Chapter 3: Breaking Point

All my unwillingness burned to ashes in that instant. I lowered my head. “Oh.”

I turned around and started packing my things. The room was deadly silent, the only sounds my clothes sliding off hangers and the dull thump of books into boxes. “If you want me gone, just say so. No need for this whole act. I just like guys—it’s not like I actually turned into a woman.”

My voice shook, but I kept my back straight. I said I’d move out, but none of the three started packing. Isn’t this all just a show for me? To force me to leave? So sly. So hypocritical. Who’s really shameless and two-faced here, if not them?

The more I thought about it, the rougher I packed. The little clay horse that always sat on my desk got knocked out of the box and crashed to the floor.

Crash.

It shattered into pieces. A sharp little gasp escaped me. For a moment, the room seemed to freeze.

Derek’s face changed instantly. He slammed his phone onto the desk. “Damn it! Eli, are you trying to get yourself killed!”

His voice cracked—the first sign of real feeling I’d heard from him all day. I looked up, startled by the intensity in his eyes.

It’s hard to describe how I felt in that moment. I’m not the reckless type. If I hadn’t felt that Derek was different with me—if I hadn’t sensed even a hint of a signal from him—how could I have taken the initiative to confess?

That clay horse was made by Derek himself, when he went with his ex-girlfriend to a pottery class. His ex asked for it three times, using every trick—acting cute, getting angry, even threatening him. But Derek just wouldn’t give it to her. The girl got so mad she started crying and demanded: “Today, you have to choose. The clay horse or me?”

But faced with her tears, Derek just laughed, gently put the horse in its box, deleted and blocked her in front of everyone, and left. It became something of a legend in our circle, the way Derek just shrugged off drama. Back in the dorm, he put the box on my desk, showing off: “Bro, I even dumped my girlfriend for you. How about you just be my girlfriend instead?”

This wasn’t the first time Derek had said something like that. He said it all the time. It was practically his catchphrase. The roommates were used to it—and even more used to how he favored me. Even by the second semester of sophomore year, every girlfriend he had would fight with him for putting me first. Derek, the infamous player, actually stopped dating altogether. Stayed single for over half a year.

The signals were scattered but obvious, the intimacy so clear it gave me hope. But in the end, I cruelly discovered: it was all just my own fantasy. The clay horse lay in shards at my feet, a little graveyard for what I’d imagined between us.

“You’d better worship this horse. It cost me a girlfriend. If it gets even a chip, I’ll come after you.”

The day he gave me the clay horse, Derek’s words still echoed in my ears. I looked down at the shattered pieces and, for some reason, actually laughed. “Isn’t this better? Saves me the trouble of moving.”

The laugh came out brittle, echoing weirdly in the tense room.

“You...” Derek looked at me in shock. “You’re really willing to move out?”

What? Did he really think I was just putting on a show like them? Or did he think I liked him so much I’d have no shame? Doesn’t he realize how contradictory this is?

Bang.

A surge of emotion hit me and I smashed the mug Derek gave me onto the floor too. My hands shook as I raised the mug. For a split second, I almost put it back down. Then I hurled it, the crash echoing off the cinderblock walls. The loud crash felt furiously satisfying.

I grabbed the box cutter from the desk and sneered: “No need for you to disinfect. I’ll do it myself. Before I move out, I’ll make sure everything is spotless.”

The dorm went dead silent. The three of them just stared as I, like a madman, destroyed every item that tied me and Derek together over the past two years. Clothes, shoes, basketball...

I tossed his ratty old hoodie into the trash, even the basketball with his name Sharpied across the leather. For a second, the scent of Derek’s cologne and the soft, worn fabric of his hoodie flashed through my mind, a gut punch of pain.

Derek’s face grew even darker. He suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Stop it, Eli. Just drop this crush crap, and you don’t have to leave. Let’s just go back to how things were. Be good bros, can’t we?”

He said it like it was that easy, like everything hadn’t just exploded in our faces.

For a moment, I just found it laughable. No need to move? Then what’s with all the disinfecting and room changing?

Oh, I get it. They’re using their actions to warn me: Put away those ‘disgusting’ feelings for Derek as soon as possible. Otherwise, the three of them will never accept me.

“Should I thank you all for your great generosity, for giving me a chance to turn over a new leaf?”

Derek frowned, his voice low: “Eli.”

I snorted, gave Derek a long look, said nothing more, and continued packing. Can’t accept means can’t accept. Why pretend to be saints? Go back to how things were? How? Good bros?

Even if I could, could he really pretend nothing happened? Pretend he doesn’t know how I feel about him? Could he really think liking guys isn’t disgusting?

I didn’t have much to begin with, and after smashing everything Derek had given me, I packed everything into one suitcase. Zipped it up, stood up, and prepared to leave.

But my wrist was suddenly seized. Derek, who’d been cold-faced at the side, finally couldn’t hold back. He frowned at me: “Are you sure about this? Once you move out today, don’t even think about coming back.”

I looked at Derek without expression, slowly pulling my wrist free. My voice was calm: “Yeah, I’m sure. I won’t come back.”

Prejudice is like a thorn. Once it’s in your heart, there’s no going back. Between Derek and me, there’s no way to pretend nothing happened.

But hearing me say that, Derek seemed infuriated, let out a bitter laugh, and nodded: “Fine, Eli. You’re really something.”

His words stung, but I kept my head up. The door slammed behind me as I wheeled my suitcase down the hall, each step echoing with a strange kind of relief and grief all tangled up.