Chapter 10 Cody
When I wake up the following morning, I’m surprised he’s still with me in my bed.
Light has started to creep through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the room, but he hasn’t noticed.
He’s still asleep, his breaths even, his arm lightly draped over my chest. The way it slightly lifts and lowers as I breathe in and out is almost transfixing, and I have to ignore the urge to hold my breath to avoid accidentally waking him up.
After what he said yesterday, I hadn’t expected him to stay.
I also hadn’t planned to fall asleep when I did, but sometime during the night, I must have drifted off with him beside me.
Not that that’s so surprising; it felt so good having him in my arms. It’s yet another thing I could easily get used to.
I only hope he’ll want to stay here a little longer—or maybe a lot longer.
We could spend the day together, start by repeating what we did yesterday evening, then have breakfast here or at a cafe outdoors, and who knows what else. One can hope, right?
I guess I’ll soon find out, but until then, nothing can stop me from looking at him.
At his wavy hair, curly eyelashes, full lips, and his arm resting on me.
His chest slowly rises and falls with his every breath, the light hairs on it almost dancing with the movement.
He’s so beautiful like this, so peaceful, and as far as I’m concerned, nothing ever needs to change.
But if there’s one thing that’s certain in life, it’s change.
And as if he heard me thinking it, he suddenly stirs and wakes up.
He opens his eyes, blinking a few times against the harsh light, and looks disoriented.
His eyes wander around the room as he tries to make sense of his surroundings.
He lazily looks at his arm on my chest, then his eyes travel upward and meet mine.
When they do, only then does it seem to dawn on him. He gasps softly, and his eyes widen.
“Cody,” he says as if reminding himself who I am. His voice sounds sleepy, but otherwise it’s void of emotion.
“Hey, princess,” I reply, ignoring the worrisome tone and smiling at him. “I take it you slept well.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, his jaw clenches and unclenches, and he moves his arm off my chest. My skin feels cold now without it.
“I . . . I didn’t mean to sleep here.”
“I know you didn’t.” I raise my hand to touch his upper arm, caressing it softly. At least he doesn’t pull away. “But it’s alright. I thought maybe we could go for round two before breakfast?” I ask him cheekily. “Or maybe breakfast first? What do you say?”
He opens his mouth and closes it again. There’s an intensity in his eyes that I can’t quite place. “I need to be at the cake shop,” he eventually says. “My shift will start soon.”
“Oh, okay, but you don’t have to leave right now, do you? It’s not even nine o’clock yet, we could—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence. “No!” He sits up, startling both of us with the loud exclamation. “I mean, no,” he adds more softly. “I need to go.”
Part of me was afraid of it—had maybe even seen it coming.
Luc wasn’t exactly warm when we first met, so there was always a chance he’d return to that.
There was always the possibility I’d misjudged the twinkle in his eyes whenever he saw me, that his relief when I returned to the store after being sick for a week was fake.
That our dates meant nothing, that last night meant nothing, and I was just someone for him to lose his virginity to.
Was he even really a virgin, or was that fake too?
No, I tell myself, there’s no faking that. That part must have been true.
I shake my head at myself. I’m getting ahead of things. Maybe Luc actually needs to go, and we can meet again later?
“Okay. Then can I at least have your number?”
Come to think of it, I’m an idiot for not asking for it earlier, but he and I always met at the cake shop or at other places.
We’ve moved quite fast and seen each other so often that there’s been no real need for me to ask before.
Now I wish I had because my hope is short-lived once again when he shakes his head quickly and silently.
My heart breaks just a little. How was that too much? I’m watching my step, moving slowly because I don’t want to freak him out, but how could exchanging phone numbers after three dates and sleeping together possibly be wrong? What the hell did I do?
“I’ll see you later at the cake shop, then?” I ask in a final, desperate attempt.
He nods without looking at me. By now, he’s already out of bed and getting dressed, whereas I’m still naked under my sheets.
I’m debating what more I can say when he’s putting on his shirt and shoes.
What can I do to keep him here? Is there anything I can do at all, or will it only drive him further away?
I sigh, looking at him, and just then, he meets my gaze. For a split second, I think he’ll change his mind and stay, but then he says, “See you later, Cody. Thanks for the sex.”
I open my mouth and close it again, utterly lost for words.
Did he really just thank me for the sex?
God, that actually makes me feel dirty. I try to wrap my head around it, asking myself if I would say that to anyone I wanted to go on another date with, and the answer is .
