Don't Put Your Face Into Your Hands

[Jen]

Part Eleven

Dex doesn’t know when Casey began taking the lead. Dex knows this is his house, so he should be calling the shots, but somehow, Dex feels like he is the one at Casey’s beck and call. This just emphasises how much Dex does not fit in. He can’t even take charge of a party in his own house.

Out of nowhere Casey is thrusting a beer into Dex’s hand and they are saying, “Cheers!”

“To internet superstardom,” Casey adds before he puts the bottle to his mouth and takes a gulp.

If Dex’s inability to throw a party was any indication, it should be no surprise that Dex has never tasted alcohol before. He’s never really been interested, and frankly, the opportunity has never presented itself. But, now, standing in the living room, with Casey by his side, Dex suddenly wants, more than anything, for things to be easy. He wants to fit in, to be like the other guys his age. He looks to Casey, his eyes bright and shining, even in the dully lit room, as he sips on his beer like it’s the simplest thing in the world. This comes naturally to Casey, and Dex wants in.

The first sip isn’t bad, Dex decides, so he goes for another, but then he really tastes it, and Dex has to really concentrate in order to actually swallow the liquid -- that apparently is crucial to adolescence, but also tastes like dirty socks. Dex must be pulling a strange face, because Casey shoots him a look and bursts out laughing. But Dex doesn’t want to be laughed at. He wants to fit in, so he puts the bottle to his lips and chugs back half of it.

Casey raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Not until Dex has finished his first and the room is beginning to get a bit fuzzy around the edges.

“I think you should slow down,” Casey warns.

Dex shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, taking another sip of his new drink.

He feels warm inside, but Dex is certainly not drunk. Tipsy definitely, as Dex finds himself mingling through the crowd of people to the other side of the room. Dex waves to people he doesn’t know and continues to sip at his beer, while the music plays in the background, and doesn’t sound nearly as noisy as it did to begin with.

And this is when things begin to get messy.

Another beer appears in Dex’s hand, so he drinks it. Then there is a shot of something golden and it burns the back of his throat and Dex tries to navigate his way around the coffee table, towards -- well, Dex isn’t entirely sure. He trips and expects to go sprawling across the carpet, but then Casey, with his arms around Dex’s lean frame is hoisting him back onto his feet.

It’s warm, is all Dex can think, as Casey presses a firm hand into the small of Dex’s back and steers him away from the throng of people. Casey, and his arm muscles that bulge underneath his tight-fitting shirt, and through his drunken haze Dex seems only to be able to focus on Casey’s hands on his body, and how Dex doesn’t altogether mind that they are there.

It’s not until there is a whoosh and a sudden chill against Dex’s bare arms that he realises that Casey has taken him outside. It’s dark, but the house is brightly lit over Dex’s shoulder, and Casey still hasn’t moved his hand.

“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” Casey says. Why is it that around Casey, Dex always feels like he’s the child? Like Casey is so big and grown up and experienced, that Dex is automatically going to get himself into trouble if Casey doesn’t steer him in the right direction. Well, it was Casey’s idea for the party, and Dex went to a lot of trouble to make sure it happened, so he is going to enjoy himself.

“We’re freakin’ famous,” Dex says after a while, a definite slur in his voice. His tongue feels heavy, and his head light, which really isn’t a good combination.

Casey chuckles, placing a placating hand on Dex’s shoulder. “Sure we are.”

“No, no no no, I’m serious. We’re like -- internet famous, which is totally better than being regular famous, because it’s on the internet.”

“Ah, the internet. The place where paedophiles and hipsters and loners come together to co-exist,” Casey muses.

“Don’t make fun of the internet,” Dex says, face serious. “I have more friends online than I do in real life.”

Casey doesn’t quite know what to say. In some other alternate universe where Dex isn’t drunk and Casey says what he’s thinking, he would say, ‘I thought I was your friend.’ But because Dex is currently swaying on his feet and Casey is still Casey, he doesn’t.

“Whatever, I’m awesome,” Dex says as an afterthought.

“Yeah, you are,” Casey replies, and even in Dex’s drunken state it sounds like Casey isn’t exactly making fun of him.

“Do you like me?” Dex asks. His voice is quiet and timid, eyes not altogether focussed, but he sounds so small that it takes a moment for Casey to put a lid on the voice inside his head that is now screaming, ’Back up, back up, sh*t back up’.

Up to this point, Casey has been very good at keeping himself in check. He has put a wall up inside his head that separates ‘platonic relationships’ from ‘gay feelings’. But it’s beginning to crack, and Casey hates himself for letting it even get to this point.

