Work and Play Pt. 08

I find out around 2:00 that the venue we rented does not want to support OrtegaTech in any way, shape, or form—even if that means not hosting our friendly barbeque. I don't know how Roderick Tracy managed to shove his one good hand up the Plexa Park's ass, but he did. The trick? Plexa Park hires many disabled people. Which is a really good thing, don't get me wrong. Somehow, they got the image that OTech is anti-disabled. Wonder how...

Fuck people, sometimes.

"How big does the place have to be?" I ask Grayson over a cup of afternoon coffee.

"Big enough for 200 or 300 people," Grayson says, typing something into his computer.

"We can't find a center to rent out?"

"Even if that happens, who's going to cook for it? We're just going to have to reschedule, or just not do it at all." Grayson sighs and takes a sip of his water. "I haven't told Sean it's cancelled yet."

"Sean was coming?" I ask.

Grayson nods. "Yeah. I... I don't know if he'll still want to drive and see me."

I scoff. "Yes, he will."

Grayson shrugs. "The only thing I can think of is someone hosting it at their own house, but that's expensive." I sit in silence for a full minute.

"I'd do it," I say softly. "Of course, my house can probably comfortably hold about 40 people, but the yard in the back is actually huge. Probably the most valuable part about the place is the backyard."

"That's a stretch," Grayson says, raising an eyebrow.

"But think about it... I can definitely hold 200 people in my backyard, AND there's a gym a block away. Just a block. You could still have your basketball tournament."

"Good points..." Grayson nods, leaning back in his chair. "And you wouldn't even have to open up your house to it. Just the backyard." My turn to nod. "Of course, I could host it, too. My house can hold 100 people comfortably, but the backyard is smaller."

"But then there's no basketball," I counter. Grayson sighs. "Hey, I'll do it. I feel like everyone thinks I'm a stuck up asshole anyway; I'll do something for the building. I can even set up a projector on the side of the house for people who want to watch the movies... it might get a little crazy, but it's better than nothing."

"You're prepared to have 200 people at your house?" Grayson asks. I shrug. "I'll definitely help you out. I just don't know what turns this might take."

"I think it could be good... I mean, everyone's going to know where I live and all that. I don't care though." I realize my voice goes into monotone. That means Clay will know where I live. Maybe I should care a little. "I'll organize it. You just bring your best barbeque skills. We probably can avoid my house altogether and take out the whole rec center," I say to Grayson with a chuckle.

I've been avoiding Gabriel since Tuesday, when he told me he'd be heading to the airport on the night of the barbeque. He's going back to California early because of the new Roderick Tracy shit.

Good news: he's coming back in a month, and he's probably staying here in Colorado for a longer time than anticipated. Of course, that means everything with CEO is screwed up, but at least it's screwed up and Gabriel will be here.

I still have this feeling in my throat that I need to spill my thoughts out to Gabe before he goes. I don't want to word vomit all over him.

He shoots me a text at around 7pm:

GABE: You're moving the barbeque to the rec?

ZEKE: yeah. I talked to party planning and all that... hope you'll be there?

GABE: I mean, it could work haha. Hey, can I call you later?

I stop texting him at that point. I don't know why I'm feeling the need to be so complicated, but I feel like I'm going to end up saying something really clingy or cheesy or inaccurate.

By the time I go to sleep, I've overthought myself to the point where I'm shaking.

-

I'll admit that I avoid hospitals and places of the sort. It may be Lillian's fault—she always told me my inherent gayness was a disease—but I don't know of anyone who actually likes going to the doctor.

"Ezekiel Hartigan? Hello, I'm Doctor Mourney," the man says, sticking out his hand. I shake it, trying my best not to overreact. "You can call me Garrett."

"Hello," I say quietly, trying to manage a smile.

"Says here you have had one sexual partner within the last year?"

"Correct," I nod. Garrett Mourney nods too, and he nods while he reads over the uncomfortable questions I was asked just ten minutes ago by the nurse.

"So, would you prefer to swab first, or a blood test?" Dr. Mourney asks. Blood test means needles. Swab means touching my ass. I don't know which is worse.

"Uh, swab," I respond. Dr. Mourney probably knows I'm gay by now. I don't know what that has to do with his professional opinion, but I'd just rather him not know. I'd rather not have anyone know.

Dr. Mourney looks maybe 45, probably has a nice wife and two kids that are in a nice school. They're probably not gay.

I hate this.

