The same way he ruined my relationship with Walter.
I met Walter in a pub one night, not long after I moved out of home. A little bit wild and a lot broken, he got the parts of me I didn’t show to anyone else. Where other men I’d dated quickly tired of my moods and my inability to sleep, Walter had taken one look at the dark places within me, crawled inside and made himself at home there. We drank too much. He did too many drugs. I would hold him when his demons got loud, and he never questioned my need to protect him from random safety hazards. We worked, even as we hid from the world under real and imaginary covers, blocking out anything that might try to unravel our tentative existence. We’d been together for almost a year when I invited him to have Christmas lunch with my family. I’d wanted my father to see I was living my life, as I’d promised I would.
Lunch was an awkward affair. Walter was nervous and drank too much wine. I was nervous and drank nothing. He was noisy and off-kilter; he told too many jokes and wore his trauma on the outside. But he was who he was and I loved him anyway.
My father did not approve. “This is the way you take care of yourself?” he’d asked as we dished up Christmas pudding in the kitchen. “Christ, Tristan, he’s closer to the edge than you are.”
“He makes me…” I didn’t want to use the word happy. It seemed too extreme an emotion. There was no way my father would want me to go so far. “We give each other what we need.”
Dropping a metal spoon into the kitchen sink with a loud clatter, my father kept his gaze on the window. Through it, we could see Walter and my mother sitting at the table on the back deck. They weren’t speaking. They just sat there together, as if they’d been put on pause while waiting for us to come back. “This is not what you need,” my father insisted. “End it now, Tristan, before it gets worse. You need to do better than him.”
My heart cried out in silent denial. I didn’t want to do better than Walter. I was in love with him. Didn’t that count for something?
That night, I’d fucked Walter like my life depended on it, wallowing in his desperate moans. Then, I’d made love to him until he’d cried in relief. I’d told him he was beautiful and worthy and perfect. The next day, after he left for work, I packed up my shit and moved out of the share house we’d been living in. I blocked Walter’s number on my phone, and I never saw or spoke to him again.
Now, I’ve met Sam, who is like Walter in so many ways. If my father finds out about him, there’s no way in hell he’ll approve of what’s happening between us. If he told me to stop seeing Sam, would I? Would I even have a choice? After what I’ve taken from my father, from my mother, what right do I have to refuse?
* * *
It’s Friday night once more, and I turn up outside the door to Sam’s studio a few minutes before his class is due to end. This is the first time I’ve failed to uphold my end of our bargain. Add the phone calls and texts I haven’t responded to over the past three days, and I’m screwed. If Sam refuses to let me in, I won’t blame him.
What I did, calling that tradesman to show up at his door, was wrong in so many ways. I knew Sam would be too polite to turn him away once he’d arrived, which only makes it worse. But once the first nightmare hit, I couldn’t get the images out of my head. Sam falling, bleeding, dying. They grew sharper and more detailed with each passing night. They overwhelmed everything. I had to make it stop.
Making that call was pushy and manipulative, I’ll own that, but it was never about forcing Sam’s hand. I did it to hold on to what little is left of my own sanity.
When I got the message from the tradesman, to say he’d fixed the problem, an indescribable sense of relief swept through me. That night, when I went home and collapsed into bed with theSleep with Meapp, I fully expected to get a full night’s sleep.
I didn’t. Because the nightmares haven’t stopped. Sam’s voice still gets me to sleep, but he can’t keep me there.
As if feeling my gaze, Sam opens his eyes and looks through the large window on his right. He spots me, standing in the circle of the outdoor light. There’s no hint of a smile, no acknowledgment. Instead, he returns his attention to the class, his mouth moving as he guides the students through the end of the meditation. He doesn’t look at me again, not even when the class ends.
I retreat further into the darkness as the students, including Alice, leave via the path. When everyone is gone, I make my way into the studio and close the door behind me.
Sam is turning off his speaker on the far side of the room. When he turns, he walks towards me. I walk towards him. We meet in the middle, eyes locked. I swear, a football field could fit inside the two metres remaining between us.
The frenetic energy radiating from Sam tells me how much he hates this—being here with me—and shame twists my gut.
“You overstepped.” The quiver in his voice is underscored by the twitching in his limbs, but his gaze is direct and his head high.
“Yes,” I agree. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” he snaps.
I lift my eyebrows at him.
He huffs. “Maybe I’m a little angry. Mostly I’m disappointed you would take a decision out of my hands that way. You had no right.”
“I know—”
“I struggle with certain aspects of life,” he continues, cutting me off. “That’s a given. I’ve learned to cope by allowing myself to be all right with who I am. By working around my limitations instead of white knuckling my way through them. It’s not a full life, but it’s the only one I’ve got and I’m trying to make the best of it.” He sounds breathy now, like he’s running out of oomph, but there’s no way he’s done.
“Go on,” I tell him. “Keep going.”
Sucking in a deep breath, he fists his hands at his sides. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s hard enough getting myself to do the things I need to do without someone else making it easy for me not to bother. I have to be the one who does these things, even when it’s hard. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Dropping my gaze, I nod. “I never meant to hurt you, Sam. I’m sorry.”
There’s a long silence while he watches me. I glance up just as he licks his lips. Fuck, I wish he wouldn’t do that right now.
