Solo - unfinished.

Clean jeans. My head is between my knees and I focus on that, taking in breaths as deep as I can. The placement of the steering wheel makes this position uncomfortable and difficult to hold, but if I move I'm afraid I won't be able to hold my stomach down. Fireworks explode outside my window and inside my head, deafening and bright. Prescription drugs give me a buzz, but make my body feel heavy, like lead; my car fits in with all the others on the side of the road, but I don't care about the celebration.

An hour ago I left Ruby's apartment. She was high. "It's Independence Day, babe," was her reason. I told her I'd stay overnight, since there was no way she could drive me home. I didn't want to get pulled over for driving with just a permit; my parents don't have any idea about these trips to Ruby's. At least, to my knowledge. I don't know what they think it is I'm doing everytime my car disappears from the garage.

Ruby's been my dirty little secret for the past year and a half. We met online; sounds ridiculous, I know. I live in Alabama, where nobody knows I'm gay. It isn't that I'm so afraid of being disowned or ostracized by my peers; in fact, most of my classmates wouldn't be that surprised, and would even be supportive. It'd be superficial, honestly, because none of them even know a thing about me, but they don't care. It's a status symbol. "How many gay friends do you have? Bonus points for drag queens." My parents would love me either way, but they'd be upset, I know. They'd hope that I was confused, and when they finally accepted the truth, they'd still want me to hide it from the world; I'm doing that anyway, but I'd rather do it on my own terms.

I was nervous the first time I came to Ruby's apartment, four months into our seeing each other. She lives in Columbus, Mississippi, and it took a good three hours to get there. I convinced one of the only local friends I have to drive me the first couple of times - I'm sure he was suspicious, but he said nothing. I'm lucky to have him; since the first trips were during school hours, he was the only person who I could ask. Ruby introduced me to her two room mates, Parker and Allison, and then gave me a tour.

The living room walls were beige, contrasting against the chocolate-colored carpet. It felt cozy, even though it didn't have much furniture - there was a light colored couch that always had a blanket thrown over the back, a coffee table that didn't quite match the rest of the room, two endtables at separate ends of the couch, and a TV; the living room bled into the kitchen, where the carpet dropped off into white tile. They had one bathroom and three bedrooms - a master bedroom that belonged to Parker, and two smaller rooms. The first day I only got to see Ruby's - it had the same carpet and wall color as the living room, but it was obvious that she tried to decorate in mostly purple. Here the furniture was as sparse; at the time, it consisted of an air bed, a computer desk, an endtable, a mirror, and a bookshelf.

I always thought it was sort of funny that Ruby wanted to go into nursing. After all, she drugged up regularly, and was less than caring and considerate. "It's not like they're going to test me yet," she argued. "I just graduated." I didn't mind so much when she got a little high, but it frustrated me when she went overboard, like tonight. It was about six o'clock when she passed out on the couch. Parker and Allison left two days ago with some other friends for a celebration upstate, but I didn't mind being alone.

I pulled a blanket from her room and wrapped myself in it, sitting on the floor against the couch. I turned the TV on low, and flipped through the channels. Most seemed to be coverage of Fourth of July celebrations across the country, but I finally found a station that was airing a Get Smart marathon. About an hour in, Ruby began getting restless behind me; afraid she'd wake up in a bad mood, I put the TV on mute.

It wasn't like this was such a bad Fourth of July, really. At least, up until then. Say what you will, but when I saw her cell phone laying on the coffee table in front of me, I got a little curious. After all, there wasn't much else to do. I looked through the photos first; most were of her, and looked like she took them in a bathroom. MySpace photos. Of course. There were a few of us; we don't look like much of a pair. She's confident, with sleek auburn hair; she's tall, and a little heavy, but her curves are beautiful. I'm shorter, and mousy, and pale; I have long blonde hair, and I like to wear grey, in contrast to the bright colors she loves.