"Results within 72 hours, Mr. Hartigan," Dr. Mourney says after he sticks the needle in my arm. I flinch.

This might be the longest amount of time I haven't talked when another person is in the room.

--

Three hours before our barbeque, I'm hauling gallons of water into the back of my car, and Kelsey comes walking out of her grandparents' house with an empty basket. I think shopping with her was the most awkward experience I've had in a while. For a second, I think she's not going to say anything, but she walks the sidewalk, and stops where I stand. "Hey, Zeke. Party going on?"

"For work. I'm taking all this to the recreation center," I reply. "Starts at three. You're welcome to stop by. I'll vouch for you—say you're my boss?" Kelsey just giggles.

"How was your date?" she asks, and her cheeks redden when she says it.

"It was really great, thanks."

Kelsey and I stand in silence for the amount of time it takes for standing to be awkward, and then she indicates her basket. "Going to get apples. I, um... I think I'll stop by."

Grayson and Sean both are setting up tables and talking by the time I pull up. There are a few other people who volunteered to help, and I'm feeling a little ashamed that I don't know their names. It's taking a lot of effort to get this thing in order. I'm more worried about how I'm going to handle Gabriel leaving without being able to say a decent "goodbye" or "see you soon". There's going to be hundreds of people here. I want him to myself.

When Grayson and Sean see me, they both wave and smile, and a pang of envy hits me hard. I want to be out with Gabriel freely, no restrictions. I wave and smile back, taking over four of the twenty gallon-jugs in the back of my car. Sean is so damn attractive. I'm a great wingman.

Three hours passes by faster than I could ever hope; we just start putting hotdogs on grill number two when people start pulling up in tens. I suppose I'm technically the host, so I direct everyone to the event. Gabriel shows up half an hour in, and he gives me a simple handshake, but I know I'm blushing more than I should be. I knew he would come, but I still get the butterflies.

I pretend to check my phone when Clay Edgar shows up. I'm pretty sure he's already been drinking by the way he grumbles to himself and attempts to shove his keys in his pocket three times. He walks past me with only a quick look.

A good ten people thank me for keeping the barbeque an active event, and I just shake my head and give credit to other people. I'm more worried about the fact that I haven't talked to Gabe since he got here. I suppose we don't have a reputation of being friends, according to colleagues anyway. I just want five minutes since I blew him off earlier. Five minutes to say a solid "see you later" or something.

I feel a hand on my shoulder while I chew on my nail, and I jump. It's only Shannon. She smiles and I can tell my reciprocated smile is not lively enough. "What's going on?" she asks.

"Nothing," I answer, trying on a brighter smile. She squints her eyes, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed with guilt. Shannon, someone I call one of my best friends, doesn't even have a clue what's going on in my life. "I just wish I had stuff like this in my hometown," I say with a shrug.

Shannon frowns. "Zeke... I can read people pretty well. You've been on different highs and lows since the St. Patrick's Day party... I haven't asked because I trusted that you'd tell me at some point but I don't know what's in your head. And don't say it's ADHD again."

I make eye contact with Gabriel, and I feel my cheeks warm over. I can't tell Shannon right now. I wouldn't know where to start and I'd probably have a panic attack. "My sister might come as an intern soon. She doesn't get along with my mother and she's going to school here," I respond.

Shannon rolls her eyes. "That's not it and you know it, Zeke."

"Shannon—I'm trying to figure some things out right now and I can't even give you a relative answer until I get myself under control," I say shortly. Shannon nods.

"Is it Grayson?" Shannon asks. I sigh in frustration and lean back against the wall. "Zeke. You've been weird with me, weird with Grayson. Do you have a problem with him since he told us—"

"God, no. I'd be the last person to be homophobic, yikes," I sigh.

"Then what is it? Because ever since he told us, you've kinda been... I don't know. Harsh? Cold? You've been cold toward him. I've noticed, too," she says. Shannon always seems to figure me out one way or another, so I decide to tell her a partial truth.

Shannon eyes me curiously as I ponder how to go about the explanation. "Grayson was interested in being more than friends with me. He's been respectful about it but still..." I shrug. "It's just strange. I'm not interested. I didn't think it'd be information to share with the class, especially since he just came out to us."

Shannon pauses. "How hard was that to tell me? And ever since you introduced Sean to Grayson, has anything changed?" I nod 'yes'. "Then what's the issue? Unless you're... not exactly happy that Grayson doesn't want you anymore..."

