“Aren’t into it,” I fill in, and watch as his shoulders slump. “That’s okay. Do you…do you want me to leave?”
I take a gulp of my Coke, meaning to chug it if he’s wanting me out the door sooner rather than later. He turns his head to look at me, mouth turned downward in a frown and brows furrowed.
“No. I don’t want you to leave. I just don’t… I just need a break from all the—” He lifts a hand off his leg and waggles his fingers a little bit. Ah. No more touching, then.
“Okay,” I agree brightly, even though I can admit to myself I’m a little disappointed. I spent all day staring at his bare chest and stomach; at the thin line of hair trailing down his belly. I had more than a few ideas of how I’d have liked the rest of the evening to go, and touching was the least of them.
“Okay?” Marcos repeats cautiously, eyes bouncing back and forth between mine.
“Of course. I can stay, though?”
He fiddles with his Coke can, eyes trailing down from mine and making a very obvious path down my chest.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You can stay.”
12
Marcos
I’m standingin line for the coffee cart when I hear my name being called. Wearily, I turn around and try to drum up a smile for Nate, who’s jogging toward me across the lawn. This hasn’t been a great week for me, after having to cancel my therapy session because of a baseball game that got rescheduled. Not to mention, feeling like shit for how my date with Nate ended last weekend. Every time I feel like I’m getting better—getting back to normal—I set myself back by worrying about someone touching me. The fact that IwantedNate to touch me made the whole thing even more infuriating. Why the fuck can’t I just let myself relax? Be normal?
“Marcos! Hey,” Nate greets me, smiling widely as he comes to a stop so close to me his chest brushes my arm. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt, thank God. I think if someone touched me today, I’d faint.
“Hi.” I try a smile on for size again, and find it comes a little easier now that he’s here. He’s just soperfect. It seemsincredible that eyes could come in that color; even more incredible to be paired with those cheekbones and that lovely brown hair. And as if he wasn’t already blessed enough, he’s patient and generous and accepting. He shouldn’t even be real.
“How are you?” He peers at me. “Are you okay?”
Not particularly. I feel like all the steps forward I took over the summer weren’t steps at all. I thought I’d made progress by miles, and now I’m realizing it was little more than inches. My body itches with the desire to touch him, and be touched in return. My brain, on the other hand, only seems to function in the realm of what might go wrong. The fact that I’d been doing fine being alone up until now—until Nate—annoys the shit out of me. Unfairly, some of that annoyance is aimed his direction.
“I’m fine,” I say shortly, not in the mood to explain. My shoulders are tight and there’s a slight tension headache forming between my eyes. Nate reaches out, and I yank my arm away before he can make contact. Long sleeves or no, Ican’ttoday. The hurt that flashes across his face before he’s able to disguise it makes my chest burn with shame. I don’t want to be like this anymore.
“You sure?” he asks. I sigh and try to unknot my muscles a little bit. I’m too edgy, and there is no fucking reason for it. It’sNate.
“Just not having a great day. Sorry. How are you?”
“Oh, fine,” he says flippantly, waving the question away and staring intently at me. It’s a searching sort of look. The kind of look Max will often aim my direction when he knows I’m being loose with the truth. I wait, knowing that Nate will fill any silences I leave. “I had fun on Saturday.”
I smile. “So did I.”
“I can tell, since you’ve been so eager to go out with me again,” he teases, but can’t fully hide the wariness in his tone.
“Sorry, I just…” I trail off and look away from him, unable to think of a suitable excuse when I’m staring directly into his eyes. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t deserve to let myself relax. That what happened to Max was my fault, and maybe the fact touch bothers me so much is exactly what I deserve. Why should I get a chance to be happy when I’ve caused so much unhappiness to someone I love?
“Sorry,” I repeat, unable to say much else. A little bit of hurt remains in his eyes, but is mostly outweighed by the concern. I’m not sure which one pains me more.
He opens his mouth to reply, but is distracted by his name being called. Turning, he raises a hand in greeting and I take a small step away from him. By the time he turns back around, I’ve put several feet of distance between us. He frowns when he notices.
“I’ll call you tonight, yeah?” he asks, annoyance briefly crossing his face when his friend calls his name again. He turns around. “Just a second, man, fuck!”
“Sure,” I agree when he swings back around and faces me. His fingers are clenched tightly around the strap of his backpack, and there’s an almost frantic light to his eyes.
“You’ll answer when I call, right?” he presses, smiling like it’s a joke but unable to make it wholly convincing.
“I’ll answer,” I promise.
We head off in opposite directions. Glancing over my shoulder, I look at his retreating back and feel disgusted with myself. We had an incredible date over the weekend, and I’m pretty sure I’ve just gone and ruined it by being unreachable and rude. It didn’t use to be my default state, but more and more these past couple of years I’ve found myself unable tobe any other way. I don’t know how Max managed to trust Luke enough to let him in. He’s a lot braver of a person than I am.
At the end of the day, I’m feeling no better. Changing into my practice uniform in the locker room is mortifyingly nerve-wracking, as I desperately try and change as fast as I can. Vince, whose locker is right next to mine, has no concept of staying in his own bubble and is constantly bumping his bare arm or back into me. I can handle it most days, but today is just not one of them. I feel like I’m being electrocuted every time he touches me. By the time I’m tying the laces on my cleats, my breaths are coming in short, panicked bursts, and my vision is dangerously blurred.
