For Your Forever

Chapter 1

Vulcan

[Abernathy]: It’s cute but the video isn’t yours, right? That’s your sister’s closet, right?

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[John Puck] Are the tattoos real? You’re going to walk around like that for the rest of your life?

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[Ricky Dicky Dare] That’s a good look for home but when I take you out, you need to dress normal.

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[POSh] HAHAHAHA

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[Mike Adams] Wow, bro. Just… no.

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[Howard] Well… I can say you have pretty eyes.

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[Ryan Phillips] Do you have sexy that’s not girly?

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One after another, I clear out the messages, my heart hurting a little more with each. The video helped, but it seems like maybe the atmosphere around Glensdale is a little more… negative than it had been back home.

My bottom lip trembles and I squeeze my phone tightly in my hand as another message pops up. I brace myself for the comment.

[Just Jenson] Wanna fuck? Can I pull your hair?

Sighing, I block that profile, too. Once, I used to comment back. sometimes educating people—whether they liked it or not—about my lifestyle. That only led to more nasty comments. So now I just block them without commenting at all.

I set my phone down and stare at myself in the mirror. Is there something wrong with me? My entire life, I’ve been facing this kind of scorn and judgment because I like pink and dresses and unicorns and stuffed animals. I like soft things and hot chocolate and to watch romance movies. I like flowers and nail polish and essential oils.

But I’m six-foot-nine. Big. Hairy. There are expectations and stereotypes that I just don’t fit into, and I have no desire to try. I don’t want to be a Viking model, despite having the look. I don’t want to be a biker.

I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I want to be free to like what I like.

I raise my eyes back to the mirror and I look at myself. Usually, I can feel pretty and shut out the noise around me. But today, right now, I can’t seem to summon that side of me. It’s as if all the messages aren’t just words but projectiles. Slamming into my chest, over and over and over until I feel so worn and beaten that I just don’t like what I see anymore.

Leaving my phone on the set of drawers in my closet, I move into the bathroom and clean the glitter off my face. The light painting of eyeshadow and eyeliner. The shimmery lip gloss. It all goes.

Still, I can’t make myself look in the mirror again. Not tonight.

Most of the time, there’s at least one nice message. Sometimes we even chat for a while before they say something that falls in line with everyone else. I get some compliments and conversation before they pierce me with their words.

I guess today just wasn’t my day. I sniff and head back into my closet where I strip out of my skirt and t-shirt with the cute hearts and shooting stars on it. Digging through my drawer, I pull out a pair of white cotton shorts and pull them on over my basic boxer briefs. It looks a little ridiculous because the legs of the briefs are longer than the shorts, but I’m not feeling very colorful tonight.

The matching cami goes on next and then some black socks. I don’t have any plain white ones, so these will have to do. Glancing at my slippers, I decide I’m going to have to take a pass on them since they’re all fluffy and frilly.

Girly.

Closing my eyes, I turn back and search through my hoodies. I’m feeling cold, but I think the chill is in my heart. There aren’t many hoodies in my closet, but I got a plain teal green one from my mother for my birthday last year. She tried, so that’s why I keep it. Pulling it on over my head, I pick up my phone and stop when I hear the familiar Thrustr notification that I got a message.

I just don’t think I have it in me to read it. I don’t know that I have it in me to read any of them anymore. When I turn on my phone, I hold down the app and wait for the little menu to pop up and choose the trash can.

{Uninstall?}

I choose the checkmark and wait for the app to disappear.

I wait for some profound change. Relief, maybe. Even defeat. I wait for anything at all to happen. But I feel no different.

Sniffing again, I head into the living room and grab my oversized knitted blanket and curl up with it on the huge, round chair. With my phone still in my hand, I begin scrolling through my pictures. I haven’t taken a selfie in seven months. I used to take them all the time, but I just haven’t felt good. That feeling isn’t just mental and emotional sickness. Even eating feels like a chore sometimes.

Once, I thought I looked good in these clothes. My dresses and frilly socks. My skirts and mesh shirts. Short shorts. Necklaces and glitter and nail polish. Glancing at my nails, I see they’re almost entirely clean. The polish from before—whenever that might have been—has all but peeled away.

