Page 19 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

I open my eyes halfway through the kiss, scanning the room for Yami, but I don’t see her or Bo anywhere. Jamal, on the other

hand, makes eye contact with me for just a moment before he turns around and leaves the room.

“Want to go somewhere more private?” Bianca asks, and I nod, following her into one of the bedrooms.

Don’t get me wrong. I know I’m “mentally ill.” I know that. But it’s not like I’m not in control of my actions. Sure, we’re

both a little tipsy—maybe more than a little tipsy—but I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’m doing it of my own free will.

I know how messed up this looks. How messed up it is. I know there’s only so much I can be forgiven for. There’s no turning back from this, but I’m doing it anyway. And if I wanted

to, I could stop at any moment.

But I don’t stop.

Bianca’s lips move to my jaw, and her hands travel from my chest down my stomach, and finally to my zipper.

“Your sister would be pissed if she knew what we were doing, wouldn’t she?” Bianca asks as she unbuttons my jeans and slides the zipper down.

I keep my thoughts to myself about how weird it is that Bianca is thinking about Yami right now.

Bianca pulls my boxers down and gets on her knees.

“Probably, she’d—oh...” The words get sucked out of me. Like, literally.

And then the door swings open, and another hungry-for-each-other couple stumbles in sucking face.

Bianca jumps to her feet, letting out a startled noise. That’s when the couple notices us. And when I really notice them.

Yami and Bo.

I quickly pull my boxers back up and zip my pants. Yami just stares at me and Bianca. I know I should be trying to explain

myself, but what is there to say? I did what I did, and I did it for a reason. Finally, it seems to click for Yami, and whatever

rage I felt over the last few months is multiplied tenfold in her.

There’s silence and then, “You fucking bitch!”

Yami rushes Bianca, lunging at her and tackling her to the ground. Bo rushes in and tries to pull Yami away, but Yami has

Bianca’s hair in a death grip, and she doesn’t look like she has any intention of letting go.

I’m honestly too stunned to move. Yami’s never gotten in a fight before, especially not with Bianca, her ex-best friend. Especially

not over me.

Bo eventually manages to pull Yami away from a seething Bianca, but then her rage is turned toward me.

“What the fuck are you doing with her ?” she shouts, but I have nothing to say for myself.

Bianca hurriedly pats down her fist-tangled hair. “Isn’t it obvious?” she says, but not before running to the other side of

the bed so Yami can’t reach her.

“Yami, she’s not worth it,” Bo says, and I’m not sure if she’s hugging Yami or trying to hold her back. Maybe both.

Then Yami lets out a deep breath to calm herself. “You can let go now, Bo.”

Bo lets her go.

“Bianca, you should go,” Yami says, too calmly. Then panic sinks in for me. She wants to talk? To me?

It all comes to the surface now. I just hooked up with Yami’s worst enemy. I hooked up with the girl who outed Yami last year. The girl who made my sister’s life a living hell. However much I hate Nick, Yami hates

Bianca even more. They were best friends. They grew up together. We all did. I saw how much they meant to each other before the betrayal. Even if Yami didn’t talk about it, I saw firsthand how messed up she

was over losing Bianca. I knew hooking up with Bianca would hurt my sister. I wanted it to.

Now Yami knows without a doubt who I really am. Now she knows she can walk away, and anything that happens to me won’t hurt

her anymore. Same with Jamal. All this time, I’ve been looking for a way to save everyone from the grief of losing me, and

I found it. They’re free of me now. I finally did it.

So why does she want to talk?

A vortex of guilt and terror rushes over me. This is what I needed to happen, but I can’t just talk about it.

“No, I’ll go,” I say as I run out the door as fast as I can. I don’t stop when Bianca tries calling out to me. I don’t stop when I pass Jamal sitting alone in a corner.

I just run, as if I can outrun the consequences of what I’ve just done, just for a fleeting moment. I run as if I can escape

my own body. I run until my calves hurt. Until I don’t know where I am. Until I’m completely alone. I run. I run. I run.

Eventually my legs give out and I collapse onto the asphalt on my hands and knees. That’s when I finally break down crying.