I never used to be.  Sure, I used to lie to Mom, sneaking out after school to hang with Daph.  Shit, did she really think Art Club met three times a week?  And I used to lie to Dad, but those were sins of omission, really.  If he noticed the level of scotch going down and I didn�t immediately step up to announce �hey dad, that�s because I�ve been drinking it when you�re not home�� well, is that really a lie?  And yeah, I lied about Brian.  About going to Babylon, about seeing him, about what he meant to me. 

Shit, I�ve always been a fucking liar.

But now one thing�s changed.  At least I never used to lie to myself. 

The park bench is cold, the air brisk enough that it seems as though my breath should be freezing as it leaves my lungs.  I should have a warmer jacket.  But I figured I�d be at Collier�s party all fucking night, not curled on a wooden bench, knees drawn up to my chin, watching the wind twirl the swings round and round and round and pretending that the teardrops aren�t rolling down my cheeks. 

See?  Pretending.  Another self-lie.  The thing I do all the time now, just to get through the days and nights.  Fuck. 

Pretending that I have everything I need with Ethan.    Pretending that when he showed up outside the diner, he didn�t cut a class to check up on me.  Pretending that he trusts me more than that, even when I�m not so sure I can trust myself.  Pretending that letting him speak for me didn�t rankle... Not just once, but twice.  Pretending that his friends weren�t pretentious assholes, and pretending that Ethan�s condescending attitude towards me at the fucking party didn�t make me feel two feet tall. 

Pretending that if I try hard enough, I�ll love Ethan the same way he loves me.

Pretending that knowing Brian still needed me didn�t send a thrill coursing through my whole body, a thrill it hasn�t known or felt since I left him.  Pretending that my nerve endings don�t spark beneath my skin whenever he�s near.  Pretending that I don�t think of him constantly.  Pretending that the tuition payment is just a business deal.  Pretending that I don�t see the look in his eye when he watches me, that fucking look that I want to mean so much but I can�t believe, it hurts too much to believe.  Pretending that when the trick took his arm at Carnivale, a surge of possessive jealousy didn�t flicker and flare and then crash when I remembered he was no longer mine.  Pretending that things will ever fucking change.

Pretending that if I try hard enough, the love I feel for Brian will slowly fade. 

I should go home.  To Ethan�s.  It�s been hours since I left the party� hours more since I left Carnivale.  He�ll be worried about me. 

I look up at the cloudless sky. I told Brian once that I wasn�t some scared little faggot.  He agreed.  But a line from some cheezy 80�s song keeps running through my head�  �And a thousand starry eyes have caught me crying.�  Right now, I feel like nothing more than a scared little faggot. 

Maybe if Brian was here� he�d be able to convince me otherwise.  If nothing else, he�d hold me while the tears flowed.

I�ve got to keep trying.  There�s a dozen clichés running around in my head too, and they all tell me the same thing.  You made your bed, now you have to lie in it.  You�ve got to play the hand you�re dealt.  You�ve got to roll with the punches. 

I�ve never been a quitter.  I don�t know how to do anything other than keep plugging away.  I�ve learned how to build up my defences, and I�ve learned how to mount a pretty impressive offensive, too. 

I can dry my own tears.  I can go back to Ethan�s.  I can find comfort in my art, the one thing that never fails me.  I can continue taking each day as it comes, slowly learning to trust my instincts again.  I can have faith that no matter what situation presents itself, I�ll know what to do.  I�ll know, because I�ll re-learn how to trust my heart. 

I can keep trying.  Keep trying and keep trying and keep trying, until the day I�m ready to be honest again.