“A little,” Charlie says, not meeting Simon’s eyes. “At first.”
“I was there. It was more than a little, and longer than at first.”
“Inmydefense, you were really mean.”
“I’m not going to apologize for my personality.”
Charlie’s sitting up now. “But it isn’t. You aren’t like that with anybody else. You singled me out.”
“It was mutual!” Simon says, in case Charlie missed it the first time, or during the seven years it was happening.
“And now?”
Simon’s too stunned by the honesty of Charlie’s question to come up with an answer, so Charlie’s words hang in the air while they stare at one another.
“Oh my God, shut up,” Charlie says, even though Simon hasn’t said anything. He flops backward and throws an arm over his eyes. “This is so embarrassing. Can you forget that happened?”
“Embarrassing?” Simon asks, trying to keep up.
“Stop.”
“Can you help me out here?”
Charlie does not remove his arm from his face. “I thought I didn’t care what you thought as long as you were nice or whatever, but it turns out I do, and now you know.”
It truly is mortifying to care about someone’s opinion of you, and even more mortifying if they find out. This maybe isn’t thehealthiest attitude, but at least he and Charlie are on the same page here.
“God, I know,” Simon says.
“Thanks,” Charlie says, his voice full of venom.
“No, I mean—” Simon doesn’t know how to show someone he cares about them and how to let them know he hopes they care about him. He shut down that part of himself years ago. Decades ago.
He wonders if Charlie would notice if Simon took a little break from this conversation to google how to convince someone you like them, or maybe to consult with Jamie. Simon wants to cross the room and kiss Charlie, but that might just cement whatever absolute bullshit is going through Charlie’s head about Simon’s real reasons for wanting to spend time with him.
This is where, in a script, Simon’s supposed to say something decisively affectionate.I like and respect you. Being mean is my only reliable coping mechanism; sorry about that!
Simon tried compliments earlier, when he was praising Charlie’s work onOut There, and Charlie hadn’t believed him, so that’s out.
There’s only one thing Simon can do here. He grits his teeth. “Me too. I’m ready to die of embarrassment about it.”
Charlie lowers his arm and looks at him. “Yeah?”
“God. Yes. How can you not tell? Are your eyes broken?” Edie makes a discontented sound. This quarrel, or whatever it is, is interrupting her nap. Which reminds Simon—“Do I really seem like I’d trust my dog to someone I didn’t likeandrespect?”
Charlie doesn’t look totally convinced.
“Look,” Simon says. “I’ve fucked plenty of people I don’t like.”
“You are so good at this,” Charlie says. “Wow.”
“Shut up. What I mean is that’s not what this is. For me, at least.I’m, like—” He makes a vague gesture between their bodies, a Rorschach blot of a gesture that he’s hoping Charlie will figure out how to interpret. “So you can just deal with that. Fuck off.”
He feels like he’s taken a few internal organs and tossed them on the floor for Charlie to step on. He feels like Charlie’s now the proud owner of a functional MRI scan of Simon’s brain showing all kinds of terrible truths, the active parts of his brain lit up like a Valentine’s heart.
Charlie’s face is unreadable. “Yeah?”
Simon thinks he might throw up. There are sirens going off. Red flags. Flashing lights. “Yes, you nightmare.”
