‘A while back, it was my birthday,’ Jack starts. I don’t particularly feel like putting my listening ears on after hisoutburst, but it looks like I have no choice. ‘Quite a shit birthday, to be honest. I had a long day at work; I was forced to do crap I really didn’t want to do. The next day I collapsed. Went to hospital. Got a pretty bleak diagnosis. The doctor said I had years – like, two or three – to live.’
WHAT THEACTUALHELL?
He’s telling me this now?
Nakedinbed?
Aftereverythingthat’s happened?
‘I panicked, and for a while I was crazy angry, but mostly I was scared. I needed money fast to make sure my family was taken care of,’ he continues, sans the gravitas one uses when they’re talking about theirterminal illness. ‘My sister’s husband’s a DEA agent, and?—’
Wha— Is he serious right now? ‘Are you explaining the pilot ofBreaking Bad?’ I turn over to find him grinning.
‘Very quick! I hadn’t even mentioned meth yet.’
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
His smile widens. ‘Made you talk.’
Turns out I can’t stay mad at this nutcase. ‘You’re a nightmare.’
He sobers up. ‘Sorry for earlier.’
‘You raised your voice at me.’
‘I didn’t raise my voice.’
‘Yes you did.’
‘I…’ He wants to argue but thinks better of it. ‘I’m sorry. For all of it. Can we hug it out?’
‘No.’
The duvet shifts with his shrugging shoulders. ‘I’m a good hugger.’
‘I’m not a physical touch person,’ I blurt out before I can stop myself.
An optimistic part of me hopes he’ll see it as banter, but he quietens like he’s reading all the way into it – everything I’ve said, even more I haven’t. Why does he care? It’s not like this knowledge will be useful to him after tonight.
‘I didn’t mean it like…’ I peter off. What’s the use of damage control? It’s the truth.
He still isn’t saying anything. It’s eating me alive.
I don’t know if it’s the darkness or this sleepover being a one-time event or the fact that hecontinues to besilent, but I feel… like I want to explain myself. The idea of him thinking I’m some poor little undersexed lamb isn’t sitting well.
‘I have intimacy issues,’ I whisper, staring up at the ceiling. He’s so quiet it’s like I’m talking to myself. I can barely hear him breathe. ‘I’ve never orgasmed with another person in the room.’ There’s a sharp inhale. ‘Not even from foreplay, so what you did in Italy was insanely impressive. I honestly didn’t think my body could do it.
‘And it’s not that the guys I’ve slept with don’twantto finish me off. I don’t let them. No one’s been perceptive enough to notice, I guess. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy sex – I do, really I do – I just…’ I play with the duvet, ‘get so in my head. Sometimes I even dissociate. It’s easier to focus on making sure the guy’s having a good time.’
‘But they leave you hanging,’ Jack utters, like he can’t fathom the idea.
‘I prefer it that way. I’d worry that I look cringe or sound cringe, or I’m doing something wrong, then it would drag out, then I’d stress that he’s thinking it’s taking too long, by this point coming would be impossible, and it’d be a giant waste of time for everyone.’
‘You have such weird views about what men think.’
I almost spell it out for him but stop myself. It’s a small hop, skip and jump to daddy issues. He’s capable of getting there himself.
‘I don’t like being like this. I wish I was more open and affectionate, and sex was easy for me. I think… I think I could come during sex,’ I muse. ‘One day. And get used to affection and touch and all that, maybe even grow to like it. I just need…’ Someone willing to be patient with me, but that’s obviously not him. ‘Never mind.’
