Relief washes through me. Some of the color has returned to his face, and he sounds much more lucid—more like his usualself.
“Eric, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up anythingand—”
“You didn’t do anythingwrong.”
I hear the words, but I can feel his tension and uneasiness. He’s still not looking me in the eye. How am I supposed to feel like I didn’t do something wrong when he won’t even look atme?
“Are you actually okay? Do you need anything else? I can get you some more water. Or, do you need to eatsomething?”
He shakes his head, tucking his face low to thesheet.
He may be older than I am, but in this moment, he’s like a sick child I’m trying to help. He won’t let me know what he needs, and that’s all I want…tohelp.
“I’m sorry.” His words practically choke in his throat. “I didn’t mean to ruin thisweekend.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, Eric. I’m sorry this happened. I was hoping this was going to be this lovely night, that I would be able to make you feel good, not the exact opposite ofthat.”
“You didn’t do anythingwrong.”
Finally, he makes eye contact, which makes me feel a littlebetter.
“Eric—”
“I don’t want to talk aboutit.”
He may say I didn’t do anything wrong, and I keep telling myself that as I replay what happened over and over again, but it doesn’t make me feel anybetter.
“Eric, Ijust—”
His face tightens up like he’s worried I’m going to bring back all those terrible feelings that had him so crippled when we were messingaround.
“No, I was just going to say that it’s okay if you don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to make this any more painful for you. I do care about you, Eric. It’s very clear you’re not ready to talk to me about whatever it is, and I respect that. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to talk about anything you’re uneasy with, but I want you to know that I am here if and when you do decide to talk tome.”
I chuckle, not because there’s anything funny, but because this whole situation is so goddamn awkward, I can’t helpit.
“Sorry,” I say. “There isn’t exactly a manual for what I’m supposed to say, and I’m not very good at figuring out how to deal with shitlike…”
I’m being careful, even now, trying not to say the stupidest thingimaginable.
“Just know I’m here, Eric, and I meant that when I said I want to be in a relationship with you. There are a lot of things that come along with relationships that aren’t pretty. We’re still learning about each other, and you’re going to find out things about me you probably will hate. Not necessarily big, but things we still have to learn about each other. I want to learn more about you is all I’m saying, and I would never want you to feel like I’m trying to hurt you or push you to do something you don’t want todo.”
I’m referring to sex…and so much more. That instance wasn’t just about me touching his ass, but about whatever nightmarish experiences he endured…whatever has been haunting him long enough that something seemingly simple can still triggerit.
Eric doesn’t respond. He turns and looks up at the top of thetent.
I lie backdown.
Did I ruineverything?
Did my attempt at reaching out to him and being honest and open actually hurt himmore?
Maybe I should have worded it differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and just let him take the lead onthis.
At the same time, I want him to know I’m there for him. There is this fear in my mind that we’ll return home and that will be the end of it. I worry he won’t want to be with me now that I’ve seen this part of him that he clearly doesn’t want to acknowledge exists, and I really don’t want it to beover.
I roll away from him. It’s the most space I can give him right now as we lie here awkwardly in the tenttogether.
A tear forms in my eye. So fucking appropriate that our dream date would get screwed up in the most shit-tastic way possible. Whether I want to acknowledge it or not, it is my fault. I can’t convince myselfotherwise.
