Years ago, Sam and I had danced at a club called the DOL House.They’d filmed a night’s performance for promotion purposes.I hadn’t thought about it in years, but at the time I remembered feeling—through a haze of youth and chemicals—a prickle of discomfort.The blurry figure on stage could’ve been anyone, but the recognition and cringe thrummed deep in my stomach.Itcouldhave been anyone, but itwasme.
“You’ve watched it,” I managed hollowly.
“No!Well, yes.I needed to know what it was.”Lucas set a hand on my knee and rubbed tentatively.I surprised myself by leaning into his touch rather than flinching.He kept his voice gentle.“Is that actually you or is it someone who looks—”
“It’s me.”I flexed my fingers in my lap, eyes still glued to the screen.I had to explain.Icouldexplain.“I was eighteen, and not very bright, andverypoor ...”Deep breath.“And I washigha lot of the time.Schoo—he, the character wasn’t my idea.It was—”
No.
I couldn’t do this.Not yet.
I swallowed again and again until my mouth remembered how to form words.“I don’t regret being a dancer.”I couldn’t look at him.I needed to look at him.“I just regret ...otherthings that were happening.Concurrently.Many other things.I— I wasn’t my best self.”
Lucas entwined our fingers, and he leaned in to nuzzle the side of my head, before gently pushing me away so he could start typing again.Furiously.
“What—” I stared.“What are you doing?”
“I’m filing a copyright claim, reporting and blocking this commenter—” he clicked and clacked “—aaand flagging the url in case the claim gets denied, and it gets posted again.There we go.”
I watched him for a few moments, biting my lip.
“You have no idea what I said, do you?”
I shook my head.
He laughed and pulled me toward him, kissing my forehead.“I’m making it go away.As much as anything on the internet can go away.Let me type this up real quick for Lakshmi so she knows what’s up.”
When he was done performing more technological wizardry, Lucas closed his computer and turned toward me, suddenly hesitant.“Can I ask you something?You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Fuck.Fuck.Keep breathing, Demetrio.“O-of course.”I coughed.“Anything.”Fuck.
“The other day, when I”—color rose to his beautiful face—“when I did my little”—more color, downright flushed—“my littlestriptease.Did that, like, look really stupid to you?”
I laughed, and it felt like a dam giving way.I took his hand in mine.“Lucas, I was under the impression that my reaction was rather unambiguous.”
The blush burned prettily in his cheeks.“But you were a professional!And you were so good—” He broke off with a sweet little noise as I raised his fingers to my lips, then the palm of his hand, his inner wrist.
“It was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever lived through.Barelylived through,” I said, muffled, breathing in the smell of him under all that soap and cologne.Buttery sunshine.I wanted to wrap myself in that smell, in the flutter of his quickened pulse, the salt and tang of his warmth, downy hair tickling the tip of my tongue and the corners of my mouth.
“Oh—” He swallowed.“Oh, you are such a good liar.”
“Actually, I’m a terrible liar,” I lied, and brought his hand away from my mouth to the back of my neck.His fingers, at my direction, gripped my collar and pulled the ratty T-shirt over my head.Slowly.Under everything, the panic still throbbed, but I folded it deeper into the heat and the rush, guiding Lucas’s hand down my chest.“Ask me anything.I’m an open book.I’m a bloody pamphlet.”
Lucas giggled and leaned in to kiss me.“Okay.And what do you get out of it?”
“I need something to take my mind off these dodgy pens, love.”
He allowed me to distract us both, and it was lovely, but I couldn’t quite kick the feeling of being watched.
By punters of the past, by strangers on the internet, and by—because I’d asked around and no one could tell me who it belonged to—the gleaming black whip across the way.
September 8
23 days sober
I ran a hand along the peeling metal gate, looking for the broken latch that I had no right to expect was still there.“I was up in Newcastle with my nan, till she passed, then Dad dropped me here with an auntie.”The gate sprang open, creaking louder than a car alarm.
“Oh,” Lucas whispered.He’d been snapping photos of me all day: standing awkwardly under the East Stand Facade at Highbury Square, standing awkwardly on the East stairs of the British Museum, and even walking awkwardly along Regent’s Canal and Whitecross Street.But now his camera was hanging untouched.
