Infamous Like Us (Like Us 10)

Quiet bathes the hallway and us as we contemplate the curiosity and accusations surrounding me and him. I think we knew it’d exist, but not to the level it’s shot to. “For whatever it’s worth,” I cut into the silence, “you’re all man to me, Nine.”

His lips rise again. “Appreciate it, Banksy.” He favors his right ankle and leans up against the wall beside me.

I squeeze his tattooed shoulder, then glance at the bathroom door with him.

“What’s your least favorite question?” he asks.

“All of ‘em.”

“Cop out.”

“Monaco,” Thatcher announces over comms.

I know my fuckin’ ABCs. If we’re on countries that start with M, then Sulli is losing more time to rejoin Team USA. I consider banging on the door. But I don’t want my girlfriend to jump out of her skin. Probably why Akara hesitates, too.

“We’re at Monaco, mermaid!”

“I’ll be out really fucking soon! I promise!”

“We’re putting your poop-breaks on the clock, Sul,” Akara teases. “You’re being timed. Three more minutes.”

We hear a faint hardy-har-har.

I slip my toothpick back in my mouth. Something I haven’t told Akara or Sulli yet suddenly circles back to me. Every time the memory nears the front of my brain, I push it out of mind.

Unimportant.

Not now.

Later.

Maybe never.

Why drudge that shit up?

All the excuses fade to the background, and I suddenly confess, “My ma asked me if I’m bi.”

Shock freezes his face. “Bisexual?”

“No, bilingual,” I joke. “Yes, bisexual.”

He jumps over my dry response. “Really? When? What’d you say?” He’s eager for answers. Just like my mom was eager for one.

“Months ago,” I admit, scratching my jaw.

I remember how my mom had been over-the-moon excited when I confirmed my relationship with Sulli back in Atlantic City. I didn’t know how she’d react once she heard my relationship also includes Akara.

Turns out she’s still excited. She loves Akara. But I think she’s been more excited at the prospect of me being bi like her.

I take a longer beat. Quiet.

Akara is on pins and needles. “And?”

I don’t answer right away.

He shoots me a look. “What’s with the fracking cliffhanger?”

“It’s not a cliffhanger.” My mouth curves up. “It’s a fucking pause.”

“Are you really going to make me ask again?”

“I told my ma, I don’t know.” I shake my head a couple times. “I don’t know, Akara.” Frustration I’ve felt and have been feeling starts to rumble to the surface again. “I don’t fucking know what we are…and I thought I knew. I thought I was straight….maybe I still am. I don’t know.”

Before us, before this relationship, I had a clearer idea. And maybe I wouldn’t care to define anything if people didn’t constantly fucking ask.

On the internet.

From the press.

In person. (Thanks, Mom).

I breathe harder like I’m running up a fucking hill. “Do you know?” I gesture to him.

“No. I don’t know either.”

I expel a rougher breath. Wishing he had an answer, but maybe it’s better that we’re both fucking confused. Would I be upset if he said he had no attraction towards me?

Would I be upset if he did?

I don’t know.

But at least we’re at the same starting line.

Looking back, we haven’t really dug deep into our sexualities. Too much has been going on. Sulli training. The media encroaching. Fan mail and hate mail piling up and taking half-a-day to sort through. For the most part, we’ve maintained a status quo for the past six months and haven’t tried to leapfrog into new territory. We’ve just been preserving what we fought for. The three of us together. Our triad out in public.

I check the bathroom door. “Look, I don’t care about being bi or queer or whatever-the-fuck, but I’m feeling aggravated having everyone tell me what I am before I figure it out.”

Akara nods. “This uncertainty sucks.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I wish I could tell them all, having sex with the same girl doesn’t mean we’re gay or bi or not straight. But it’s not even the fracking answer they want.”

I bite on the toothpick. “I guess there’s only one way to figure out if we have sexual attraction. Nip this in the fucking bud.” Though I know there’s other forms of attraction like emotional and romantic attraction. But I think this is the one we’re hung up on.

Akara smiles, one full of humor. “You asking to fuck me, Banks?”

“I was gonna start with a kiss.” I put a hand to my chest. “Personally, I like to move slow, and I’m not sure you can take me, Kitsuwon.”

He laughs.

Hell, we’re both laughing. And then the sound fades, and we exchange a knowingness. That we both want answers.

“I’ll kiss you,” Akara tells me. “A real kiss this time though. Not any of that pecking-the-cheek bullcrap. That’s the only way we’ll know.”

I remember during truth or dares we’ve kissed on the cheek. Never anything beyond that. I cock my head. “Or I’ll kiss you.”