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My stomach clenches at the mere thought of hiding who I am. I don’t flaunt my sexuality, but I don’t hide it from anyone. I love who I am and even though I love my parents, I’d hate to end up like them. Hiding themselves and their happiness because of the fucking outside world.
Shit, what the fuck am I doing?
ChapterFourteen
Matthew
Today I releasethe anger brewing inside me by banging my drums for a few hours. For the past three nights, I’ve asked Tristan to stay with me, but he leaves my room after I fall asleep.
He never says no, but he doesn’t stay.
There’re no explanations, no apologies. This is fucking unbelievable. I’m not asking him for much, only staying beside me while he sleeps.
Why can’t he do it?
It’s not as if we’re announcing to everyone that we fucked and shared a bed.
Dripping in sweat, I decide to head downstairs to take a shower. I have to head to my parents’ for Sunday dinner in a couple of hours.
The penthouse is silent. Where the fuck is Tristan? Probably avoiding me. We’re not a couple, but would it kill him to be more open to the possibilities of being together?
Tristan’s words from a couple months ago chase themselves around my mind as I enter my bedroom. “You’re comfortable with your sexuality—whatever that might be. Good for you… I prefer to keep my business to myself…”
This situation is killing me. A few days ago, I was happy because he was finally mine. I was just fooling myself.
In truth, I can’t kiss him whenever I want. Not even a simple touch in front of others, as that makes him jump out of his skin. If only… if only he talked to me about what makes him think he has to stay behind closed doors.
What is it that makes him do and behave the way he does?
Is he ashamed, scared… what the fuck is it?
Can I help him?
It must be exhausting to pretend he’s not attracted to me.
Stepping into the stream of water, I wash away the sweat, the questions, and the prickling feeling that this can’t continue. We have a great time together when he’s not concerned about what others think—when it’s only us.
One thing I know is that hiding isn’t me and pretending I don’t want him—that I don’t care—will break me.
A man can only lie to himself for so long before the lies become truths.
Shutting off the shower, I dry myself with a towel and head to my closet, throwing on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my shoes. I run a hand through my hair and go downstairs. If I play the piano, my mood will calm.
I don’t want to go see my family with the wrecking mess that’s eating my insides. I’d hate to behave like a prick in front of them. They don’t deserve to deal with my problems. The feelings, doubts, and issues will remain, but at least they’ll be dormant for a few hours.
My feet come to a halt the moment my eyes lock with Tristan’s green stare.
“Did you find bedbugs in my bed again?” It’s supposed to sound sarcastic, but the bitterness in my heart drips with those words.
“You were still sleeping when I left it. I never stay later than eight,” he lies to me. I cross my arms, hoping he’ll change his tune. “Sleeping with another man isn’t me.”
I release a loud laugh. “Priceless. What are you, Tristan?” I scratch the bridge of my nose, waiting to hear another childish response from this man. The thirty-three-year-old man regresses at least ten years when it comes to his sexuality. “Maybe one day you’ll recognize who you are for yourself. That’s the first step.”
Tristan walks closer to where I stand, his eyes a couple of slits. “I know I like to be withmenand women.”
He combs his hair with one hand, letting out a loud breath. He taps his temple a couple of times.
“I fucking know, but the first time I kissed a man, I was fucked up physically and mentally by…” Tristan exhales harshly, trembling.
