Chapter 6 #2
Gage nodded. “I’ve been in therapy for a while to deal with it. It’s been a while, so I’m not, like, actively upset. But yeah, so…short story, I met this guy, and he and his girlfriend drugged my drink and then had sex with me after I passed out.”
Fallon’s throat went tight. He had no idea what to say.
“Over a year later, they started to contact me, trying to blackmail me with a video of it. The woman said I was the father of her baby from that night and that I had to pay them child support.”
“Fuck.” The word tumbled from his lips. It was the only thing that sounded right in that moment besides a visceral scream, and then…he didn’t really know. Slitting throats, maybe? The idea that someone had done that to Gage was…there were no words. None at all.
He’d never considered himself capable of violence, but now, there was no question.
“Anyway, I took a paternity test because my lawyer said it was probably bullshit. And it was.”
Something twinged in Fallon’s head. A memory of the night they were together. Gage crying on the couch. But he’d said it was good news.
“The night we—”
“Yeah,” Gage murmured.
“That’s when you found out?”
He nodded. “Mm. The test came back that there wasn’t a chance I was the baby’s dad. I had a second test done to be sure, then I pressed charges against them. They took a plea deal for the assault and the attempted revenge porn shit.”
Fallon swallowed thickly. “A plea deal? Like Charlie?”
“Mhm.” Gage’s face did something complicated, and another wave of fresh guilt hit Fallon because fuck. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that.
“Hey,” Gage said. His hand searched under the blanket until it found Fallon’s, and he tangled their fingers together. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Doubt it.”
“You’re thinking about Charlie. About how, after everything, you and him had a night together.”
Fallon’s eyes narrowed. “Was I speaking aloud?”
“No.” Gage smiled softly. “I could see it on your face. And don’t, okay? Don’t be unkind to yourself about that.”
Fallon couldn’t look at him, so he laid his head back and closed his eyes. It was easier like this—watching the color bursts behind his closed lids. “I feel stupid.”
“I don’t like that word.”
“I know, but it’s true. I do. I wish there was a better word for it. I wish I…I wish I hadn’t wanted to.”
“We all do things we regret.” Gage stroked the inside of his wrist with the perfect pressure, and Fallon felt himself relax a bit more.
“Have you?”
Gage laughed. “So fucking many things. So many terrible, foolish, dipshit things. I don’t have time to list them all.”
Fallon tried for a smile, and he had no idea if he managed it. “Were you happy that baby wasn’t yours?”
“Yes,” Gage said without hesitation. “I feel bad for them. They don’t deserve shitty parents.
None of us do. But if I take on the responsibility of a child—and I hope to one day—I want it to be with enthusiasm.
And with joy. And I know some people could have navigated my situation and been fine with it, but I don’t think I would have been that guy. I don’t think I’m that strong.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fallon—”
He opened his eyes. “Bullshit. That’s not a matter of weakness or strength. Not wanting a constant reminder of your trauma isn’t being weak.”
Gage said nothing, but he moved his thumb to Fallon’s palm and pressed hard before drawing over the lines etched into his skin. It felt even better. “That night with you was my first, you know.”
Fallon frowned. “First what?”
“Time with anyone. Since it happened,” he clarified. “I tried a couple times after. To forget. But I couldn’t do it. I got nauseous and had panic attacks. I dropped out of school and moved home because I couldn’t cope.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Fallon asked. Now he was panicking. “If I was too forward—”
“With you, that was the first time I wanted it so much I couldn’t see straight,” Gage told him. He slotted his fingers between Fallon’s, then began to stroke his in the gaps between. Back and forth, back and forth.
It was soothing and erotic all at the same time, and Fallon didn’t know what to do with himself.
“For a moment, I was afraid it would be too much. Or like the other times I tried. But then I kissed you, and it felt so good, and I was able to forget for a little while. And after, I didn’t feel…” Gage didn’t finish his sentence, and Fallon wasn’t going to ask him to.
Whatever he was thinking, it seemed private.
And he’d heard enough.
“I don’t want you to regret me. I…I don’t deal with stuff very well all the time, but I was hoping once I was able to get my head on straight, we could be friends.”
“Friends,” Gage echoed. “That’s what we agreed on, wasn’t it?”
Fallon nodded. “I don’t have any.”
With a scoff, Gage nudged him with the edge of his foot. “Any?”
“Yeah.” Fallon shrugged, and he saw the moment Gage realized he was being serious. His eyes widened, and he paled a bit. “I’m not saying that so you’ll feel sorry for me. I promise.”
“I didn’t think that. But…how? Why?”
Fallon snorted. “You’ve seen me at my best. And panicked.
And scared. But you haven’t seen me at my worst. When my sensory overload is consuming me, and everything hurts, even dim lights and someone breathing in the same room as me.
You haven’t seen me rocking and hyperventilating until I throw up.
Or when you cook a big meal and everything about it looks wrong, so you have to throw it all away and make me a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich—”
Gage’s lips twitched, and he was clearly holding back a grin. “Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff?”
“I know it sounds childish—”
“Lucas loves those. Well, he likes them mostly with jam, but he has them on his food truck menu.”
Fallon didn’t know how to digest that information. He’d just dumped all that on Gage, and he came away with the sandwich?
Gage sighed and dropped his legs, then shuffled closer. “This okay?”
“Mm.”
He moved until they were pressed against one another, and then he stretched his legs to the other side and cuddled into Fallon.
His weight was heavy, dense, and perfect.
“I know full well that no two autistic people are the same. But I have some idea about what it’s like.
I’ve been best friends with Lucas during his best moments and his worst ones.
And he’s been present for mine. Like when I’m freaking out and my meds are wearing off and my brain is going ten thousand miles a second.
Or when I get so hyperfixated on something I forget to eat and pass out.
Or when the way my brain starts rapid firing makes me so anxious that everything—and I mean everything—pisses me off.
I have said stuff to him he shouldn’t have forgiven me for, but he did. Because he loves me.”
“Okay,” Fallon said softly. He didn’t quite get where this was going.
Gage snorted. “I’m saying this because you might be all those things too, and you still deserve friends. And the fact that anyone would have walked away from you because of it—”
“No,” Fallon said. He was misunderstanding. “They don’t leave me. I go.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s hard. It’s hard teaching someone to be okay with all my…my stuff,” he said. “The autistic stuff, the trans stuff, the childhood trauma stuff. It’s a lot. And dealing with all that while also trying to fight some person to see me as whole and not expect me to change?”
Gage slipped an arm around him and squeezed tight. “I get it. I’m sorry I assumed people left you.”
Fallon snorted. “I mean. They probably would have if I let them hang around for too long.”
“Does that mean this has an expiration date?”
“No,” Fallon said. “You don’t make me feel that way. You make me feel safe.”
Gage made a soft, startled noise. “I—oh. Safe?”
“Mm.” Fallon closed his eyes. How was he sleepy again after lounging in bed all fucking day? God, he hated this.
“I like that.”
“Me too.” Fallon yawned. “Can I nap? I don’t think I can stay awake.”
“For as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere this time.”
He wanted to say more. Maybe thank you? Or ask why? But his brain was too tired to care. So instead, he watched the color bursts behind his eyelids until darkness took over and he drifted back to sleep.