Sometimes I feel kind of guilty. Almost always. Do they even know I basically make a living out of inventing things about their sexuality?
I've always been like this. Ever since I was a kid, I guess my imagination has always been way too big. And I don't just make things up; sometimes I really have to force myself not to tell people my fantasies as if they were real. And... damn it, I feel so guilty, so stupid afterward.
I never, ever, ever admitted to any of my friends that I'm... what does the therapist call it? A pathological liar. It's a condition where people have an innate need to lie. Since I was a little girl I've been this way. I was the tiny lying kid.
Deep inside, not even that deep, I know perfectly well that what I say is a lie, but I'm not able to keep my fantasies to myself. If at least I could acknowledge that it's a lie... but no. It's not the same as being just a compulsive liar; it's something sicker.
With my friends... well, they probably know. It's like a taboo. None of them want to make me feel uncomfortable, so they just play along. I can tell. When they try to make me remember something I said and they know it's a lie, they bring it up carefully. Sometimes even when I ramble and say stuff that's obviously inconsistent and exposes that I'm lying, I can see in their eyes that they noticed. They look at each other or at me with distrust, but they just smile and go on. I know it, and then I try to make up something more complex, with lots of details, because yes: being a liar teaches you to lie better just by practice.
If you say specific, precise things, if you mix real facts inside the lies... people are more likely to believe you. You can also use technical vocabulary. It usually works very well, especially with new people. With my friends, who already know me... sometimes I have to "prove" it's real, and even then they don't believe me. They prefer to look for more reliable sources than me.
I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I don't know why I do these things. Don't do this, Jennie. It doesn't even add anything. It's just dumb.
Sometimes I'm not sure what would make me happier: proving that I wasn't lying and that it was always true... or having the fantasy become real. I'm such an idiot.
"Are we leaving already?" Joaquín said. He interrupted me while I was half existential, half lost.
I nodded and walked toward the exit. He didn't even know why I suddenly got like that. I guess he thought I got too excited from seeing them.
"Ain't that them...?" Joaquín said, pulling me out of my head.
We were far away. We could barely hear what they were saying, but there was no doubt: it was them.
It looked like they were fighting. I got a little scared when I saw them; Christopher looked kind of aggressive, pointing at him, like he was complaining... or at least that's what I think. I'm not even sure they were fighting. It was just the idea I wanted to believe. I took out my camera, hung it around my neck, and snapped a picture.
"Do you think everything's okay?" I said. "I'm worried they're fighting."
"Nah, you good," Joaquín said. "Later you ask ya girl Scarlet to tell you if that beef real so you can post it on Savage."
"Scarlet" was the name I used for my supposed insider. Joaquín was just tired and wanted to go home, but I was actually worried. Christopher can be really rough sometimes; he could even hurt Alan.
"Beba..." Joaquín said. "Alan like six feet tall. You think you gon' protect them?"
I rolled my eyes before getting out of the car. They were walking away. It looked like they were going into some hallway under the stands, some kind of bathroom or locker room at the Yale.
I followed them, trying to make as little noise as possible.
"Save the 'speed' for the SS10 track," I heard Crust say.
Alan just laughed under his breath.
Then I saw them.
Christopher was pushing the guy against the wall, not letting him leave. He was covering the other boy entirely with his body. Alan tried a bit to push him back, but in the end he gave up and, laughing softly, said:
"I hate you. You always act like you need to keep a low profile even in private, and then you get all playful. It pisses me off that you're so reckless and then you complain about me."
"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. But you lost. You gotta keep your promises."
"At home. Stop it already, quit playing, you..."
I think I'm dreaming. My whole body froze. Am I dreaming? They're... kissing. No. I'm insane.
But no. It was real.
It wasn't just any kiss. Christopher had him pinned against the wall, touching him like his hands alone could hold all the fire burning between them. It didn't consume them; it fed them.
Christopher's hand went straight to the boy's ass, and Alan, in pure ecstasy, stroked his back and rubbed his body against Christopher's. Alan slid a hand down trying to grab a cheek, but he couldn't even cover it. Christopher had two perfect bubble-cakes that didn't even fit in those big hands.
Alan had pulled off the top part of Christopher's suit, leaving his back and chest exposed. Christopher had only pulled down one of his zippers.
I could barely move. I had the camera in my hand, ready to pull the trigger, but instead I chose to just watch them, enjoy that image in the front row.
They pulled apart for a moment just to look at each other and laugh like kids. Right when they were about to kiss again...
Click!
It came from my camera.
They froze instantly.
"What was that sound?" Christopher said.
My heart went wild. I ran as fast as I could, trying not to make noise.
"It was nothing," I heard Alan say.
His soft voice echoed in my ears while I escaped and ran without looking back until I reached the car.
"What happened?" Joaquín said.
I ignored him completely. I just stepped on the gas. Could they have seen me? If they had seen me, they'd be chasing me. And if they were, they'd catch me easily. If that happened, I'd be done: I'm not just a stalker anymore... what am I? A paparazzi?
I got to my building. Pulled into the parking garage. Didn't look like anyone followed me. Joaquín was behind me, asking what was going on. I didn't pay attention, not even as we went up to the apartment.
"You gonna tell me what happened?"
"Joaquín, you need to go home. We'll talk later. Or tomorrow. When I'm ready."
"Aight... aight..." he said, thoughtful. He sounded weirdly happy, he probably suspects something. "I'm headin' out, but whatever happened, I'm here... five floors down."
I barely heard him. I had already closed the door.
I sat in front of the computer. Took out the camera's memory card and copied the photo to the desktop.
The image came out clear. Sharp. It even looked like they were posing. You could see perfectly the faces of the two boys about to kiss, with their perfect, sculpted chests.
Alan, with less defined abs but an extremely perfect body, with soft blond hairs growing down his stomach, had a youthfully beautiful look.
Christopher, way more defined, with a small waist, showing that inverted-triangle back and his bronzed skin that matched his shiny black hair, looked like a blessed Superman.
And still, I liked Alan more. And he's blond, and I don't usually like blondes, but... his personality. He had those Golden retriever vibes, like a Golden retriever made to be kind, super sweet and soft. He never seemed to care about his appearance, always huggable, with that energy that made you want to kiss his chubby cheeks.
If I weren't looking at this picture right now, I would've thought it was another one of my fantasies. But no.
Holy shit. This is intense. Really intense.
This whole time, I was right. I'm not crazy after all.
I thought about deleting the photo. I knew I would never have the guts. But I couldn't really do anything with it either. If anyone found out I had it... that could be the end of me. A photo without permission. Can you imagine the lawsuit?
But I was right. After all, I was right. That gave me satisfaction.
I imagined the faces of Joaquín, Gloria... holy shit, Bennie, Sunny... if they saw this, they'd fall backwards.
This is insane.
This would wipe out my liar reputation entirely.
I know I can't publish it. Not in a million years.
This is insane.
If any of them ever saw this... I can't even imagine. They'd end up believing everything, these last two years, all the stuff I've made up, holy shit, this would wipe out my liar reputation entirely, forever...
I know I can't publish this for any reason, but this is insane.
Holy shit.
I knew I'd never post it, but honestly, at least I deserved to fantasize. The gods of stalking put this in my hands so I could enjoy it.
I had a draft almost ready for next Friday; in fact, the only section I still needed to complete was precisely the Schedule, empty one. And this time I didn't even have to imagine it. I set the photo as the cover.