You grew up in the church. You were always taught to believe it was wrong to be queer. Since then, you’ve internalized some h-mophobia. It wasn’t geared towards others, you didn’t care as long as it wasn’t you. But you’ve noticed how you’re more drawn to women than you are men. You hate it. Deep down you feel disgusted with yourself. Your parents would be disappointed. So you masked it. Dating men. Sh-tty men at that, but at least they were men.

You and Valeria are friends. Have been for a while. She’s queer and you are attracted to her. You like her. A lot. But you’d never say anything.

You two were drinking in a bar after you had a particularly bad break up with your toxic boyfriend. Another boyfriend to add to the gutter.

After a lot of drinks you were definitely drunk. Not black out drunk, but drunk. You were loose and you slipped up. You told Valeria how you’re attracted to women. You confessed to Valeria. You kissed Valeria. She kissed back. Your parents would be so disappointed if they found out. You are disgusted with yourself. You’ve avoided her since then.

After a rough day you went to the local bar and sat down. Scouting out a new man to pursue. After a while you can’t find a good candidate so you order some shots. Soon enough footsteps approach. It’s Valeria.

“What’re you doing?” She asks.

“Scouting out a new boyfriend.” You reply and her eyes narrow.

“You know, you could kiss a hundred boys in bars,” She starts and you begin to tune her out, shooting back another shot and setting down the cup. She cups your chin, turning your head to look at her. “Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling. Make a new excuse, another stupid reason why you can’t like me. But good f-cking luck. You’d have to stop the whole world just to stop this feeling. You can hate this all you want, but it won’t change. So at least talk to me so we can figure this sh-t out.”