and further into the dark, silent forest. He ran until he could run no more, ran until his ribs ached and his lungs ached and his throat was raw from his sobbing, rasping breaths. He ran until he collapsed, empty and full of pain, clutching at the damp earth and letting his bitter tears fall unheeded on the ground.

Damn you! Damn all of you! Keith, why couldn't you just understand? Why? It's not like I'm in love with you or anything--it's not like I kissed you. All I wanted was a friend; all I wanted was you to be my friend. Was that so hard?

Fingers shaking, he reached into his jacket, grasped the cool handle of his gun, pulled it out into the damp air. He cocked the weapon, pulled himself upright until he was kneeling, white moonlight bathing his face through the sheltering trees. Eyes wide, bright with tears still being shed, he gazed up into the dark sky.

They hate me. They all hate me. I don't blame them. I hate me.

The barrel of the weapon clinked against his teeth as he closed his mouth. It pressed heavily on his tongue, tasting foully of leather and oil.

Lance closed his eyes, cursed everyone he knew and pulled the trigger.

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