“Are you telling me that you didn’t want to hook up, and he gotmadat you?” he asks, apparently finding enough air in his lungs to raise his voice. I stop jogging in place, blushing as other runners pass us. We’re standing directly in the center of the road.
“Come on,” I repeat, trying to get him to keep going. He raises his eyebrows. “I mean, yeah, that’s what happened. But, I was the one who agreed to go back to his place, so it makes sense that he thought we were going to…you know.”
Nate’s mouth opens, expression morphing into astonishment. “You’re joking.”
“Well—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Mick! Nobody should get mad at you for not wanting to fuck, oh my god! Did heask? Or just assume?”
“Jesus!” I hiss, face positively burning as I grab his elbow and walk him over to the side of the road. He’s talking so loudly—nearly yelling. I can feel the curious stares of the other joggers burning a hole into the center of my back. Nate glowers at me.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands.
“I already told you. We were kissing and I was uncomfortable and then he sort of touched the”—I gesture vaguely atmy waist, and Nate’s eyes narrow to slits—“button on my jeans, so I asked him to stop. That’s it.”
“And then he got mad,” Nate reminds me venomously.
“Well…annoyed, I guess. But then I left and went home.”
“Oh? And what were you thinking when you went home?” he asks, voice deceptively sweet and at complete odds with the mutinous look on his face. I don’t answer, already knowing he won’t like what I have to say.
“I’ll tell you what you were thinking: you were thinking that it wasyour faultthat this douchebag was pissed off. You were feeling guilty and probably thinking you should have just forced yourself to go through with it,” he fills in. I open my mouth to protest but he puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head at me. “I can see it on your face, Micky! You feel guilty about itright now!”
Curse my damn face. Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I turn my head to watch the progression of the race.
“You know,” Nate says, drawing my gaze back to his, “Marcos tells me no all the time. All the fucking time, Mick. And I don’t get madorannoyed at him, the same way he doesn’t get upset with me for always trying to get him out of his clothes. Saying no is allowed, and the fact that I have to explain that to you freaks me out.”
“I know it is. I know.” I double down when he shows every intention of arguing. “My brain is crazy, though, and I can’t control the fact that I feel guilty about what happened.”
“Your brain isn’t crazy, it’s…confused,” he says, and I snort in laughter. He grins back, because Nate is fully incapable of letting the world keep him down.
“We better keep running,” I suggest, finally managing to get him back into motion. He sets a quicker pace that has megroaning. There’s no way he’s done with this conversation, which means we’re going to be running and talking.
“You remember where his dorm is?” Nate asks casually.
“Just forget about it,” I request. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, actually. Especially because it’s you—the guy who told me he’d never come out. The guy who had never been on a date before last night. It’s a big deal because people who think they’re entitled to something, and can’t take no for an answer, are the people who hurt other people.”
“God, Nate,” I mumble breathlessly, looking around to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. He shoves a hand through his sweaty hair, trying to unstick it from his damp forehead. I’ve managed to put a scowl back on his face.
“This is such bullshit. And now you won’t do it again, will you?” he asks. I don’t answer, because I can’t give him the one he’s looking for.
No, I probably won’t do it again. I’ll give myself a nice long cooling-off period, and give dating another attempt when I’m in my thirties. Maybe. I’d come to the conclusion last night that the kind of dating available to me in college might not be the kind of dating I’m suited for.
I’d lain awake all night, remembering the way, as a kid, I’d desperately tried not to hear the angry, painful sounds of my parents having sex. I’d remembered how hard it had been not to flinch away from Nate the first time he’d tried to give me a hug, and how wrong it felt to have Christopher touch me.
I’d decided, early this morning as I got ready for the run, that the intimacy Nate offered—hugs and smacking cheek kisses and smiles that didn’t hide something rotten—were what I wanted. If relationships mean having to give something I don’t want to, then they aren’t for me. I’d rather be alone. I want to lie in my bed and dream, but I don’t need totouch. I don’t need to act on the fantasies. I can be happy with my books and Nate and laundry at Desmond’s. I can love that life.
“Can we just forget about it, please?” I request.
“No, Mick, we can’t.Youwon’t, will you? You’re going to worry that you were the problem, and blame yourself even though you did nothing wrong. Pisses me off,” he mumbles, brushing his forearm over his face.
“Marcos didn’t want to do the race?” I ask in a transparent attempt to move the conversation off of me and on to him. He shoots me a look, but doesn’t fight me on it.
“He did, but Max is in town for, like, a single day, so they’re hanging out. Max is supposed to stretch and rest, not run a 10k.”
“I wish I was stretching and resting,” I complain, which makes Nate snort.
