My mind flashed back to last Saturday.
I had finally met up with Mason at a quiet little diner near his apartment. I had promised myself I was going to tell him the truth, or at least, most of it because I needed advice badly.
I left out the terrifying part about the blackmail, the photos, and the way it had all started, because I couldn't bear to see the look on his face if he knew how weak I'd been.
But I told him the rest.
I remembered sitting across from him in that vinyl booth, shredding a paper napkin into tiny strips while I worked up the courage.
"I think I might be gay," I had mumbled to my plate.
Mason hadn't even stopped chewing his fries. "You think?"
I had snapped my head up, thrown off. "...What's that supposed to mean?"
Mason had just laughed, reaching over to steal one of my onion rings. "Nothing, man. Go on. Continue."
I had been offended for about four seconds before the sheer relief of saying it out loud washed over me.
