“Okay?”I said, but I didn’t.
He yanked his shirt off, quick, like it was nothing, and tossed it over the end of the bed.Then he took my hand and pressed it against his belly.
“Okay?”he said.
It wasn’t okay.Touching him like that felt gross.When I shut my eyes, he felt huge beside me.I pulled back.
“What’s wrong?”he said.
“It’s...a lot.”I was about to cry, so I pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed with my back to him.I grabbed my shirt and pulled it back on.It was inside out, but I didn’t care.I was shivering, and I wanted to put on more clothes.
“I’m sorry,” I said.“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.It’s just too much.”
I felt him move on the bed, and I swore, if he touched me again, I’d elbow him in the face.I was that angry.
But he didn’t touch me.He said, “It’s my fault.I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
I heard him put his shirt back on, and I felt better.
“I’ve kissed you,” I said.“I’ve given you blow jobs, for fuck’s sake.But this feels wrong.It’s not you.I just can’t.It’s been months.You’ve been waiting for me to get my act together for months.”
“I don’t know how to help you, Craig.I don’t know what to do for you.”
“That’s two of us.”Then I started crying.I’d never done that in front of him before, and I felt pathetic.
“Hey,” he said.“Trish told me there’s a program at your lab for staff to get free therapy.”
“What about it?”
“Maybe a therapist could help figure out what’s wrong.”
“I don’t know.Maybe.”
“I could come with you.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Good.Let’s get some sleep.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and climbed under the blankets on the far side of the bed.I was so far over I was almost falling out, but I didn’t want there to be any chance I’d touch him.I lay still, hardly breathing.As soon as it sounded like he’d fallen asleep, I slipped out of bed, went to the living room, and sat on the couch.I didn’t want to be in the same room as him.I felt detached, like I didn’t belong with him, like I was going to crawl out of my skin.
At six a.m., I called the office to make an appointment.The woman on the other end of the line was so nice.She said she’d get me in that morning to see someone, but I’d have to wait a couple hours.I called in sick to work and left a message.I wanted to leave for my appointment right away, but it was too early.So I kept sitting there.After a while, I heard him moving around in the bedroom and then the bathroom, and then he came into the living room.
He looked at me.“You didn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t.I called the therapist’s office.They can see me in an hour.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat.”
Him saying that to me was weird.He didn’t sound angry or frustrated, only concerned.I heard him moving around the kitchen.He was cooking, which was a bad sign.He was a terrible cook, but I guess he wanted to make me a hot breakfast, because he came back with a bowl of scrambled eggs and set it on the coffee table in front of me with a fork.
