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Scrambling around, I cleaned myself up and changed shorts and underwear. I returned to the couch with a clean mind and a heavy sense of guilt.

It was wrong to think of Leah like that. I had no right. I had to apologize. I had to. It was the right thing to do. And I couldn’t give myself time to rationalize why not confessing would be better in this scenario. Co-parenting required honesty and while this was far from the kind of honesty that usually meant, Leah seemed to need more … upfrontness than others. And really, things were already bad, I doubted this would make it worse.

Me: I’m sorry

I sent the first part of the apology to rip off the Band-Aid, and since Leah was a bullet texter, I assumed it’d be fine for me to text my explanation across multiple bubbles. But apparently I wasn’t fast enough and she replied first. In multiple bubbles.

Leah: For what?

Leah: My freak-out was totally on me

Leah: And if I had a list of triggers, I’d give them to you, but I’ve spent the last … number of years avoiding them rather than labeling them

Leah: I know, super healthy * shrug emoji *

I had to delete what I’d written to type something else.

Me: I don’t hold you responsible for that

Me: Though a list would be helpful

Leah: I’ll work on that

Leah: Then what were you apologizing for?

I took a second to swallow down the shame and awkwardness.

Me: I masturbated thinking about you, which was inappropriate. So I’m sorry and it won’t happen again

Me: I know confessing this is awkward, but I wanted to be honest with you

After a solid minute of no reply, panic started to seep in and I sent another apology, attempting to put more heart into it.

Me: I really am sorry, I got carried away thinking about you and this afternoon and how I was frustrated I couldn’t help you right. But I crossed a line and I’m sorry

Leah: So let me get this straight

Leah: You were frustrated you couldn’t help me with my triggers, so you thought about the last time I let you help me, which happened to involve making me come?

I sat with that interpretation for a second. It was true, but there was something more to it. I wasn’t getting off to the memory, but the need to—

My phone lit up with Leah’s name and I scrambled to pick up.

“Leah? What’s wrong?” I asked as soon as the call connected.

“Oh my god, Niall, chill the fuck out,” she said through giggles. “I’m not mad or grossed out or whatever your anxiety is telling you.”

I was stunned. How could she tell I was spiraling over text? And why did her laughter ease all that shame and tension?

“I don’t have anxiety,” I lied.

“Oh sure,” she said with a laugh. “And I don’t have trauma. You said you wanted to be honest, Niall, be honest.”

“Fine. I was nervous about how you were reacting, especially since I couldn’t see or hear you to gauge anything.” I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “I wish I knew you better so I could handle … this, us better. I wish we were … friends.”

Something about the last part didn’t ring true, but friends was the closest word I had to describe what I wanted for us.

“Hmm, I don’t have any friends, but I’m pretty sure they don’t jack off to thoughts of each other.”