Page 214 of Phobia

“Lena?” I call out, heading for my bedroom, stripping out of my clothes before I’m even there.

I need to get in the shower immediately. Wash the sweat off. And hopefully, some cold water will wake me up a little.

“Lena, you home??” I bark, tossing clothes all over my bedroom.

Still, no answer.

Where the hell is she??

I haven’t been able to get ahold of her all day. I’m worried, but I’m trying really hard not to stress too bad. Although,stressingis what I do best.

I’m an anxious person. Some things work me up more than others, but I don’t like to let anyone know about it. They’remyproblems. No one else’s.

I take a quick shower, then get dressed in my joggers again, flitting around my bedroom in the dull glow of my bedside lamp. Plopping down on my bed, I pick up my notebook and pen, hoping to maybe get some writing done. Distract myself from Lena’s whereabouts, and the fact that it’s only eleven at night…

Many hours ahead of me.

But something catches my eye through my bedroom window.

It’s that kid, who lives in the trailer next door now. I can see directly into his trailer from my window. And it only takes a quick glance to realize thathe’sin his bedroom, too.

Our trailers are a few yards apart, but still. I have a direct view into the kid’s bedroom. And he’s standing in there… stripping.

“Oh crap…” I whisper to myself, averting my eyes.

This is awkward. I should close the curtains or… something.

A hesitant curiosity has my gaze creeping back to the window. The kid doesn’t seem to realize he’s visible right now. He must not be used to living so close to other people.

Either way, I can’t seem to pry my eyes off of him. He’s standing in his bedroom in only some black underwear, and it looks like he’s… speaking.

Is someone else in there?

I don’t see anyone. In fact, the more I stare, the more it looks like he’s talking to himself. Or rather, speaking to his reflection in the mirror. My brows knit together, puzzled.

What the hell is he doing??

Watching him gives me an odd flutter in the pit of my stomach. His body is very defined, curves and slopes of muscle that appear intricately honed. He obviously works out…A lot.

I have muscle definition myself, but it’s mostly from all the manual labor I do, lifting fifty-pound dead animals and such.

I wonder what he does to stay so fit…

He’s very attractive. Clean-cut, no tattoos, a tiny hoop earring on his left lobe. And when he smiles, I find myself shifting on my bed.

Straight, white teeth, with dimples in his cheeks. A perfect pretty-boy smile.

Okay… I’m getting carried away.

Flopping onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, ignoring the tickles. I’m still confused by this sensation…

I only just started noticing boys this way. At first, I thought it was a fluke. A few months ago, a guy I’d never seen before came into the butcher shop, and couldn’t help the way I was looking at him. A way I’ve only ever looked atgirlsbefore… With an appreciation for his eyes and his lips and hisbody.

It threw me off more than a little. So much that I stuffed it down, and completely ignored it.

I mean, how wouldthathelp my situation? There are no gay guys around here… Not openly, anyway. It’s hard enough to meet girls when you don’t go to school, see all the same faces all the time, and have only one bar within a five-mile radius.

What could I accomplish by liking guys?