What once made me feel good and confident now makes me feel self-conscious. No one likes me like this. No one thinks I should dress like this. Or live like this. I look around my den and take in the soft colors and even softer fabrics. The fuzzy textures and the occasional sequin-covered pillow. The pastel pink picture frames and the furry carpet.

“It’s a real life Barbie house!”

At the time, despite the look on his face and his tone, I hadn’t taken it as an insult. I loved Barbie. But now I know that he was horrified. He fucked and ran, and I never heard from him again.

Thus ends most of my relationships.

I hear the quiet click of my front door and my muscles stiffen. My breath stills as I listen, eyes wide. A minute later, Quin pokes his head around the corner, and I relax.

Merk doesn’t know where I live. I’ve forbidden my parents to divulge that information. And even if he does somehow track me down, he won’t guess the code to my front door (Quin’s birthday). But that doesn’t mean I’m not always expecting my brother to show up when I’m at my lowest. He always manages to just know, and strikes like a venomous snake.

Quin smiles and disappears again. I hear shuffling and the door closing. A couple minutes later, Simon grins hugely at me as he carries a box into the kitchen. Quin follows him inside, but comes over to me instead. He pushes me over and crawls onto the chair with me, bringing the blanket over him as well.

“Hey, Quinny,” I say.

“Hey, V,” he answers and leans against me.

“Did you just come to visit?” I ask.

He nods. “Yep. I had a feeling you needed some company.”

I swallow and close my eyes. “I’m okay,” I whisper.

“You’re also an awful liar. Come here.”

Scooching down on the chair, I lay my head in his lap. His long fingers brush my hair back and I close my eyes. “I deleted Thrustr,” I tell him.

He sighs. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“I think so,” I say. “But… how will I meet someone now?”

“You don’t think the only place to meet a man is on an app, do you?”

“Well, no. But I don’t go to clubs or bars or…” I trail off, wondering what else to list. “Where else do you meet men?”

“In my experience, work.”

I snort, unable to help the small smile that forms. “No offense, but I’m just not feeling it for any of my students.”

Quin chuckles. “There are restaurants, supermarkets, and beaches.”

“Yeah and they all take one look at me and… don’t like what they see.”

His fingers tighten in my hair for a second. “He’s out there,” Quin says gently.

“I’m forty-three,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. I try desperately to keep my voice from trembling. “My life is already half over. Even if I meet him tomorrow, we have like no time left to spend together.”

“Ouch.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do you plan to die young?” he asks.

“No. Of course, not. But how am I going to enjoy someone when I can barely walk? Besides, I have like, borderline gigantism. My organs are liable to give out any time.”

“Wow,” he says. I wince when he grabs a fistful of my hair and turns my face to look at him. “No more of that. Do you understand, Vulcan?”

I nod and blink through my tears, somehow still refusing to let them fall. Don’t ask me how I manage. “You’re healthy and you take care of yourself.” He studies my face. “Sometimes better than others. But you know what? It’s not the number of years you have with someone that matters. I met Simon at thirty-eight and I know we have at least forty years together. I’m not lamenting that I didn’t meet him sooner.”

“Which is good because ten years ago he was thirteen,” I muse.

He pinches me and I grin. It feels good to smile.

Quin’s eyes narrow. “My point is…” he emphasizes, but I don’t miss the way the corners of his lips lift a little. “I make sure that every single day is better than the last. I make sure he feels loved and knows that I will give him everything.”

“What’s he doing, anyway?” I ask.

“Getting dinner ready.”

My eyes widen. “You let him in my kitchen? He’s going to burn the house down.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Simon says. “I can cook. I just don’t because I hate cooking.”

I smile again, and it really does feel good. I’m not sure if I feel any better, but I certainly enjoy smiling more than not.

Simon steps into the den and glares at me. “Dinner is ready. If you’re nice, I’ll even let you eat some.”

It’s difficult to keep my smile somewhat sheepish. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Mm,” he says and turns. “Hurry up before it gets cold.”

Quin taps my forehead, so I sit up, then push myself to my feet. The blanket falls to the floor and I scoop it back up onto the chair. That’s how I catch Quin staring at me with an expression I’m not used to seeing on him. At least, not directed at me.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

I look down and swallow. Maybe it’s the underwear being longer than my shorts that he doesn’t like. Or… the weird combination of colors? I’m definitely better at matching normally.

