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“Don’t look at me.”
He held his hands up in a surrendering gesture, then turned over and looked at the ceiling. “…is it okay if I hold your hand?”
“I think so,” I said. “It’s just… right now, your eyes are too intense.”
He threaded his fingers through mine under the duvet. “That’s alright. We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. I only ask that you tell me.”
“Okay.”
A few heartbeats passed.
“You’re in control here,” Sam said. “You’re always in control with me.”
His words soothed me.
Since there was no pressure, the thoughts hiding underneath my internal tension started to rise and form into words.
“So… you can feel that I pull away when we have sex.”
“Yep. I can.”
“Aren’t guys supposed to be like… I dunno… always trying to sleep with women and then be unemotional, and keep things casual, and then ghost?”
“Maybe some guys.” He paused, thoughtful. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to do with me?”
I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I’m not going to push you into doing or defining anything. I’ll go at your pace, on your timeline. If you never want to see me again after this, I’ll be bummed, but I’ll eventually get over it.” He paused. “Maybe.”
I smiled. “That… makes me feel more secure about things. Thank you.” I turned to look at him.
He stared straight at the ceiling.
I giggled. “You can look at me now. Anxiety’s gone.”
“Oh, thank God.” He turned to look at me warmly, but there was a wariness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“So… how did you reach such emotional depths?” I asked.
“Oh, you mean why am I like this? Why do I try to reach into your heart?” he drummed his four fingertips over his heart. “Music. Music and Poetry.”
“Oh. That explains why I can’t… I guess I can’t connect in that way. I was never good with music or words or anything.” I frowned. “Come to think of it, I always got poor marks on creative writing assignments and in music class. They said I was too rigid and scientific. At the time I thought it was a compliment, but now…” I looked into Sam’s eyes and tried to mimic the intensity of his gaze. “Now I feel like there’s something entirely new I don’t understand.”
Sam smirked. “I can tell you’re trying.”
“I’m not doing it right, am I?”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “You’re looking at me, but you’re notseeingme. Try toseeme. If you feel safe enough to try it, of course.”
“I… I want to try,” I said.
This time, I looked into his eyes and started noticing more little details: the navy rim, the snow near the center, the ice knitting around his pupils as they expanded and contracted with little pulses.
“You’re still lookingatme,” Sam said. “Just relax. Relax and try toseeme.I know you can do it.”
I studied his icy eyes for a few more seconds. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m doing it wrong, and it’s kind of freaking me out that you’re looking at me.”
He turned away.
