I swear a corner of his mouth curls up. Or I’m imagining all of this, and he’s just a statue of stoic-ness.
“Do you want to hear this or not?” he asks.
When I stand, he backs up, putting a step between us. It’s not the first time he’s done this. Created distance. When he’s in control of it, he doesn’t mind being close, but when the balance tips, he draws the line and retreats. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“When’s your birthday?”
“That’s classified.”
I step forward. He takes another back. “Mine is April 1st.” Which is unfortunately not a joke and made for some really dumb birthday pranks from people at school. If I’d held out just half an hour more, I wouldn’t have been in that mess. Too eager to see the world, I guess.
“I know.”
Of course, he does. “What else do you know about me?” Hey. “No, wait, I’m asking about you.” Did he do that on purpose? That’s some sneaky skills right there. Seems like an unfair advantage.
“Hmm.”
“Youaredoing this on purpose.” Could I risk another step? How much will he let me get away with? “How come you get to know everything about me, but I don’t get to know one thing?”
“One thing?” He tilts his chin, looking at me through lidded eyes. The smouldering look is enough for me to forget my own name, let alone what we were talking about.
“Um. Yes?”
“Alright. Ask me one thing. I’ll answer.”
That’s a lot of pressure. I have so many questions. Just one? I’m curious about his birthday, but I don’t want to waste my one question on that. I suddenly feel like I’m on theWho Wants to be a Millionaire?hot seat. I need to phone a friend. “Anything?”
He nods. “Anything.”
My brain instantly turns to panic mode. Shutting it down, I blurt out the first thing I think of. “Why don’t you like being touched?”
He frowns as though he wasn’t expecting that question. “There is no reason.”
Well, that hurts. “I didn’t realise you didn’t have to be truthful when answering.” What was the point of giving me the question, then? If I’d known he was humouring me, I wouldn’t have played along.
“Am I not telling the truth?”
“There’s no need to make fun of me.” Even “it makes me uncomfortable” is more truthful than having no reason at all.
The back door slides open behind me, loud in the sudden silence, and I close my eyes in mortification. I don’t really need an audience to my humiliation.
Miles is the one who steps closer to me this time. “I don’t have some dark hidden past of abuse or anything sinister that most will automatically veer towards when trying to come up with an explanation. I’m an only child, and my parents weredistant. They weren’t big on physical touch either, and I grew up knowing to avoid that kind of contact. Asking for hugs was met with silence, needing comfort was met with darkness. They didn’t know how to deal with me because that’s not who they were, and in turn, I came to appreciate what it means to be disconnected from the world and more in tune with myself.”
More in— “That’s not knowing yourself, that’s isolation.”
“Both can be true at the same time.”
My heart hurts at the idea of him as a child, seeking affection from those who were supposed to show him what love, kindness, and care are and getting nothing in return. My parents are nothing like that. Warm, affectionate, giving. I can’t imagine a childhood like his. “It’s still—that’s still a form of abuse. It doesn’t have to be physical for it to matter. It leaves a scar, whether you can see it or not.”
“Am I scarred, Matthew?”
The way he says my name is like liquid chocolate. “I think—yes.” The words come out shaky. I’m afraid I’m pushing too far. Being too familiar with a man I barely know. “They should have done so much better by you.”
“I have no doubt they loved me. They simply weren’t the coddling type of parents.”
“It’s not coddling, it’s emotional connection.”