Casey thought he could do it. Have a platonic friendship with another guy. Romeo was friendly and didn’t look at Casey like he had two heads because he was from Mangrove River, and liked the same things Casey did. They surfed and Romeo would occasionally help him out with school work because, as Romeo said, “Been there, done that.”

Everything was going great and they were laughing and trudging back up the beach with their surfboards under their arms with the afternoon sun on their backs, when Casey began to like, notice. Romeo was hot. Any person with at least one eye could see that, and maybe Casey would catch himself staring longer than was socially acceptable for a seemingly heterosexual boy.

It was just a crush. Casey recognised the flush of his cheeks whenever Romeo came out of the surf, water droplets glistening off his tan body. He could totally control that, but it was easier to put the distance between them than avoid the awkward questions that would inevitably get asked.

Then there was Dex, with his stupid video camera in Casey’s face. And Casey kind of lost it. He knew it was completely irrational to think that somehow his ‘gayness’ could be seen on camera, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. And watching Dex put together his video blogs, something just sort of clicked. And no matter how many times Casey reminded himself that Dex was definitely straight, and not interested, he still woke up in the middle of the night with flashes of Dex’s pale face and wide smile in his mind.

“No, I hate your guts,” Casey replies with a roll of his eyes, because he refuses to have deep and meaningful conversations with people while they are intoxicated.

“No, but seriously,” Dex says, slurring. He’s stepping forward on uneasy legs, like he thinks the ground is moving underneath him. Dex slings an arm around Casey’s shoulders and rests his head somewhere near Casey’s neck.

Casey can feel Dex’s warm breath on his bare skin, tickling, and God, this is not good. “You told me you were gay, does that mean you like me? Like, like like me?”

“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m attracted to every guy in a twelve foot radius,” Casey replies. “And I think you are too drunk to be having this conversation right now.”

“But, I saw you kissing Ruby,” Dex continues, mumbling into Casey’s chest. Casey has to take a deep breath, because apparently when Dex is drunk he pouts and looks like someone kicked his puppy, and apparently Casey thinks this is adorable. He is so screwed.

There is a loud crash and Dex spins around. He’s momentarily confused and slightly dizzy, but then Dex sees the two grown men attacking each other. The party appears to have come to a complete stand still, as a blonde surfer pushes the brunet River Boy out of the way. The River Boy doesn’t let it go. He raises his fist and takes a clean hit to the blonde’s face.

They are watching the fight unfold, no one stepping in.

Both men are now on the floor, wrestling and using their whole body to attack one another. A crowd is forming, and Dex is staring, wide-eyed as they pound each other’s faces, while the spectators cheer them on, becoming more aggressive with every drunken moment.

Dex is not altogether making much sense at the moment, but he hears Casey whisper something that sounds like, “F*ck. I’ll get rid of them,” before he disappears from Dex’s side.

Dex wanders slowly back towards the house. He hears the music cut and a voice that may belong to Casey shout, “The cops are coming!”

It’s like a shark has appeared in a school of minnows, and all the little fish begin to scatter. There is a bit of grumbling and stumbling as the partygoers head for the door. And as the group dissipates, Dex reaches the doorway and stares into the empty living room, where a party was in full swing -- until three minutes ago.

Dex isn’t made for parties. He isn’t built for socialising and drinking. The buzz of his two and a half beers is already wearing off, and all Dex is feeling is exhausted. His eyelids feel heavy, his clothes tight, and Dex just wants to sleep.

He staggers down the hall, almost tripping over the rug, and collapses face-first onto his bed.

The clean-up can wait until the morning, because Dex is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

--

[Jen]

Part Twelve

The sun is streaming in through the window and Dex groans as the light hits his face. He has a severe headache and wants nothing more than to remain in bed for the foreseeable future. But the pounding behind his eyes gets worse, and the birds outside Dex’s window get louder, and it seems the world is determined to keep him from sleeping. So, with much effort and determination, Dex rolls out of bed and pads along the wooden floor to the kitchen where he intends on taking an aspirin before returning to bed.

But then the reality of the previous night hits him.

The living room looks like a rubbish tip has exploded, and Dex must have really been out of it last night if he didn’t notice how widespread the damage was.

He can see through the kitchen that the keg has been tapped, emptied and is now sitting on the kitchen bench. There are beer bottles and other glasses scattered on every available surface, while the distinct smell of pot lingers in the air.

Dex has no idea what he’s going to do.

