Chapter 7 #2
“Another call from her? I’ve been letting them go to voicemail until you felt better. Didn’t know if you were ready to talk.”
“Thanks for that.” The words came out slurred.
“You’re definitely still feeling your pain meds.” He checked his phone. “Not due for more until three. You want some water? Food?”
“I’m good.”
I wasn’t good. I was terrified. Because even knowing I’d nearly blown everything, even seeing the wariness in étienne’s expression, I still wanted to say more. Wanted to tell him he was the best thing in my life, that having him here made everything bearable.
The medication was making me honest, and honesty was the most dangerous thing I could be.
“I’m not taking any more,” I said.
“What?”
“The pain med. I’m done. I’ll take Tylenol instead of the prescription stuff.”
étienne stared at me. “Marco, you were just hit by a slapshot that broke your foot. You need the prescription.”
“I’ll manage.”
“You’ll be in agony.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“This is stupid. You’re being stupid.”
Maybe. Probably. But being in pain was safer than being medicated and loose-lipped and one wrong word away from destroying everything.
“My decision,” I said.
His jaw clenched. I could see him fighting with himself, wanting to argue, to make me see reason.
“Fine,” he said finally. “But when you’re crying from pain later, I’m going to say I told you so.”
“Looking forward to it.”
He shook his head and went to the kitchen. I heard him moving around, the fridge door open and close, and the microwave beep.
By the time he came back with food—some kind of soup that smelled amazing—the medication was wearing off, and the pain was creeping back in. But I’d rather hurt than risk another slip like that.
Would rather suffer than watch understanding dawn in étienne’s eyes when I inevitably said something I couldn’t take back.
We ate in relative silence. Or rather, étienne ate and watched me stir soup around my bowl because my stomach was too knotted with anxiety to consume anything.
“You talked in your sleep,” he said suddenly.
My heart stopped. “What?”
“I could hear you from upstairs when I got home. You were saying something.” He paused. “Couldn’t make out what.”
The relief was so intense I felt dizzy. “Oh.”
“What were you dreaming about?”
“Don’t remember.”
Lie. I remembered fragments—vivid, intense flashes that I absolutely would not describe. étienne’s hands on my skin. His mouth on mine. The weight of him, the warmth of him, the overwhelming relief of finally having what I’d wanted for so long.
I’d been talking in my sleep. Could have said anything. Could have said his name, could have revealed—
“You okay?” étienne asked. “You look pale.”
“Just tired.”
“You should go back to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep any more.”
I was lying. I was exhausted. But I couldn’t risk sleeping if it meant unconsciously revealing what I’d spent three years hiding.
The afternoon stretched on. étienne tried to get me to watch TV, to play video games, to do anything that would distract me. But my mind was stuck in a loop of panic and paranoia.
What had I said? What had he heard? Was he suspicious now? Was he putting pieces together?
By evening, the pain had ramped up to the point where I couldn’t hide it anymore. Every shift, every breath, sent fire through my foot and up my leg.
“Take the prescription,” étienne said.
“I’m fine.”
“Marco—”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re white-knuckling the blanket. You’re not fine.”
He was right. My hand clenched the fabric so tight my knuckles had gone white. But I couldn’t relax because relaxing meant acknowledging the pain, and acknowledging it meant giving in to medication that would make me dangerous to myself.
“Just—I’ll take them before bed.”
“It’s six thirty. You’re overdue.”
“Later.”
étienne stood up, grabbed the pill bottle, and held it out to me. “Take. The fucking. Pain meds.”
“No.”
“Marco, what is going on with you?”
Everything. Nothing. A lifetime of hiding and one moment of medication-induced honesty that had terrified me into never wanting to take those pills again.
“I don’t like how they make me feel,” I said finally.
“They make you feel not in agony. That’s the entire point.”
“They make me feel… out of control.”
Understanding flickered across his face. “I get that. But you need them. At least for another day or two. S’il te pla?t. Please.”
The please did it. That and the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he was looking at me like my pain hurt him too.
“Fine,” I said. “But you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If I act loopy or do anything embarrassing or whatever, just ignore it. Blame the drug.”
He studied me for a long moment. “Okay. I promise.”
I took the pill, swallowed it down with the water he handed me, and waited for the inevitable loosening.
étienne settled on the couch beside me, close enough that we touched. Close enough that I could feel his warmth, smell his body wash, notice the way his T-shirt pulled across his abs.
The medication hit fast. Faster than before. The pain receded and that dangerous, floaty feeling came back, making everything soft and hazy.
“Need anything?” étienne asked.
“No. I’m good.”
His hand landed on my knee. Just resting there, a casual contact we’d shared hundreds of times before.
Except this time, with the medication stripping away my defenses, my body reacted.
Heat spread from where he touched me, racing up my leg, pooling in my groin. My breath caught. I responded in a way I absolutely could not hide if this continued.
Panic cut through the medication fog.
“Bathroom,” I said abruptly. “Need to—bathroom.”
“You want help?”
“No!” Too sharp. I forced myself to breathe. “No, I’ve got it. Just need a minute.”
I grabbed my crutches and levered myself off the couch, ignoring the pain that flared in my foot, because getting away was more important than anything else. I made it to the half bath downstairs, locked the door, and leaned against it.
My heart was racing. My body was still responding to that single touch, to his proximity, to the medication making it impossible to control my physical reactions.
If he hadn’t already, he was going to notice, and then what?
Then everything would fall apart. I’d lose my best friend, lose the person who mattered most to me.
I ran cold water in the sink, splashed it on my face. Tried to think through the medication, through the panic, through the want I’d kept buried for so long.
This couldn’t keep happening. I couldn’t keep taking the pill if it was going to turn me into someone who couldn’t control himself, couldn’t hide what I felt.
But I also couldn’t manage the pain without it.
I was trapped. Caught between physical agony and emotional exposure, neither option safe.
Eventually, étienne knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just needed to… take a leak.”
“Remember, if you shake it more than twice, you’re playing with yourself.” He laughed, and I nearly collapsed. “Let me know if you need help getting back to the sofa.”
I waited until I heard him move away, until I was sure my body had calmed down and I could trust myself to be near him again.
When I finally made it back to the living room, étienne had queued up a movie on the TV. Something action-heavy that didn’t require much attention. He helped me settle back onto the couch and prop my foot on the coffee table. I was hyperaware of every point of contact, every brush of his hands.
“Thanks,” I managed.
“No problem.”
We watched the movie in silence. Or rather, he watched the movie, and I pretended to while focusing all my energy on staying still, calm, and in control. I fought to keep the drowsiness at bay.
“You can sleep,” étienne said. “I’ll wake you up for your next dose.”
“Not tired.”
“Liar.”
Maybe. But I’d been lying my whole life. What was one more lie if it kept me safe?
“Just watching the movie,” I said.
His hand found my knee again. That same casual touch that sent electricity through me, that made it hard to breathe, that made me want things I couldn’t have.
I gently pushed his hand away.
Hurt flashed across his face—brief but unmistakable—before he pulled back.
“It’s okay to need help, you know,” he said quietly, though his voice had gone slightly flat. “It’s okay to let someone take care of you.”
“I know,” I said.
Because what else could I say? How could I explain that his care was both what I needed most and what terrified me more than anything?
I turned back to the movie and tried very hard not to lean my head on his shoulder.