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18
Beggin For Thread
Cy
Thegirl’stough;there’s no denying it.
The moment we found her, I saw the strength in her. But seeing her break down in the room is the opposite of the woman she needs to be. Whatever she experienced deserves retribution, not tears.
So I leave. I don’t want to witness that.
Frustration is the predominant feeling she’s brought me. But the truth is, underneath the frustration lies a building attraction I desperately want to deny. For fuck’s sake, I’ve been with my partner for over a decade. I don’t need this in my life. I should be satisfied, but the fucking girl draws me in, and I feel something for her that isn’t entirely welcome.
I’m making my way to our gym on the first floor, and I don’t hear when Ember calls out to me over my own mumbled scolding.
Their hand on my shoulder breaks me out of my thoughts, and I turn to face them defensively.
I see it coming, but I let the punch to my shoulder land anyway. I deserve it, after all. I’ve been a complete ass.
Ember only confirms what I already know.
“What the hell was that?” I expect anger to lace their words, but it sounds more like pity.
I hate pity.
“Not ready to talk about it yet,” I say, shrugging. I should’ve known better. Ember will push. They always do. Thirteen years together has taught them a lot, and they are able to see right through me.
“Cy, you don’t get to go silent on me. Not about this. Tell me what’s going on.”
Deciding it’s better to have this conversation in private, I drag them into the gym, close the door, and then stride over to the equipment cabinet.
Only silence meets me as I go about methodically wrapping my hands. Ember’s patience is admirable yet vexing at times.
“Cy,” Ember prompts.
“′S complicated.”
“It always is with you, but whatever is going on up there needs to come out; otherwise, you’ll overthink yourself into oblivion.” They make their way to my side and poke me in the forehead to make their point.
“Spar with me, lòt mwatye.”
I need to vent some of this, but words won’t cut it, and nothing feels better than working myself to exhaustion.
Ember follows my lead and begins wrapping their hands as I make my way to the mat.
We strive for honesty in our relationship, and I hope what I have to share won’t rock us too much. I can’t ever lose Ember, but I also can’t ignore whatever else is building. Not that I’ve ever been very good with all the feelings junk.
We’ve always had a special balance between us. Our needs overlap where they matter. No one should ever fulfill one person’s every need, and from the beginning, Ember and I have known that our relationship may extend beyond the two of us.
“I don’t do this. Talkin’ ’bout feelings. You know that,” I say.
Centering myself as I relax into a fighting stance, I think about my next words. Clearly, Ember is done prompting. They only wait for me to continue while we circle each other.
Predictably, they make the first move, lunging at me, and I easily block the hit.
“She has me off balance.”
I’ve never been good at reading the expressions of others or expressing myself, but Ember is more open with me than others. Understanding and relief wash through them at my words.
