Unwelcome Territory

Why is this happening to me?

The world’s biggest jerk is standing in my apartment. Correction—he’s my roommate. My life officially can’t get worse.

Fox looks as shocked as I am, carton of milk in hand, staring at me like I’ve invaded his space. I glare back, my pulse racing.

“What the f*ck! What are you doing in my apartment?” he barks.

“Your apartment?” I snap. The worst part is, despite his attitude, I still find myself checking him out. Why? Why am I attracted to someone like him?

For goodness’ sake, he’s a colossal *ssh*l*. A hot one, but still.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, stepping closer. He’s taller than I thought, towering over me with an air of intimidation I try not to acknowledge.

“Are you always an *ssh*l*?” I ask, irritation evident on my face. I’ve never been this irritated by another person.

“Are you going to f*ck*ng answer me or not?” he demands further. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

“This is my apartment, Fox. And if we’re going to be roommates, you need to stop treating me like I’m nothing.” I fold my arms and meet his stare head-on.

He laughs, loud and sharp, flashing perfect white teeth that make me momentarily forget how much I hate him.

“This has to be a joke,” he says, eyeing me up and down with obvious disdain. “No way you’re my roommate.”

He brushes past me into the living room, his expression annoyed. “What was William thinking? When I asked for a roommate, I wasn’t expecting a…” He trails off, biting his lip in frustration as he pulls out his phone.

I stand there, arms still crossed, trying to figure out how to survive this. He clearly hates me already, and we’ve barely spoken.

“I thought you wanted a roommate,” I say, trying to sound reasonable, though my patience is wearing thin.

“Yeah, a roommate,” he retorts, “not some f*ck*ng fag like you.”

I roll my eyes as he dials a number, probably Mr. William, the guy responsible for this living situation. Fox glares at me while waiting for the call to connect.

“Mr. William. It’s Fox. What the hell, man? There’s some weird kid in my apartment, says he’s my new roommate. Why would you do this without asking me first?” He’s practically yelling, his irritation palpable.

I push my glasses up my nose and sigh. This is going to be unbearable. He keeps shooting daggers my way, his face twisted in disgust, and I can’t decide if I should just pack up and leave or try to stick it out.

“I don’t care if my father approved it. This is my apartment, and I should’ve been consulted,” he snaps into the phone. “I don’t care if he’s ‘no trouble.’ He has to leave.”

His words sting more than they should. I start to walk away, resigning myself to the fact that I’m not welcome here when his voice cuts through the tension.

“Where the f*ck are you going?” he demands.

I pause and turn, wondering if he’s serious or if he’s high. “To pack my stuff.”

“Why?” he asks, looking genuinely confused for the first time.

I stare at him, wondering how he can even ask that. “Because you just told Mr. William I have to leave.”

Fox scoffs. “I don’t care if you stay. Just stay the hell away from me and my stuff. Don’t talk to me, and don’t rub your gay sh*t all over my stuff.”

“I’m not gay!” I shout, my frustration boiling over. “What’s your problem with gay people? You don’t like me, fine. But respect me, and stop calling me a fag. And while you’re at it, shove your homophobic attitude up your *ss, you *ssh*l*.”

I turn on my heel and head to my room, slamming the door behind me. My heart is racing, and I collapse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Who does Fox Wilder think he is? Just because he’s good-looking doesn’t give him the right to treat people like trash.

This is going to be hell.

I wake up groggily the next morning, my alarm blaring in my ear as I turn it off. I barely slept last night. Fox blasted music until nearly midnight, and I wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation so I let it slide. I drag myself out of bed, shower quickly, and head to the kitchen, hoping to eat something before class.

Fox is already there, perched on a barstool with a cigarette dangling from his lips, tapping away on his phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as I walk in.

“Good morning,” I say, forcing some politeness into my voice as I start making toast.

No response. Of course.

I try to ignore him, but when he blows a cloud of smoke directly into my face, I start coughing uncontrollably. I hear him chuckle. I look up, glaring at him as he watches me with that same cold, brooding expression.

He’s wearing a beanie, his hair poking out from underneath the woven material. He wears a cream colored, long sleeved baggy T-shirt, which only alights his smooth milky white skin.

I bring my gaze to his face, taking in his masculine features. His nose is slim and long, his eyelashes are also long, almost like a girl’s, his jawline, perfectly chiseled. I wonder what he looks like underneath his shirt. Is he sculpted like I’d imagined, with prominent abs dusting his torso? Or he’s just average. Obviously the former.

Get a grip, Cameron. That’s just messed up.

“You said you’re no fag,” he mutters, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “Yet you can’t stop checking me out.”

I shut my eyes, breathing through the anger welling up inside me. Don’t engage, I tell myself.

“I don’t f*ck guys, Cam. Stay the f*ck away from me, or you’re gonna get hurt,” he says, before tossing the cigarette into the ashtray and walking out of the kitchen.

The second he’s gone, I let out a long breath. What the hell, Cameron? What happened to staying away from guys like him? Especially him?

And why, despite everything, am I still attracted to him?

Fox leaves the apartment, and I stand there, staring at the door for a moment. Why do I keep doing this to myself? He’s a homophobic jerk, and I shouldn’t care about his opinion. Yet here I am, letting it get under my skin.

What happened to getting a clean slate? Dating a girl and making my parents happy.

Will that even make me happy?

I’ve been running away from the truth, my truth, maybe it’s time I come to terms with myself and accept the fact that I’m gay and there’s nothing anybody can do to change that. Especially my parents.

But the thought of coming out and telling them what they’ve been suspecting ever since that incident in high school is real, makes my stomach churn and I want to gag.

I glance at the clock. Time to head to class. But as I grab my things, I can’t shake the thought: why is Fox Wilder the one I can’t stop thinking about?