Chapter 11 Luc
Things didn’t go as planned . . . or as they should have.
The beautiful, kind, thirty-six-year-old Canadian man—who I referred to as Daddy in the bedroom—will never know how much he upturned my life and how much I loved the way he did it.
Because I didn’t tell him. At one point, I’d considered saying it, but I panicked.
Partially because I was afraid to expose myself, because I feared it didn’t mean the same to him, and mostly because life doesn’t end the way fairy tales do.
Life doesn’t end with “they lived happily ever after,” even though we want it to.
At best, life ends with, “they worked hard for years, fought for their relationship, no one cheated, and they stayed together until one of them died.”
No, that doesn’t sound nearly as catchy as the fairy-tale ending, does it? But I feel that it’s the truth. Maybe thinking like this makes me cynical, but I prefer to consider it as realistic. Realistic but also, honestly, sometimes quite lonely.
Last week, I meant it when I told Cody that having sex with him was worth repeating.
If I’d done it as often as I’ve thought about it in the past week, I wouldn’t have been able to walk anymore at this point.
It sucks, though, because I’d hoped I would have been over it by now, but if anything, the urges have become stronger.
Maybe I should have given in to them when I could, but I panicked.
For that, I blame my dad, who tore me away from my home in France when I was fourteen, and my first boyfriend, who humiliated me when I was sixteen.
And maybe it’s also how I’ve always been.
I strongly believe it shouldn’t be this hard, but leaving Cody and not looking back feels impossible to me.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was sure he’d tire of me quickly, but he didn’t.
After I insulted him and gave him disgusting cake at the shop, he came back.
When I introduced him to my friends—some of the most attractive people in the world—he only paid attention to me.
And when I told him about my body and my insecurities, that didn’t turn him off.
He only became more invested. And I don’t like admitting it, but I’m invested too.
Based on how I’ve been feeling lately, I’m infatuated and crushing hard. I can barely eat or sleep, and I’m miserable half the time, feeling like something—or someone—is missing. It’s a good thing I haven’t been working, because if I had, I would have failed at that too.
I’m close to allowing myself to think I could have had something great with Cody if I’d stayed, and part of me desperately wants it, but how could I have expected this?
He was supposed to give up and prove that what I thought about him is true: that he’s just like everyone else.
Except he’s not, and I think I knew that from the start.
It’s why I could easily see myself falling in love with him, and after mainly relying on myself for years, knowing that scares me to death.
***
Time is passing slowly. It’s only been a week since I last saw Cody, since that amazing night we spent together, but it feels like much longer.
I’ve spent most of my time alone here in Maxime’s apartment, daydreaming and thinking about Cody.
I haven’t worked because I’ve been very purposely avoiding the cake shop.
Instead, I’ve been cooking and cleaning the apartment, which not only helps me distract myself, but also makes my living here a suitable arrangement for both me and Maxime.
Or so I thought, anyway, until today.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
It can only be Maxime; they’re the only other person here.
Like me, they were born and raised in France, though I’m not sure when they moved to Brussels.
They’ve told me it’s more central, better for work, because it’s easier to juggle modeling gigs with agencies in Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, and I think even Germany.
Before I can answer, the door swings open.
Maxime pokes their head in, sees I’m already dressed, and steps inside without hesitation.
Then, with the casual confidence only they can pull off, they drop the last words I want to hear.
The fact that we speak French with each other doesn’t make it better.
“Luc, mon chéri, it’s been fun, but I have someone who needs the room.” Their voice is soft but final. “It’s time for you to move out.”
My mouth falls open. Please tell me I misheard that . . . that I was too caught up in my thoughts to listen properly. “Wait, what did you just say?”
Maxime gives me a soft, almost pitying smile. “You heard me, chéri. I need you to move out.”
“Move out? What do you mean?”
They tilt their head, clicking their tongue like I’m being difficult. “Come on, you knew this was temporary. Eight months is more than enough, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s not!” My voice comes out louder than I intend. “You never said a word about this being temporary!”
“Well, maybe not in so many words, but you know this is my place. Also, you pay almost no rent.”
“Yes, but that’s on you, and I’m contributing by cooking and cleaning.”
Maxime doesn’t look convinced. “Cook all you want, but I hardly ever eat here anyway, and I can easily get a cleaning lady. Plus, we both have other people we’d rather live with, don’t we? I have an old crush coming over by the end of the week, and you’re with that older guy you introduced us to.”
Those words hit me harder than they should. Maxime thinks I’m with Cody, which makes sense. We were all over each other at the club. “I . . . I’m not with him.”
Maxime doesn’t seem to care, seeing as they’re now absently inspecting their perfectly painted fingernails. “Then at least you’re into him.”
“Maxime, please. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What do you mean? Can’t you go live with that guy?”
God, if only. “I told you I’m not with him!” I reply too loudly.
Maxime raises their hands defensively. “D’accord, D’accord. Then where did you live before here?”
“With my dad.”
Maxime snickers, the sound a little mocking. “Really? Okay then, go back to living with your papa.”
“I don’t want to.”
Maxime shrugs. “Not my problem. As I said, I have a guy who needs the room. You can stay here until Saturday, but no longer.”
“But it’s already Thursday!”
“Oui. Three days should be enough to convince your dad to let you move back, don’t you think?”
I consider telling Maxime again that I don’t want that, but it’s no use.
They don’t care. Nothing I can say will change their mind, especially if they’ve already planned to give the room to someone else.
I only wish they’d given me more notice, or rather, that they could let this new person sleep in their room.
“If it’s your former crush, can’t they just sleep with you?”
Maxime snorts softly. “No, it’s been ten years since I saw him, so expecting him to sleep in my bed would be presumptuous. I need the room.”
“I can sleep on the couch, Max! I won’t bother you, I promise!”
“I also need privacy, Luc. Besides, if he learns I have another guy sleeping on my couch, he might get the wrong idea and leave as soon as he arrives.
“You can just say we’re friends! I’ll tell him the same, and I’ll stay away whenever you ask me to. I’ll—”
I’m trying everything I can think of, but unfortunately, Maxime is unrelenting. They raise their hand to shush me, shaking their head. “It’s my apartment, Luc, and I need the space. End of discussion.”
I let out a deep sigh. Could this week get any worse? “Dammit, Maxime. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
“It’s nothing personal, Luc, you know that, right? We can still hang out together, go to clubs . . . You’re my buddy.”
Yeah, yeah, I want to say sarcastically, but I swallow the words.
There’s no point in making them angry. After all, they gave me a great place to live for eight months.
Goodness, life seemed so easy just a few weeks ago.
I had a nice home and hadn’t met Cody yet, so I didn’t know what I was missing.
“Fine, Maxime, whatever,” I mutter, having run out of ideas. “It’s your home. I’ll be out on Saturday.”
“Thank you, Luc,” they say sweetly. “And know that anytime on Saturday is alright with me. Maybe we can go to the club Friday night, and you can sleep in on Saturday morning before leaving? You can bring your boyfriend too.”
I curse internally. How often must I tell them Cody’s not my boyfriend before they get it? And, more importantly, how many times do I have to remind myself of it before it stops hurting?