I tried to say that, but there was a painful membrane covering my vocal chords, and I couldn’t break it for the life of me.
Jean rolled his eyes and slipped his hands into his pockets.He looked almost casual for once: gray slacks, cashmere sweater, and brown blazer.I felt doubly ridiculous in the fancy black tie.“Armand, you always act as if I will attack you.I will not attack you,mon cher.”
He wouldn’t.
He’d never needed to.
I swallowed, trying to break through that stinging membrane.I wanted to say something likeNo, you’ll always be there, hanging on the edges like a spider biding his time, but that would’ve been living up to his characterization of me asdramatique.There was nothing I could say that would sound sane, no way to sound reasonable, though he knew the context.He’dcreatedthe context.And what—he would insist, my own mind would insist—had he really done to me?Other than give me everything I’d ever thought to ask for.
I opened my mouth, rallied my lungs, clenched everything that could clench, and tried to say something, anything, to prove to us both that I could.When—
“Armand?”Lucas looked concerned, one hand holding the door open.The world in all its buzz and light flickered behind him.He looked from me to Jean.“What’s going on?”
Lucas Gets What He Asked For
November 23
Armand gulped, knuckles white against the stall frame.It seemed hard for him to talk.“Everything’s fine.Don’t ...don’t worry—”
“Don’tworry?”It came out harsher than I’d intended, but something was very, very wrong; my stomach curdled at seeing Armand like this, and he was still refusing to tell me what was going on.“Armand, I can tell you’re upset.Why won’t youtalk to me?”
Armand remained maddeningly silent, but Jean-Michel responded.“You know how Armand is.”His voice was velvety cool, as collected as Armand was flustered.“He loves his little secrets.”
Armand rasped, “Shut.Up.”
Jean-Michel’s lips curled up.“Such a tease.He’ll let you touch everywhere but show you nothing.”His sharp blue eyes met mine.“Five years, and I can barely say I knew him.”
A flicker of static darted through my body.“Five years?”
Jean-Michel’s eyebrows pinched together.“Oh dear.Another thing he never told you.”He peered down at Armand, who was hunching smaller by the second.“Shame.”He buttoned his jacket before turning to me.“I can see this is a private matter.I shall take my leave.”He swept to where I stood motionless at the doorway and paused.“Congratulations, Lucas.You have a bright future ahead of you.I do hope you don’t squander it.”He briefly glanced back at Armand before slipping out of the restroom.The door thudded closed behind him, echoing in the silence.
Armand wasn’t looking at me.
“Babe.”I breathed, heart ratcheting in my chest as Armand let out a broken noise—as if I hadn’t spoken—and tore away from the stalls to brace himself against the sinks.“Armand,pleasetalk to me.What’s going on?”I inched closer, unable to look away from Armand’s ashen face, the way his fingers trembled against the counter.“W ...what did he mean five years?”
Armand was staring directly into the sink, his voice barely audible.“That—” He rattled an exhale, determined not to meet my eyes.“That’s how long we were ...Jean and I were together.”
“Together?You mean liketogethertogether?”My mind raced, thinking back to meeting Jean-Michel (or just Jean, apparently) at the anniversary party, how he’d talked about spotting Armand’s potential, teaching Armand everything he knew.“I-I thought he was your teacher.”
Armand’s head fell to his chest, hiding his face.He shook his head slowly.“He wasn’t my teacher.He was ...”His fingernails scraped against the edge of the sink.“We did meet while I was at university, but he wasn’t a professor.”All I could see were his shoulders tensing.“He was my ...”He trailed off again, hands flexing and unflexing as he struggled to find the word.
“Boyfriend?”
Armand let out a gravelly, bitter laugh.“No, definitely not that.I lived in his house, and he paid for my habits.”He jerked a hand through his disheveled hair.“He even helped with my schooling until I was expelled—”
“What?”
Armand finally lifted his head, only meeting my gaze through the mirror.His eyes were bloodshot and wild.“Aye.The boy from Grimaldi Court made it to one of the best schools in London—in theworld—and then massively fucked it.All right?I should’ve told you, Ishouldhave.But I can’t change what happened.I was a junkie, I was a stripper, I waskept—” He flinched when I reached out to touch his arm.
Guilt and despair rolled off him in waves, and all I wanted was to hold him.But I gave him space, locking my hands together.“God, Armand,” I managed, throat tight.How did one even respond in a situation like this?“That’s ...I’m so sorry.”
A small, solitary detail crept to the top of my scattered thoughts.“How old were you?”I asked carefully.“When you met him?”
“Eighteen,” Armand answered immediately.Then he screwed his eyes shut, pressing his lips together and slowly shaking his head.“Um.Nearly eighteen.”
My stomach plummeted to the floor.Oh shit.Ohshit.“So, you were seventeen.”A teenager, my god he was achildwhen Jean, who wasMom’sage ...Nausea hit me so hard I nearly bent double.“He’s a pedophile.”I barely choked out the word.“I’ve beentextinghim, I’ve gone tolunchwith him—” My vision blurred at the edges.“This whole time I was hanging out with the man whogroomedyou?”
Armand tensed.“He didn’t groom me.”
