It’s that certainty that pushes me heedlessly down the stairs, raises my hand and has me pounding on his door, as if him listening to Christmas music—on the morning in question, no less—is an aberration that I must immediately nip in the bud.
My headache’s forgotten, my raw, aching insides along with it. It’s not until I hear his footsteps inside that I recognize the absolute oddity of what I’m doing, standing out here, ready to confront him because he’s not supposed to like anything holiday-themed or even remotely joyous. I consider running up the stairs as fast as I can, but then he throws open his door and I’m met with—
“Merry Christmas, love.”
I blink.
He reaches out and gently grasps my wrist and tugs me inside and everywhere I look, it’s Christmas.
“Am I… Is this a dream?”
“What’s that?” he leans close, cupping the ear which is currently muffled by a Santa Claus hat and a bright green scarf. Below it, he’s wearing the ugliest Holiday sweater I’ve ever seen over jeans that hug his thighs so lovingly, it occurs to me that I forgot to pay attention to them last night.
The man’s a rugby player, for God’s sake. He’s got the thighs of a Norse god. How,howdid I forget to drink them in when I had the chance? Maybe I can get him naked one more time. Maybe that would be acceptable, despite the resolution I made not to see him again.
“You all right, love?” he asks, looking worried at the way I’m staring at his bottom half. And then, God, how can I not love him when he asks, “You checking out my big cock again?”
At my embarrassed gasp, he leans in with a smirk. “You can, you know. Anytime you like. I’d be happy to drop trou and—”
“Eh, Colin! Elle est où la creme dessert?” A man walks around the corner—also in a red hat, I note—and comes to a dead stop when he sees me. “Oh, sorry,” he continues in French. “Didn’t hear the bell.”
“I knocked,” I reply, too stunned to say anything of substance.
“I’ll turn down the music,” Colin says, shit-eating grin still in place. “Hold on.” He turns to go and then spins back, bends and kisses my cheek, before walking away.
“Salut! I’m Raf,” says the man in the hat, smiling wide enough to reveal a few spaces where he once had teeth. “I work downstairs.”
“Oh!” I shake the hand he’s offered and finally remember where I’ve seen him. “I bought chestnuts from you! Are you…roommates?” I’ve never seen this man in our building
“Oh, no. I live in the suburbs and missed the last train out.” A grinning Raf turns to Colin as he reenters. “You taking her down?”
“Down where?”
“You’ll see.” Colin glances at me with something that looks like trepidation. Or maybe excitement. I can’t tell. This is all so unexpected that my gauges aren’t functioning. “You’ll need a coat.”
“What’s going on? Where are we—?”
Colin moves in and takes my hands, leaning down to put his forehead close to mine. “Would you do one thing? With me? For me? Please?”
“What thing?”
“Something happened last night.”
“Of course something happened,” I say, tired and puffy and swollen from crying and thinking too much. Thinking and thinking as if my mind is a place I actually want to spend time. “Ofcourseit did. We got stuck in an elevator and did things and said things and fuckingfeltthings that made me think differently about my life and now I’ve got to go and…figure outhow to put myself back together the way I was before. The way Imademyself. In order to…” In my peripheral vision, the other man—Raf—takes a careful step back, like he’s trying to tiptoe out of here and I hate, hate, hate that I start to cry right here, in front of him. And Colin. Especially Colin. “Toget by, Colin. It’s how I survive, okay? It’s how I’ve always survived.”
“Why? Why do you have to go?”
“Why?Because I don’tbelonghere.”
“Course you do.”
“No. No, see that’s not how it works. See, every time I think I’ve found my place or people or my…a…family, it turns out I’m not what they really wanted. I’m fun, though, you know? I’m good at being fun. I keep it light. And temporary. In and out before things get too…”
“Permanent?”
“Nothing’s permanent, Colin.” My whisper’s harsh, raw, close to angry. “Youknowthat.”
He nods, his expression so tender that I want to sob into his chest, but that’s not what I do when things get hard. It’s not. I don’t sob or feel sorry for myself, I smile and move on. “I move on, don’t you get it? I move on, I don’t stay.” I find a fresh, clean slate and fill it up and then… “If I stay, I’m afraid I’ll…”