. . no. No, I would never say that to anyone I was genuinely interested in, unless maybe if it slipped out accidentally.
But to say it in a clear moment like this? Never.
I let the meaning dawn on me, struggling to make sense of it, but long before I’ve even come close to understanding what’s happening, Luc has already walked out of my bedroom and closed the front door of my house behind him.
What the hell happened just now? Things were looking so good before this. It doesn’t make any sense . . . no sense at all.
***
The following days prove that what I was afraid of is true: I have no chance with Luc.
Maybe I did at some point, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t give me his number or stay with me longer than necessary.
Now, even my visits to the cake shop don’t amount to anything because Luc isn’t there.
The only person in the store—besides customers—is an older man standing behind the counter.
I don’t recognize him, but I’m guessing he’s Luc’s father.
I’m also fairly sure he saw me standing outside at one point, but I wasn’t going to talk to him.
What would I even say? “Hello, you don’t know me, but I fucked your son and now he won’t talk to me anymore, do you know why? ”
No, that sounds like a bad idea on all levels.
I don’t even know if Luc is out of the closet.
And even if he is, I could never say something like that.
Because if his father doesn’t kill me for it, Luc himself very well might.
Perhaps I could ask the man where Luc is, but .
. . how would I explain to Luc’s father who I am to his son?
And if Luc doesn’t want to see me, why should I even try?
Now, with no idea what went wrong and lacking any way of getting in touch with him, I’m depressed and heartbroken.
I liked him a lot; I still do. He’s exactly my type, and I felt like we clicked.
I had serious hopes that we could start a relationship, and to get there, I gave it my all.
But what’s the point of any of it if the feeling isn’t mutual? Nothing at all. Not a goddamn thing.
I’m a mess right now. And with my job, I can’t afford any mishaps.
I have to be at the top of my game all the time.
If I ignore a possible threat or misinterpret data, the consequences to the bank may be severe, and my ass will be on the line.
But how can I function when every time I think about a certain cute guy with a heavy French accent I want to crawl into a corner and cry?
It also doesn’t help that I think about him a lot.
Sometimes I dream about him too. In some dreams, he looks at me with that cold expression, one eyebrow raised, and tells me he never liked me anyway.
In others, he kisses me and tells me he loves me.
Those are the dreams that hurt the most because I always wake up alone, and when reality hits me, I’m left with only hurt and an even stronger sense of longing.
I wonder if he still even thinks about me at all, if he knows about my pain, and if so . . . if he considers it worth it.
The past few days, I’ve seen both too little and too much of my bedroom. I dislike being bound to my bed when I’m sick or depressed, but God, I loved it here when I had Luc with me, sleeping or awake. Since he left, the house feels empty, and I feel so alone.
It’s times like these that make me miss my family, that make me wonder if I should just return to Canada.
If I were home, I could see my parents, my brothers Brian and Barry, and my sister Kim.
No doubt they could help me try to forget my broken heart.
And I would certainly feel less like an alien there.
Everything’s different here in Belgium: the people, the timezone, the buildings, the language.
At times, I’ve thrived on it, but now I feel lost. Lost and sad.
Everything combined, it’s all too much, and I can’t keep myself from crying.
I want to go home and be with my family, but I also want to stay here and have Luc back.
But both those things seem impossible. I have my responsibilities at work, and I can’t just leave, and I’m not allowed to fall apart. It’s not an option.
My pillow becomes wet from my crying. It’s unpleasant, lying on it, but I can’t stop more tears from coming. Wiping them off is hopeless. Every one of my attempts to pull myself together fails.
I’ll probably never have him here again.
If I knew sex with him was going to be a one-time thing, I might have savored it more, but I didn’t get the chance to.
It’s strange because when I asked him afterward if it was worth repeating, he said “absolument” without hesitation, so what changed in the meantime?
What did I do during the night that had him change his mind?
Did I snore? Say weird things in my sleep?
I have no idea, and I guess I’ll never know.
That’s the worst part: just being left to guess, never getting any closure.
Was I just a cock attached to a warm body?
Someone who gave him attention when he needed it?
The person who helped him move on from trauma after years, just so that he could disregard me immediately after?
Maybe to him, I was all of that, or perhaps nothing.
No matter how long I lie awake, trying to figure it out, I will never understand. And that’s what I hate most of all, even more than the heartbreak—the never knowing why.