“I didn’t feel very… colorful when I got home,” I admit quietly.

He huffs. The next thing I know, he’s taking my hand and dragging me down the hall toward my room. He flicks on the light and then continues dragging into my closet. “Take them off.”

I stare as he digs through drawers until he finds a jock. I flush a little as he tosses it at me. And then a pair of unicorn print silk bed pants. Next comes a pair of pink fuzzy socks with hearts on them and last, a long-sleeved bed shirt with a cartoon unicorn that has a rainbow mane.

“Let’s go,” Quin says. “Are you really going to make me dress you?”

I shake my head and set the pile of clothes down so I can undress. He watches me with intense eyes, as if he’s expecting me not to do as he says. I have a sudden realization of what his students must feel like when he disapproves of their behavior. Or hell, maybe his staff. I certainly don’t enjoy being on the receiving end of that look.

When I’m dressed, he nudges my slippers to me with his foot. I waste no time and slip my feet into them.

But Quin is still frowning.

“I’m sorry?” I offer.

He sighs and pulls me into a hug. I’m slightly startled. It’s not that we’re not close, but we don’t hug often. I sink into him and hang onto him tightly.

“I’m sorry you’re going through such a hard time, V,” he says, rubbing my back. “I know you can’t see it now, but I promise you, it’ll get better.”

I’m not sure what happened, but suddenly I’m soaking his shoulder with my tears. “I don’t want to be alone forever,” I say through my hiccups. “Why am I so hard to love?”

His arms tighten. “You’re not, Vulcan. I know this is hard to believe, but you aren’t the problem.”

I sniff again and try desperately not to continue bawling. “It is hard to believe that when I’m the common denominator.”

“I promise, it’s not you. You’re beautiful and kind and caring. Intelligent. Fun. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. There is someone out there for you. I don’t know where they are or when they’ll finally find you, but they’re out there. You just have to be patient a while longer.”

I want to ask how long, but I feel that’s a little whiny. So I don’t. I just nod.

Quin holds me for a few more minutes. There’s never a moment that I feel he’s impatient for me to let him go. He’s not uncomfortable or concerned with how it might look if Simon comes around the corner to find us. Quin is always patient.

When I pull myself upright and wipe my face, I shake my head. “You’re wrong, you know.” He looks at me with a brow raised. “You’re the best man I know.”

He rolls his eyes and takes my hand again, squeezing it in his. “No more trying to hide away and drowning in your misery alone. Deal? Call me when you’re having a bad day. I don’t care what it’s about. Even if you just stubbed your toe and need to vent.”

I nod. “You have a lot going on. I don’t want to add to that.”

He chuckles. “It’s fine. They’re getting better.”

“If you’re talking about the twins,” Simon says as we finally join him in the kitchen. “I know it’s hard to believe sometimes, but they really are trying.” He gives me a bemused smile. “They’re pains in the asses and not keen on change.”

“But they suggested the single house,” Quin says, nodding.

Simon smiles widely. “You’ll be friends, eventually. I’m sure.”

Quin meets my eyes. He’s not necessarily convinced. I grin and shrug. I like the twins. They seem to like me just fine, too. But then, I’m not fucking their best friend, so I suppose the situation is a little different.

“Sit,” Simon says. “Eat. And after dinner, we’re going to watch a movie and I’m going to paint your nails.” He sets a color changing nail polish on the table in front of me. “Sage has been letting me practice on him. I’m getting better.”

I look between the two of them as we eat and decide that my life isn’t so bad. Yes, I’m alone most of the time, but when I’m not, the company is really great.

“But just a heads up, I don’t do feet. You’ll have to see if Quin will.”

My nose scrunches. “No, thanks. I prefer my feet in socks.”

Quin chuckles as he takes another bite of pasta.

“Good man,” Simon says. He’s quiet as he chews. “I’m looking forward to seeing you rock this color. I picked it because it’ll match that dress you like to wear. Even though I don’t think the color change is the same, I’m pretty sure it’s going to look killer!”

I sigh. There needs to be more Simons and Quins in the world.