He vaguely remembers April leaving and Casey arriving, but then somewhere along the line his memory becomes a blur and right now his mouth is dry and it’s like he’s eaten a sock.

Something else Dex did not immediately notice was the lump that has appeared on his couch. Blankets are piled high, and cushions appear to have been dragged across the floor and built up around it. Then the mound of blankets and cushions begins to stir.

Dex spots a tuft of short brown hair sticking out from underneath the covers. A forehead and face slowly follows and Dex recognises Casey’s sleepy features. Casey lets out a moan as he slowly sits up, eyes still squinted shut.

“Where am I?” Casey asks, voice gravelly and low, while he rubs at his eyes with his fist.

“My lounge room,” Dex offers, and Casey sits up with a start.

He looks disoriented, eyes blurry and out of focus as he gazes around the dishevelled room.

“Sorry, I must have just crashed out last night after the party ended,” Casey replies. Dex shrugs and turns towards the kitchen, suddenly starving. “How are you feeling?”

“Urgh,” Dex replies, kneading a fist into his forehead. His head is pounding. “Now I know why I never had a party after the age of twelve.”

“Not so great, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.”

With a glass in his hand, Dex pops two tablets in his mouth and chases them down with the water. He looks up to see Casey sitting on the edge of the lounge.

And then, like a flash, Dex remembers the feeling of Casey’s hand on his back, and leading him away from the party. So now Dex is staring at Casey as he tries to flatten his hair and he’s standing up and beginning to reassemble the couch. Dex doesn’t even remember a lot of what happened last night, let alone why Casey felt the need to get him alone. All Dex knows is that he wouldn’t exactly be weirded out if it happened again.

“Do you want food?” Dex asks, because he really shouldn’t be dealing with teenage-y feelings on an empty stomach.

“Thanks,” Casey replies as he picks up a cushion off the floor and arranges it neatly, before he begins folding up a blanket.

--

Casey takes the plate of bacon and eggs eagerly before forgoing the lounge and sitting on the floor.

Dex joins him, nursing a plate as well.

They eat in silence, and it’s not until Dex has polished off his entire breakfast-that-is-so-late-it-may-as-well-be-lunch that he feels like he can speak again.

“Did I say anything really embarrassing last night?”

Casey looks up from picking the last bit of bacon crisp off his plate with a startled expression. “Uh, no. Why would you think that?” But even though Casey is good at hiding behind a persona of steely-toughness, Dex sees the little bit of red in his cheeks that wasn’t there before, and the slight waver in his voice gives him away.

“Oh, God. I did, didn’t I?” Dex buries his face in his hands. “What did I say?”

Casey is quiet, so Dex is forced to extract himself from his palms and look at him. If anything, Casey is redder, avoiding Dex’s eyes. He rubs at the back of neck with his free hand. “Um. You asked me if I liked you.”

Dex groans and flops back onto the floor. He’s mortified. Even though he doesn’t remember doing it, Dex is sure he was a complete embarrassment, and Casey must think he is some stupid kid who can’t hold his liquor. He’s heard it said that when people are drunk they reveal the truest form of themselves, and that is the last thing Dex wants to admit to himself. If it was possible, Dex would disown his own subconscious right now.

“It’s okay,” Dex hears Casey say, and Dex thinks he might be smiling. Which is just great, because Dex is squeezing his eyes shut and just willing for the ground to open up underneath him and swallow him whole. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to face Casey again.

Not a month ago, that wouldn’t have bothered Dex in the slightest. But now Casey is sitting on Dex’s lounge room floor, amid the remains of a party, which is now the bane of Dex’s existence.

There is a slight shuffling noise, and when Dex opens his eyes Casey is looking down at him. His expression is unreadable, and all Dex can do is lie there and stare up at Casey’s stupid, attractive face, and his stupid, attractive muscles, and Dex doesn’t even like boys.

But when Dex is with Casey, he feels a little bit less like a dork, and more like an actual person. There is this unsettling feeling in Dex’s stomach, and he wants to chalk one up against excessive alcohol consumption, but he can’t help but think it’s something more. It’s like the flushing of his cheeks when his hand used to accidentally brush against Annie’s, or the sweatiness of his palms before he asked out Adrian. Both exciting and sort of terrifying.

Not that Dex really has much frame of reference.

--

[Jen]

Part Thirteen

Casey has never been anyone’s boyfriend before. But he’s thought about it often enough. Late into the night when he can’t sleep, he pictures it.

It’s just that, whenever he imagined his first boyfriend, he certainly didn’t look like Dex. He was normally taller than Casey, with broad shoulders and shaggy blonde hair, and would take Casey’s hand in his whenever it got a bit too much, and tell him that it would all be okay.

