She collapses beside me. Neither of us says anything for a while.
After a long silence, she strokes my chest. “I forgive you.”
I stare at the ceiling.
“I don’t know if I want to be forgiven.”
“If you’re not gay,” she pulls the covers around us, “we can move forward.”
“I don’t know what I am.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
It’s true. Unfortunately, it’s not enough. There’s more I haven’t told her yet and when I do, she’ll withdraw her forgiveness.
When she falls asleep, I scroll to the new email on my phone. Washington State. My welcome package.
I turn the screen face down.
Even if I’m too much of a coward to tell her tonight.
I already know I’m leaving.
seven
Liam
Four Months Later
Ilockthedoorbefore I even kick off my boots.
Slide the bolt. No hesitation. Wedge the chair under the knob. My routine for the past couple months.
You get burned enough times, you stop touching the fucking stove.
Everything with Felicity has moved fast. Padraig and I found the rental house at the start of summer. Off campus, close enough to the bars where we play, far enough to make noise without the cops showing up. When we brought Felicity into the band, he and I invited her to move into the spare room across the hall from me.
Stevie came back a couple weeks later. She and Padraig share the master on the other side of the house.
At first, Felicity was a pretty easy roommate.
Until we crossed the line as I knew we would. Her being across the hall from me made the sex easier. She rode me like she had something to prove, and I let her. We both got off and she curled up next to me like we were something.
Then she came back the next night. And the night after. Slid her hand into my boxers while I was half-asleep and got me off before I said a word.
I didn’t say no until I’d had enough. She seemed to take it well. I thought we both knew what this thing was.
Unfortunately, Felicity doesn’t respect boundaries. Not when she’s bored. Or horny. There’s no aspect of her life where she thinks rules apply to her.
It’s got to stop. I don’t want her living in the house, but we’re stuck. At the very least, I want her gone from my bed and personal space. She lingers like smoke. Always watching. Singing in the kitchen like the house belongs to her. Acting like she’s the reason Fireball finally has traction.
She’s not.
The band is me and Padraig, busting our asses to make something stick. Writing constantly. Rehearsing until our voices go raw. She has a great voice and is a good performer, but she’s not the engine. She’s the window dressing.
Padraig and Stevie haven’t caught on yet. Ideally, I don’t want them to. Which means Felicity’s holding a card I don’t want her to play. She hasn’t used it yet. But she will. Eventually. Probably the second I say no in a way she can’t twist.
