His Last Resort

“The thing is...” Trask looked down as he steeled himself to repeat the words that had caused him no end of trouble the previous two times he’d told them to a prospective roommate. “I’m gay.”

And you’re my last resort.

Silence greeted his confession. That at least was much better than the first guy, who had immediately screamed obscenities at him and thrown his belongings out into the hallway before manhandling Trask out the door, finishing by yelling that he wasn’t living with a “fucking faggot.” He winced at the memory. It hadn’t exactly been the coming out Trask had envisioned when he’d bravely decided to start college as he meant to continue. He’d hidden his sexuality away all through his early teens as well as high school, at first unsure of his feelings, and then, once certain, afraid of his peers’ reactions.

But college was supposed to be a time of growth and discovery—hard to achieve from inside a closet. So he’d made up his mind that he would be up front about his orientation from day one, especially with his roommate. After all, if he did end up finding someone to date, he didn’t want it to be a surprise down the road for the person sharing his room.

Call him Pollyanna, but he’d never quite envisioned that reaction.

He’d gathered his scattered things in the hallway, avoiding meeting any of the gawkers’ eyes. Luckily he’d only brought up one load before starting the conversation. Then he’d headed back to the Housing Office.

The second room had been in a different dorm, newer than the first. Trask had hoped the karma of that would carry over to luck with his second assignment. No yelling and shoving this time around, and his hopes had started to rise. Just one bad apple maybe…

Then he’d looked up.

The intense look of disgust and revulsion had him swallowing and holding his breath. But it was the subsequent hushed phone conversation—snippets of which he’d overheard making clear that several friends of his roomie would be coming over to “meet” Trask and “put him in his place”—that had him removing his things once again for the trek back to his car then back to the now-familiar Housing Office.

And who knew that three-strikes-and-you’re-out applied to more than baseball?

“Mr Maitland, this assignment is your last resort. If this roommate is unsatisfactory, you will be unable to use on-campus housing.”

His gut had seized. “But my scholarship only applies if I live in a dorm my first two years!”

“Then I suggest you find a way to get along with this roommate.” The woman’s face had softened just a bit. “I understand your situation. But I cannot reassign you again after this.” As he turned to leave, keys and paperwork in hand, she’d called after him, “Good luck.”

The current silence in the wake of his third declaration was so thick around him that he was drowning in it. Trask took a deep breath and looked up to find a stunned expression to go with the silence. At least this roommate—he checked the sheet, Lee Carmine—was not physically threatening. Standing a few inches shorter than his own six feet, with a slight build that made his own trim form seem muscular in comparison, Lee wasn’t likely to be able to shove Trask out the door like the first guy. Now, that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t have friends who could do the job, like Bachelor Number Two, but it wasn’t a sneer on Lee’s face. Just a surprised blankness.

Worked for him.

“So if that isn’t a problem for you, I’m hoping we can get along okay this year.” He mentally crossed his fingers and shut his mouth, awaiting a response.

Lee opened his mouth as if to speak, then shook his head as if to clear it. His brown eyes seemed huge in his face as he stared at Trask. Finally, he nodded.

“Um, yeah. That’s…fine. Okay with me. I mean…” A tinge of red was creeping up from Lee’s chest to his neck and cheeks. “I don’t mind. If you were thinking I did, I mean.”