Most people would have started with the texts, most likely. But I didn't until last. She had no music saved on her phone - why should she, when she has a music player? - and most of her calls were to her roommates, parents, and myself. Her texts seemed to start out innocent, and I wasn't really that suspicious anyway. She'd been a little distant lately, but I assumed it was just because she was so stressed out with making college plans.

I guess it's obvious what I found next. Frankly there's not much to say about it except this: This Ruby was a stranger to me. The Ruby I know and the Ruby I love would not be cheating on me.

The incriminating messages were to and from a girl - or, worse, a guy - named Jamie. While I won't divulge the raunchier texts, the bottom line is that last night, Jamie slept over with Ruby, and it was not the first time. What stung the most was the use of the word 'love.'

It set in slowly, I suppose. I managed to get through about half the texts before I had to lean back and breathe in. The sound that came out was a bit of a choked whimper; even though she was a whore, I didn't want to wake Ruby up. I needed a moment.

Wasn't I good enough for her? Was she bored with me? Did I do something wrong? I dropped the phone on the ground and stood, still holding everything back; I headed for the bathroom, out of habit. At home, the bathroom was the only place I could cry without being heard. I turned the shower on and slipped out of my clothes; the warm water was almost a relief. I'd noticed that whenever Ruby and I argued, I felt cold, and I guess this was no different, or maybe it was in anticipation.

I have two options, I thought, my back against the tiled wall, I could break up with her, or we could work it out. I moved back under the water. Ruby changed my life. I turned my face up, letting it run over my cheeks and down my neck. I don't know what to do. I didn't know how long I'd been in the shower, but I'd stopped crying. My chest still burned with betrayal.

"Solo?" Her voice was slurred with sleep and drugs. She pulled on the doorknob from the outside, but it was locked. "Solooo. You left me alone." On another day, I'd think that was cute; I'd unlock the door for her, and she'd come and sit on the rug or on the edge of the sink and talk to me, or she'd join me in the shower. But now her whine just made me want to hate her. Bitch.

"Babe. Open up. Solo. Are you angry at me for passing out on you? C'mon, it's not that big of a deal." Not that big of a deal my ass, I thought. Now that the original crying jag had mostly passed, my thoughts were turning bitter.

"Give me a second, Ruby," I called, slipping out of the shower. I pulled my clothes back on, but the long sleeves didn't help the cold that returned. "I'll be out in just a second." In the mirror it was less obvious that I had been crying than I had expected, but puffiness still lingered in my face, and my eyes and nose were still pink. I opened the door, but the hall was empty.

I found her on the couch again, this time sitting up. She was watching television; surprisingly, another episode of Get Smart was on. It felt like I had been in the bathroom for forever, and I had expected the marathon to be long over. She looked up at me; her brown eyes were ringed with shadows, emphasized by the sole lighting coming from the television. She smiled. "You should have gotten me up to join you."

I tried to smile back but I couldn't; what was I supposed to say? 'You're cheating on me, you slut.' That would be perfect, wouldn't it? I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go through with this, but I knew I had to say something. She was still looking at me, and her expression started to grow worried.

"What's with those texts?" I asked. God I wished I could be anywhere else when I saw her face; preferably curled up beside her in a nice, dry bed, rather than standing there in the dark with the back of my shirt growing wet from my hair. She shook her head, as if she was about to deny it. "Dammit, Ruby, you know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, I do. But I don't know what to say about it, Solomon."

"What? What do you mean you don't know what to say? I guess you're right. They say it all for you."

"Don't be like that. Do you realize how detached you are, Solo? When I met you, you were a shell of a person. You'd still be like that if I hadn't come around. And you know it, I know you have to."

"Excuse me? You did not make me who I am." Ruby was standing now, pacing. She passed by Agent 99 on the TV screen; they walked almost in unison, and in a normal situation I would have found that funny.

"I didn't say that. Don't twist my words. Fuck, I don't want to talk about this right now. Look - she's just some girl I met at the movies, okay?" She pushed her hair back, staring at me.

"How many times?"

"A few."