Vincent made no comment, but Mal thought he saw the hint of satisfaction on Vincent’s face. It was enough to make him want to continue.
“So, I’m sorry. I know you apologized before about not getting back in touch after moving, but it really wasn’t all you. If anything, I’m the one more responsible. I was the one who left, after all, and I’m sorry that I did.”
It was still early enough in March that the nighttime temperature was crisp. Mal hadn’t brought a jacket, figuring that they’d be inside for dinner, then split ways after their meal was done. He wrapped his arms around his chest and tried not to focus on the chill on the back of his neck. Winter, it seemed, wasn’t going to be leaving Aurora early this year.
“You don’t need to be sorry. Something came up. I understand.” Vincent tucked his hands behind his back in a casual, easy way that made Mal wish he could be so effortlessly confident. “It’s tempting to think that others are trying to hurt you when something doesn’t go according to plan, but I don’t think that’s the case at all. You’re here with me now, aren’t you?”
Mal looked down the street, hoping that by distracting his eyes, he might distract his mind as well. It didn’t work. What Vincent said stuck with him, rattling in his mind until it was all he could hear. No one had ever been so understanding. Did Mal deserve kindness like that after what he’d done? He didn’t know.
“I…” Mal struggled to string a sentence together. Nothing seemed good enough for what he wanted to say. “Thank you. It feels too simple, but it’s all I have right now.”
“You’re welcome.”
They’d reached another corner. Ahead, the walk sign shone, and pedestrians took advantage of the break in traffic to come or go. Vincent and Mal came to a stop, rocks in a rushing stream of passersby. A cool wind played with the hairs on the back of Mal’s neck and crept its way under his shirt. He tucked his arms around himself a little tighter and wondered what he should say.
Vincent deserved to know the truth. If he stuck around, he’d be faced with Mal’s past eventually. It was better that he said something now, before he became attached, than spare him the details and have his heart suffer for it later.
“Vincent?” Mal asked. The din of car engines, brakes, rolling tires, and the rush of the passing crowd allowed their conversation to be private despite the open space. The transitory nature of a busy public place made the terrible bearable—like the glint of sun off a fish’s scales as it arrowed through the water, nothing here lasted for long. The memory wouldn’t linger with Mal, tied to his apartment or other well-loved location. It would pass, just like the people on the street did. Faces he’d never see again. Moments he’d recall in abstract ways, but never in grievous detail. “I want to tell you something.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I…” Mal struggled with the confession. Was it a big deal? It had been to men he’d tried, and failed, to date prior to Vincent. “I have a history.”
“Like, a criminal history?” Vincent looked at him now, a brow raised not in alarm, but in curious confusion. “You?”
“No. I mean… not exactly.” At fifty years old, over twenty years a survivor from the events of his past, he should have been able to talk about it like it was nothing. Baylor was dead. Lowe, while still alive, was old and feeble—his mind had gone long ago. The nightmares were confined to places in Mal’s mind he didn’t think about anymore, and for the most part, they left him alone. “I’ve… I’ve been through some very hard times, and had people take advantage of me. My vulnerability, my naivety… my body. Sometimes, I’ll be fine, but sometimes, I’m so far from fine, I can barely function. It’s been a long time since those things happened, and I’ve been through what feels like a lifetime of therapy. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like I can lead my life like normal—where I can have a family… find love.” He licked his lips nervously. “Every time I tried before, I messed it up. I got flighty, I got panicked, and the men I thought I liked left without ever looking back. I just… I need you to know that even though we had a moment in the storage closet, it might not always be so easy for me. There might be times where I… where I can’t. And if that bothers you, then I’d rather you know now and leave than feel disappointed later.”
For a moment, there was silence. It didn’t bear undercurrents of irritation or disgust, like it usually did when Mal opened up about his past to the men he was interested in. It was thoughtful, perhaps introspective. In it, Mal found the courage to look at Vincent.
He found sorrow in Vincent’s eyes.
Sorrow, not pity.
The distinction was subtle, but it made its mark upon Mal’s heart like it was a fingerprint—distinct and unmistakable. Pity would have created a divide between them, elevating Vincent to a state of normalcy, while degrading Mal to a state of different—other. Sorrow didn’t bear the same connotations. It equalized them.
Tears dotted the corners of Mal’s eyes not because he was giving in to panic, but because he’d never had anyone,anyone,look at him like that before—like they understood, like theyknew.It was as if Vincent had gone through the same struggles and bore the same scars on his heart.
“Mal…” Vincent trailed off, his lips downturned at their corners and his eyes troubled. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine…”
Strange faces. Passing cars. The fluidity of the moment cushioned Mal’s fall, and he found it in himself to smile. “It’s okay. Right now, I’m okay. I just wanted you to know that if anything happens, it’s not you. All of it’s on me.”
“The hotel room that night?” Vincent asked cautiously.
Mal nodded. His spirits sank. “I couldn’t…”
“You don’t have to explain.” Vincent’s voice rose above the crowd, soothing Mal like he hadn’t known he’d needed. He didn’t try to touch. That small act spoke as loudly as his words did. “You never have to explain. Your body, your past, your rules. I’m not going to ask you to go against what you feel you need just for my sake.No oneshould ask that of you.”
What could Mal say to something like that? For so long, his body hadnotbeen under his rule.
But Vincent wasn’t like Baylor or Lowe. What he demanded from Mal wasn’t servitude, and it wasn’t delivered through manipulation or violence. All Vincent asked was that Mal be himself—to respect what he felt deep down, and be honest with his feelings. He didn’t expect sex, or conversation, or admiration. All he wanted…
All he wants is me.
Mal blinked the thought away, clearing unshed tears from his eyes while he did it. Then, as his heart constricted with admiration and adoration, he smiled at Vincent, then laughed in a short, brisk way that would have been a bark had his soul not felt so light and airy. “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”
“Is that whatyouwant?” Vincent arched an eyebrow playfully, but behind his cheerfulness, Mal saw the same heavy emotions that were wound tightly in his chest. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. This is aboutyou.”
It had never been about him. Never. The newness of the situation was invigorating, stunning, inspiring.