Not that he would ever admit that outside of his own head.

He would get kicked out of home for sure, and he didn’t even want to think about the speed at which that news would travel along the grapevine that was Summer Bay Gossip. He saw it happen in Mangrove River, when he first started high school. Some poor kid who was probably very nice, but Heath decided that because he had a bike with streamers the boy was some kind of fag. Heath made his life miserable -- deflating the tires of his bike, cornering him in the alley next to the school and threatening to punch his face in. Casey would see him come to class late, his shirt ripped, and dirt on his face. Although he never told anyone who was responsible, Casey knew. And Casey knew it would happen to him too.

Casey had even tried having a girlfriend. He hooked up with Ruby once, just to see whether he could do it. And sure, it was okay. The kissing was pretty great, but Casey could see that she was far more into it that he was, and she couldn’t understand why he called it off. There was no spark there.

But Dex is lying on his back, staring up at him, and Casey can feel his heart beginning to beat hard in his chest. He’s thinking back on the days they spent together working on the science project. The way Dex’s tongue pokes out of his mouth when he’s concentrating really hard. And it’s glancing into a classroom window, and seeing Dex’s head buried in a book. It’s a sense of pride, hitting him deep in his ribcage, and relishing Dex’s unguarded smile when he saw Casey’s completed English assignment. Casey wants all of that.

But maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. Last time Casey checked, Dex was still straight, and nursing an impressive hangover.

--

Dex is looking up at Casey curiously, and Dex can tell he is thinking hard about something. Dex thinks he’s debating whether to tell him about something else embarrassing he did the night before, and frankly Dex doesn’t really want to know.

But then Casey is leaning down, very slowly. He pauses, hovering over Dex’s face.

And then Casey is kissing him.

It catches Dex off-guard and he feels his body cease, and the only thing Dex can feel is Casey’s lips on his. They are warm and slightly chapped, but firm and persistent. And then something kicks into gear and Dex is closing his eyes and is actually kissing him back.

Dex is using his hand to pull Casey in closer, sucking on his bottom lip, and letting a breathless, “Oh,” slip out when Casey pulls away.

“Yes,” Casey says, voice low and hushed.

“Huh?”

Casey is still so close, that his features are blurry, but Dex can see the redness of his lips, and Dex thinks, ’I did that’.

“In answer to your question,” Casey clarifies. “Yes, I like like you.”

There’s this awkward moment where Casey is just there, and Dex is trying to get his head around the fact that they were just kissing, and he could totally do it again if he wanted to. But his brain is now fried in addition to soaked in booze, so he’s not having much luck making sense of it all.

“So, what happens now?”

Casey huffs, but his lips are quirked up into a small smile. His eye’s flick away from Dex’s face, glancing around the room. “I’ll help you clean up.”

Dex collects some black rubbish bags and hands one to Casey. They spend the first few hours tossing away empty beer bottles and plastic cups, because Dex still has to remove all evidence of any sort of party before his father gets home.

They move around the room in mostly silence, but occasionally Casey and Dex will reach for the same bottle and their fingers will touch, and if Casey likes the way Dex blushes as a result, well then. That’s just a bonus.

--

Dexsworld’s Blog

Everything Dex has to say

The Importance of Labels

Filed under: Text by dexsworld - 0 Comments

As soon as a kid walks through the doors on the first day of high school they are labelled. Whether they know it or not.

The girl with the blonde hair in perfect pigtails and a skirt that is just a little bit shorter than all the rest -- Princess.

The guy with thick glasses and a shirt that’s he’s too small to fill out -- Geek.

Guys who immediately sign up for every sport available -- Jock.

With one quick glance, girls are automatically flocking together. The musicians, and the writers, separate from the dancers and emos.

It’s almost like it’s expected.

The only other time I’ve ever known people to be so obsessed with labelling is those workplaces where employee’s noses get bent out of shape because someone stole one of their grapes, and ever since they have meticulously written their name on every component of the refrigerator to avoid it happening again.

Well, news flash. Using a label maker and being able to spell your own name won’t stop anyone eating your sandwich. If people are hungry, they are going to eat. Whether your name is on it or not.

Just like labelling someone a Bad Boy isn’t going to stop them being gay. Or because you are the science nerd, doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to let loose every now and then.

But I get that people are inherently possessive.

So, fine. Label your food in the fridge, but leave it off everyone else. Judge people on their merits and values, not their preference for leather jackets or paperback novels.

Read more

--

THE END.

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