"That's not a conversation I want to have right now," I snap. Shannon whips around to face me. I'm not mad at her. I'm mad at myself. I'm mad that I can't go over and kiss Gabriel in front of all these people. I'm mad that I haven't told her I'm gay and I'm mad that I'm so ashamed of it.

But in ten words, I cracked open a can of worms. The implications behind the fact that I don't want to talk about Grayson just put something in the air, and Shannon is sniffing it out faster than I can ever prepare for. "Zeke—"

"You're 0 for 2," I say quietly. I lock eyes with Gabe again, and I feel like I might explode.

"What do you mean?" Shannon asks softly. I give her a look that I'm hoping translates to 'what do you think?' and Shannon's eyes are big. "Zeke... are you trying to tell me something?"

"I don't know," I grumble. Then I take a small bag of chips and walk away. I feel like a scared 18-year-old kid again, realizing that I'm so, so different than everyone else. I feel trapped again and all I want to do is talk to Gabriel. That—THAT—was the most awkward coming-out situation I've ever been in, and I couldn't even say it.

I decide not to go to the start of the basketball games. I know Shannon couldn't care less about my sexuality, but I'm still all sorts of paranoid.

I glance up from my phone and make direct eye contact with Clay Edgar, as if my situation weren't bad enough.

Grayson and Sean come over to talk to me, and I want to wince at their adorable couple vibes. Their team is going to play basketball soon, and I can tell they want me to play, or watch, but I just can't get out of my own head. I tell them I need to call about setting up the job fair and internships. They agree to let me go.

Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, New Mexico and Nebraska. I know it's pushing it to try and get college aged kids to apply one and a half months before we hire, but I think being caught up in the rush will distract me from my most persistent issue.

I go upstairs in the rec building to get some privacy. I wish I could just be normal. I wish my mind would stop running on overtime 100% of the time. My phone buzzes, and I know it's Gabriel before I even look.

GABE: Did you leave?

ZEKE: No... I'm upstairs in the rec. we... should really talk

GABE: Oh wow okay. That definitely sounds bad haha. I'm caught in some conversation right now. 20 minutes from now?

ZEKE: I don't even think its bad gabe. Just serious I suppose. Yeah I'll be here.

I sit in one of the rooms—I think it's used for dance—and just look at myself in the mirrored wall. I think about how I never should've done some of the things I've done. I don't know if I'm so crazy because he's going away or if I'm crazy because I know he wants to date me or if it's because he's my boss—

I hear the door open and I look up, making eye contact with Clay Edgar in the mirror.

"No fuckin' way," he says, shaking his head. "Honest to god, Harvard, I didn't know you were in here. I'm starting to think we're on the same page."

"Someone's coming to meet me in five minutes. You're going to want to leave," I say as sternly as I can. Clay chuckles.

"Your boyfriend?" he asks. I shake my head 'no'. "Then what?"

"Just leave me alone. Give me one fucking moment to myself," I groan, my hands shaking. He can't be here when Gabe gets here. That opens up another can of worms. What's Gabe going to think if I dump the fact that Clay has been harassing me—and possibly Jiao—and I didn't say anything about it? And then Clay is going to know Gabe was the person meeting me here?

"I like you, Harvard—"

"You're messing with Jiao Liang?" I ask, Clay freezes, and then he closes the door.

"I don't know who that is."

"Liar. You're harassing her and me. You're a fucking idiot. Gabriel Ortega is going to rip you to shreds."

Clay shrugs. "I told ya, I don't know who that is."

"I'll fucking tell Gabriel. I will," I threaten him. Clay just balls his fists and shakes his head. "You're a goddamn idiot and a coward and—"

"You're making up stories in your crazy-mental head, Zeke," Clay says. Hearing my real name come out of his mouth causes me to stop talking instantly. "You're the crazy one. You're a fucking mental case. All fucked up in your head—you shake and hold your breath like a child because you can't handle a real man. You make up stories in your head and you can't face reality, kid. You're a tight-wound headcase."

I scoff. "I already know my issues—"

"And you're a FAGGOT who's scared to admit it."

"SO ARE YOU!" I scream. My voice echoes around the room, and then silence. Clay clenches his jaw tight and approaches me quickly. I attempt to shove him away, but he grabs my wrists. I already yelled and I could've drawn attention by now. Maybe not; the basketball game is still going on right below us.

