But I don’t know how to tell him that it feels like I’ve already made the choice, like it wasn’t even mine to make. That somewhere deep down, I want to go. I want to feel that pull toward Alexander again—even though it terrifies me. Even though I know it’s dangerous. Even though I shouldn’t.
I give Tyler a slight nod, then step forward and hug him. Quick. Fragile. The best I can provide.
“I’ll be okay,” I sign one last time. “I’ll be back by nine.”
The driver opens the door. I slide into the leather seat, shutting the world behind me with a soft click. I draw in a shaky breath, chest tight.
What the hell am I getting myself into?
***
God, what am I doing?
I ask myself repeatedly, sitting across from Alex in the upstairs den of his penthouse.
He had been on one of the couches in the large living room when I arrived. A small smile on his face when I nonchalantly gave him a small nod as a greeting. Then he took me upstairs, saying we would be having all of our lessons at the upstairs sitting area. It’s not as big as downtown, but it’s cozier, open, and bathed in natural light from the tall windows. There’s a large bookshelf filled with neatly arranged books, a L-shaped sofa with cushions, and a glass coffee table in front of it.
I’m sitting on the far end of the sofa now, across from him. The weight of his gaze presses against my skin, heavy and unrelenting, but I can’t look at him. I focus on fumbling with my bag zipper and taking out the ASL books for beginners that I used when I started learning sign language.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. I try not to think about how close he is, how his presence seems to pull at me like gravity, how I feel caught in something I don’t understand. Something I shouldn’t want.
“We’ll start with… alphabets,” I say, my voice a little raspy
“I already know ASL alphabet,” he says, his monotone voice low as usual.
This makes me look at him with surprise. “You do?”
He gives me a nod, “So now we can start with simple sentences, right?”
I don’t reply and give him a look. How did he know the alphabet?
He sighs, then lifts his fingers to sign an A. I gape at him, but he continues signing B, C, D… I stare in disbelief as he completes the remaining alphabet, his hands moving slowly and confidently. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
“I learned it somewhere else, Lucas,” he says, “it’s not a big deal.”
I blink, then nod.
“Okay then,” I reply slowly
We begin with basic conversational signs, such as hello, how are you, and so on. All going smoothly, even though my nerves were through the roof from how keeping eye contact with him is so freaking distracting.
Not until I am about to sign a full sentence of [ hello, how are you today] do I feel overly nervous.
I force my hands to move, even though they feel like stone. The sign is easy, but it feels like my hands betray me, trembling slightly as I perform it. I show him again, slower, more carefully, meeting his gaze.
His eyes don’t let me go.
They hold me there, pinned in place, until I feel I can’t breathe, as if I stay here too long, something inside me will unravel.
He watches me, silent, and I feel every second of it dragging over my skin. His stare feels like a question. Like a demand. Like something deeper, I don’t know how to answer.
“What’s wrong?” His voice cuts into the quiet. Not harsh. Not demanding. A little bit of concern in them.
I shake my head, but I know that won’t be enough. Not for him, so I grab my notebook, since I know that the nerves won’t let me talk. So I scribble:
This is my first time teaching anyone ASL I used to teach Tyler a little bit back then, but this is new for me.
I shove the paper towards him and avoid his gaze. When I finally force myself to lift my gaze, He’s just watching me. Calmly, like he’s waiting and listening, even though I haven’t spoken a word.
