“I should have told you when I found out that you knew him, but . . . everything has just been so upside down lately.”
Shaking his head, he asks, “So what was that about back in there?”
I lean against my car, and explain, “The last time we hooked up ended badly. I was messed up and upset with what happened with Kyle and hurting you. I was lost—”
“You fucked that guy after that?” he throws at me, pissed now.
Words escape me as I stand there and drop my head, feeling completely embarrassed.
“What’s wrong with you? Why do you use people like that?”
“Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!” I yell at him. “Because I’ve never done this before and I’m fuckin’ confused!”
“You’re confused? Really, Jase?”
Backing up my words, I’m so goddamn frustrated with myself as I continue to yell, “No! I was. I’m not now. I’m not confused with how I feel about you.”
“Why couldn’t you just tell me? When you knew that I knew him . . . you should have told me.”
“I know,” I say in a mass of failure.
“I feel like an idiot. Oblivious that you fucked both of us, and the two of you knew that I was clueless.”
His words sting. They burn deep when I realize that I’ve hurt him a lot more than I thought. In ways I didn’t even consider. I want to tell him I’m sorry, that I love him and nothing about this was done out of malice, but looking at the pain in his eyes, I know my words would be nothing more than cheap.
When I don’t speak, he turns and starts walking away.
“Mark,” I plead, not wanting him to go.
He looks back at me and says, “Go home, Jase,” in a soft voice filled with disappointment before turning his back and leaving me to stand alone, the one thing I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do again.
Lying in bed, listening to the rain fall, I wonder what he’s doing. I’ve sent him several texts since I got back to my place, but it’s been hours, and nothing. I feel like I was just playing a losing game with him. There was no way to win him with all my issues. I never deserved what he gave me. I pulled back from so many of his touches because of my own baggage. Baggage that didn’t deserve to be unloaded on him.
He took it all and never made me feel like I wasn’t giving him enough. I gave him all that I could, but truth is, it wasn’t nearly enough. He needs more than I can give.
I tried. But I keep making mistakes. Mistakes I can’t take back. I wonder if—for me—there’s more than this, if I’ll ever be more than this. For once in my life, I really tried letting go. Tried letting go of the fears I held inside and gave it a chance. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after him. If this is all we were ever supposed to be, at least I loved enough to hurt. The hurt isn’t enough though; it needs to be more than this, but I know it won’t be.
Turning my head, I look at the large rain-covered window as the drops twitch down, colliding with other drops, gathering, until the weight takes over and they quickly fall the rest of the way down. Desperate, I reach for my phone. It’s almost three in the morning, but I’m selfish and don’t want to be alone. Walking out of my room, I take my keys, and before I make it to my door, there’s a light knock. Letting out a deep breath, I find it ironic that she needs me at the same time I need her, although for much different reasons.
My heart skips a beat when I open the door to find Mark. What is he doing here? He looks at me, taking his time. Time is my affliction. I deserve it, but I don’t want it. It stands still and pangs inside of me as I wait for him to speak, to tell me he can’t do this, to tell me it’s done with. But I also don’t want time to continue ticking because I want this, even if it’s just a look—I’ll take it forever.
He moves past me and steps inside. Shutting the door, I lean against it when he turns to face me. Time begins to move when he finally speaks.
“What you did carries no weight on what we are; I know that. But you not telling me hurts. I don’t expect for you to tell me about your past, but when that past is part of our present—”
“I know,” I interject.
“You really let me down.”
“I’m sorry. I honestly wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just . . .” I let my words trail when I start struggling to speak around the lump in my throat.
“I know, but I still can’t help feeling disappointed in you.” He takes a moment as he leans against the wall next to me. “I want more from you. I need you to not hold back from me. It’s only fair, Jase.”
I don’t know how to respond because his words are coming out of left field for me. How is he not pissed? How does he see value in this?
“Look . . . I don’t want to pretend that knowing how you used to be with guys doesn’t bother me . . . it does. And running into your past may or may not happen again, and I hate that. But it’s only because I love you. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t care.”
“I feel like I keep hurting you.”
Releasing a deep sigh, he tells me, “Just be upfront with me. Talk to me; that’s all I ask. I get that this is new for you, but in a way, it’s new for me too. I’ve never felt so strongly for someone like I do you.” He takes a moment before saying, “I’m not mad.”
“I need you to be mad.”
Taking a step toward me, he asks, “Why?”
I walk over and sit on the arm of the chair before admitting, “Because I need to feel it. So that I know that you can see this for what it is.”
“And what’s that?”
“Imperfect. Unequal.” Dropping my head, I release a deep breath before looking back up at him. “I’m undeserving and selfish. You’re worth so much more than what I’m capable of giving you.”
He moves to stand in front of me and takes my face in his hands as he questions me intently. “You don’t think you give me what I need? You think I’d stick around if you didn’t fill up pieces inside of me that only you’ve been able to?”
As he moves his hands to my shoulders, I drop my eyes when I tell him, “My pieces feel stripped bare.” I catch his eyes when I look back up and tell him, “I’m not sure I even have enough of them.”
“Maybe I have what you’re missing. But if you keep holding back, you’ll never find out. You’ll never know how well we can fit together unless you try.” I grip his shirt in my hands, almost pained by my confessions when he affirms, “I need you to try.”
“So that’s it?”
“It’s really all it needs to be. There’s no point in making this into anything bigger than what it is. I’m not that guy. You didn’t tell me about Preston; I get it. I’m not blind to everything going on in your life right now. But I told you how I feel and what I need from you. What else is there?”
When I shake my head, not sure how he can be so understanding, Mark clips the thoughts that are already starting to invade when he says, “Don’t tell yourself that you don’t deserve it. You do.”
Standing up, I wrap my arms around his waist and bring him to me. “No. I don’t. All I know is that I love you. And I’m sorry. You’ll never know how much, but I am.”
He moves to kiss me, and I take it, lingering in it until he pulls back and says, “You can’t be scared to talk to me,” before pressing his lips to cover mine.
I run my hand behind his neck and hold him close, not sure who to thank for bringing this man into my life, but there’s no doubt in my mind that someone—someone who knew everything I was needing—sent him to me.
We find ourselves in my bed. Although exhausted as the sky takes on a lighter hue with morning starting to filter through, I hold Mark in my arms, connected in a way I never knew was possible, feeling his heart beating against my chest. We quietly make love, moving together, giving exactly what we know the other needs.