Whenever He Wants

I'm walking down to the coffee shop. Our coffee shop. He'd always get me a large and himself a medium. He would let me sit while he got our drinks. He was my first love. He declared himself not into me. He declared that our relationship was a lie. And there he was, with some girl. There he was, holding her hand. The way he looked at her was how he looked at me. He seemed to only like her and not care about a single other person. He acted like that to me. He had laughed and held me close and whispered in my ear. He had promised he'd be my boyfriend forever. He saw me and waved me to come over, "This is Angie." I smiled at her. I had forgotten he was moved on and wanted us to be friends. I didn't want to let on how hurt I was and smiled at her. She looked back at me and waited for me to leave. He told her we needed to catch up. He told me to follow him, her eyes following us as we left the building. He led me on top of the old bank. He held my hand and looked at me how he looked at her. He leaned in to kiss me. I kissed back and asked him what this means. He said, "nothing. It doesn't count. Just for kicks." I shouldn't have been ok with that, but I was. We held hands and looked at the sky until stars appeared. It seemed like days had passed when he said he was leaving and taking Angie over to his house. I watched him walk away as he didn't turn around once to smile at me. This started happening more and more. He'd call me and we'd hook up then leave when he was bored of me. Alone, I'd think he was so mean, using me like this. With him, I'd feel like the luckiest person in the world. At school, he didn't talk to me. He told all his friends I was obsessed with him. During lunch break we'd meet in the bathroom and make out. I knew this wasn't healthy, but he had something that would assure me. One day as we were kissing, his friend opened the door to our stall, shocked. He stopped kissing me and pushed me hard against the bathroom door. He yelled to his friend, "Thank god! He wouldn't get off of me; fucking fag." I sat there on the ground as he walked away. I was bruised all over my back and weak in the knees. My head on the dirty floor as I cried. I cried for myself. I cried for him. I cried for being gay. I wished I was straight. My grandfather told me being gay was a choice. I chose to be gay? I chose to be made fun of everyday and fall for people I couldn't have? Why would I choose this? Why would I do that to myself? I cried and cried. My body glued to the floor of that bathroom.