Me:If you felt the same way I do.
A long pause. I watch the three dots appear and disappear several times. My heart is pounding.
Do you regret it?he finally asks.
Me:No. God, no. Do you?
Jay:Never. I keep wishing we'd had more time.
Me too.
You're coming back Friday, right?His next message comes quickly, almost desperate.
Me:As soon as I get off work. I'm leaving straight from the job site.
Jay: I need to see you. I need—He doesn't finish the sentence.
I need to see you too,I type, my hands shaking slightly.
Jay:I haven't had a drink since you left.
I've been worried about that. Worried about him alone in that motel room with nothing but his thoughts and his nightmares and his guilt.I've been texting him partly just to give him something to focus on that isn't the bottom of a bottle, someone to talk to when the dark gets too heavy.
Really?I type back.Not at all?
Jay:Really. It's been hard. I barely slept Monday and Tuesday. But I keep thinking about what you said. About being scared for me. And I can't do that anymore. I don't want to be that person. I don't want you to look at me and be afraid.
I'm so proud of you,I type, and I mean it with everything in me.
Jay:Don't be proud yet. It's only been four days. That's nothing.
Me:Four days is a lot. That's huge.
Jay: It doesn't feel huge. It feels like hell.
Me:I know. But you're doing it anyway. That's what matters.
A long pause.I want to be better. For you. I want to be someone you can be proud of.
Me:Be better for yourself,I type back immediately.You deserve it for yourself, not for me.
Jay:I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to want things for myself. But I can want them for you. That's easier. That makes sense.
My chest aches. I want to be there with him. I want to hold him and tell him that he deserves good things, that he's worth fighting for, that I'm not going anywhere no matter what.
Friday,I type.I'll be there Friday. Just hold on until Friday.
Jay:I'm counting the hours. Literally counting them.
Me too.
***
I barely sleep Wednesday night. Or Thursday night. I'm too keyed up, too restless, my body humming with anticipation that I can't control. I think about Jay constantly—his face, his hands, his mouth. I think about what it felt like to kiss him in the parking lot, and I think about what else might happen this weekend, and I have to take cold showers two days in a row because my body won't calm down, because I keep getting hard just thinking about him.
Thursday night, lying in bed in the dark, I let myself think about it properly for the first time. About what I want. About what might happen.
I've never had sex before. Never even come close. But now I want to. I want to touch Jay everywhere, want to see him, want to know what he looks like without clothes, what he sounds like when he comes. I want to make him feel good. I want him to make me feel good. I want things I don't even have names for, things I've never let myself imagine.