I start protesting, not putting in much effort to really get him away from me—because goddamn I'm just so fucking tired—and I just shake my head, mumbling insults.

"Fine, fine, fine—" Clay grabs my face and I whimper. "Fine! Listen to me. Listen." I pause. "Fine. I'm a fag. See? I'm admitting it. I'm a fucking fag, Harvard. And so are you, and so is Grayson Thomas and whoever his black boyfriend is and so is fucking everyone, probably. A-and I'm a drunk, and you're a psycho, and Jiao is a slut. And we're all everything. We're all fucked up."

"Just you," I seethe. "I didn't ask for you to touch me, EVER."

"But you still want it."

"Not from you," I snap.

"From anyone. I know you. I AM you, Sweetheart." He pushes himself against me. I don't know why I can't get him away from me. It's pathetic and ridiculous. When I shove at him, he pulls me to the ground, and I try swinging at him over and over again—

The door opens again. Gabriel, dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, takes in the sight of Clay Edgar on top of me, and I can almost feel the intensity of his glare.

Clay has long hopped of me by now, and I've scrambled backwards, trying to catch my breath, but Gabriel hasn't moved.

"H-he's been trying to get with me for weeks," Clay says, shaking his head and pointing an accusing finger at me. I can't find the words to say. "You can only do so much to get people like him away from—"

"Hush," Gabriel says. Clay immediately shuts up. Gabe breathes in and out, and then he looks at me. "Are you okay?"

"No he's not okay! He-he's all fucked up in the fucking head—stalking me, always tryna get at me just like people like him always do," Clay says in his most disgusted voice.

"Not true," I whisper, and I feel the tears in the back of my eyes. So I cover my face. "Call the cops."

"What the—"

"Who are you?" Gabriel interrupts Clay, and then Gabriel's dialing a number on his phone. His voice is unsettling and calm at the same time.

"You don't need to call the cops," Clay says frantically. "Nobody's hurt."

"I suggest you stay here," Gabriel says quietly.

--

There were only two officers that came into the room after seven minutes of awkward silence; Gabe didn't know the situation, obviously, but he was furious nonetheless. He just stood and waited, no questions asked. I just wanted to hug him.

"Is this the first time Clay Edgar has been persistent with you?"

"I don't understand the question," I say quietly.

"Clay Edgar... has he been forceful with you before?"

"Are you asking if Clay Edgar has sexually harassed me before?" I ask. Clay sits across the room, and Gabriel is in the other corner. The officers obviously drew attention of people, but they're locked outside the room. I'm still shaking.

"Yes."

"Then yes," I respond, picking at my nail.

"What caused the situation to escalate tonight?" the officer asks.

My mind draws a blank. What kind of bullshit question? Clay Edgar is obsessed with me. I—my existence—caused him to escalate, just by being here. "Are you asking if I ever lead Clay Edgar on? Is it protocol to interrogate me HERE?" I ask quietly, and Clay scoffs from across the room. The other officer gives him a look.

"I'm trying to help you, Mr. Hartigan," the officer says. "I'm just getting information as I was trained to do."

"Then why am I still in a room with someone who pinned me to the ground?" I snap. The officer nods. "Can I just—I want to just leave here, please."

"We're going to have to bring both of you in," the officer says. "But I want to have as much information as possible before things escalate in an undesirable way." I don't respond, and both officers nod to each other. "Please stay here, Mr. Hartigan. Mr. Edgar, please come with us."

I'm left in the room with Gabriel. "I believe you."

"I know," I say with a sniff.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, and there's anger and hurt in his voice. I just let a tear roll down my cheek. "I-I don't know what to do. They might be back and I don't know if I can touch you."

"He messed with Jiao," I reply. Gabriel's eyes get wide, and he crosses his arms. "He's messed with me four or five times—I lost count. Four, I think. I thought you might think I wanted it or something—I just can't deal with all this anymore."

"I'll stay here. I'll go to California in a few weeks," Gabe says.

I shake my head. "No, you need to go as soon as possible," I protest. "I-I know everyone's going to want to know what happened but I'm prepared. I signed the deal when I told you to call the cops." Gabriel locks the door. "You can't—"

"I'll tell them I locked it to prevent anyone from coming in," Gabe says. And before I know it, he's kissing me hard, and I wrap my arms around him like he's going to disappear. "Goddamnit I'm so mad. I'm so fucking mad."

"Your flight leaves in four hours. They'll probably want you as a witness or something, but you need to go."