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When I sit up, I realize we’ve already arrived at the airport. I take away his phone and wrap my fingers around his. I can feel his pulse irregular in his wrist, and the dampness of the sea still clinging to his skin. On one continent I have a mom with a disease I can’t fight, about to be put in a care home, and on the other I have a man who owns every single part of me but doesn’t trust me with his secrets. And I’m in the middle, useless to help either one of them.
“Victor, just talk to me. It’s our last chance. Tell me the truth; it doesn’t matter what it is.”
His jaw tightens as he works nervously at his gum, not looking at me.
“What else can I do to be good enough?” I feel like I’m suffocating; I wish I had stashed the Xanax in my carry-on.
As the car pulls up to the curb in silence, I let go of his hand. “You’ll meet a guy, someday, and he’ll get to see all the parts you’re hiding from me. And you’ll let him keep you.”
I yank the door open, step out into the noisy crowd with my heavy bag on my shoulder. A second later, before I know what’s happening, he’s out of his seat and pressing me against the side of the car, on his toes, his hand tight around the back of my head as he pulls my face into his shoulder like he’s never going to let go. My duffel hits the concrete.
“Please don’t say that,” he groans, deep in his chest. “Tell me you wish you’d never met me, that you’ll never think of me again, anything but that.” His fingers work into my hair, cling to my neck. I can feel his heart pounding against mine.
Finally, I gather my wits enough to wrap my arms around him and tug his narrow body tight to me. I put my lips against his ear. “I didn’t mean it. Listen, you know I didn’t.”
“I wish you wanted anything else from me. I’d fucking die for you if you asked me to.”
“I don’t want you to be dead. I just want to understand.” Like I did in the car that night, I slide my hand under the back of his t-shirt and run my fingers gently up and down the smooth, warm slope of his spine.
He fists my shirt in both hands. “But it’s not simple like that. I need time, maybe years, to figure out how to make you understand. And you’re leaving in an hour.”
“Just start with one thing, one small thing.” We’re fighting to find names for feelings that shouldn’t exist, blundering along like good intentions are enough to patch together everything that’s broken. “I’m right here. You have all the time in the world.”
Victor
I don’t.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, against his thigh, then again, over and over until I pull out of his arms, my heart already sinking.
A string of news notifications, five, ten, sprawling down the screen. I set the app to alert me whenever an article goes up with my name on it.Victor Lang, Victor Lang. Anonymous source—blood sample—allegations—photos.Then a text from Gray pops up.Get back here, now.
We stare at the phone, then at each other. In the space of a breath, I’m back in a world where I have no voice, no control, where I throw away everything I care about before it’s taken from me. He told me I had time to make him understand, but it’s already too late.
My whole body hurts. I can’t see what the press has found this time, but some part of me already knows it's bad.
“Victor,” he says warningly, his voice cracking, but I break for the car, throw myself inside, and flip the locks. He stands frozen, staring after us as we drive away.
Know that you’re the only one I’d ever tell. Take that with you, if it can comfort you like I couldn’t.
