Chapter 13 Adult Female and Male Reproductive Systems #2
Not wishing to share my actual thoughts, I searched for a subject change. My gaze snagged on the errant remote on the coffee table and I picked it up. “What does this remote go to? Both Tara and I tried using it and nothing happened.”
He crossed to me and extended his hand. “May I?”
I gave him the remote, careful not to touch him.
Andreas pressed a series of buttons and the large glass window that overlooked the city instantly went from clear to solid black, a privacy setting I didn’t know existed.
He pressed another button and a TV lifted from the floor, rising smoothly until it faced us.
I stared. “Whoa. So that’s where the TV is.” What else is hidden in this apartment that I cannot see?
In my peripheral vision, I saw him nod, then set the remote back on the table. He finally sat down on the sofa, albeit several feet from me. The distance felt like a gulf.
Again, I sensed him watching me before he spoke. “I would like to get a tree with you, for the apartment.”
I looked at him then, confused by the repeated request. “Didn’t we agree we would? Downstairs?”
Andreas set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, and studying his hands. “It is hard to know what is true when we are in public. I did not know for certain if you meant what you said, or if it was for show.”
A tingling heat disrupted my blanket of numbness and I turned, drawing my legs up. I felt a flicker of hope. He’d just broached the topic I hadn’t been brave enough to bring up, and now I felt like he’d given me the perfect opening to clarify things without sacrificing too much of my pride.
“I’m actually really glad you said that.
” Staring at the pattern on the pillow, I attempted to choose my words wisely.
“I—uh—feel the same. It’s hard to know, when we’re in public, what’s real and what’s not.
I’m not sure if—for example—when you held and kissed my hand at the wine bar, was that something you felt like you had to do?
Or was it something you, uh, wanted to do . . . ?”
A blush rose over his cheeks, giving off that same bashful aura from weeks ago, and he peeked at me.
“If I do anything you do not like while we are in public, I hope you would tell me. And if I have made you uncomfortable, I am sincerely sorry. It is never my intention. I know we are being watched, and it is important for us to be convincing. But if it bothers you, or feels too real, I can—hmm—dial it back.”
I examined him as he spoke, and the coldness returned in my stomach, extinguishing the earlier tingle of hope. My heart fell through my ribs. Ah. I see. I’d misunderstood. This was a warning, right? To remind me that all the flirting and touching was just for show, that I shouldn’t read into it.
I breathed a short sigh that probably sounded like a laugh, but it was actually a sort of melancholy relief.
At least now I knew. “Don’t worry, Andreas.
I know you’re a gentleman. And furthermore, I know it’s fake and you see me only as a friend.
I won’t get carried away with the fantasy or whatever. ”
He visibly stiffened, his eyes snapping to mine. “I—pardon? I only see you as a friend?”
I busied myself by standing and refolding a throw blanket unnecessarily. “What? Are you saying you don’t even see me as a friend?” I tried to sound teasing, but the ache in my chest made it come out brittle.
He stared at me, wide-eyed and lips slightly parted, like my statement or my reaction was something he couldn’t compute. I immediately regretted speaking.
Scrambling to break the tension, I wracked my brain for a joke. Eventually, I shrugged and said, “I guess you believe fathers and daughters can’t be friends, hmm? The moment that adoption paperwork was filed, you turned into an authoritarian parent. Figures. Yeesh.”
Andreas stood abruptly, as if propelled by a sudden jolt of electricity. He was suddenly all nervous energy. Staring at me, he tore his gaze from mine, turned away, then back.
Finally, he blurted out, “It would not be a good idea for us—for you—to get involved for real. Not now. You shouldn’t be—you should not think of getting involved with me that way.”
The words hit me hard, and the rejection clothed as a warning stung like a motherfucking hornet. “I understand. No worries.” My throat was full of rocks and I couldn’t speak any further without risking stupid tears. Thus, I grabbed my phone and headed for my bedroom.
I heard him follow, his footsteps soft but determined.
He stopped at the threshold of my room. Meanwhile, I found someone—Tara probably—had brought my backpack into my bedroom.
She’d likely dropped it off after taking Andreas and me to the wine bar earlier.
I assumed she’d then collected her things and gone home to her own apartment now that Andreas had returned. No need for her to babysit me anymore.
I picked up the backpack and dug inside it for no reason other than to focus my attention somewhere.
A pack of tissues.
That pen I thought I’d lost.
A ruler. Why do I have ruler? How long has this been in here?
“You do not want to be with me,” he said, voice low and rough from behind me. “Please, trust me on this.”
I nodded, not looking at him. “Got it. Message received.”
He made a strangled sound, something between a sigh and a groan, and stepped into my room and into my side vision.
He seemed to struggle with the words before settling on, “You should not be my friend. I am not worthy of even that. Samantha, you deserve—you deserve everything. I am not good enough for you.”
He reached for my fingers. Reflexively, I yanked them away. “Okay. Like I said, message received. You can leave now.”
He covered his face with his hands, then let them fall, the movement drawing my attention.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw set in a way I’d never seen.
When he looked at me, I saw a storm of emotion.
Maybe longing? Definitely pain and regret.
And something else I couldn’t name. Or maybe none of it.
Where correctly deciphering Andreas and his motivations were concerned, I didn’t trust myself.
He seemed to wrestle with himself for a long moment, then said, “I want to be your friend, of course, and I have wanted you—to be your friend again—for so long. But if I am allowed to be honest and selfish, I want to be so much more than that to you, for you. You are—you are my—I know you will never—my father and my brothers—and I would never ask you to—I would never ask that you make any commitment to me when you do not—when I am—”
I tried to parse his broken thoughts and sentences, the words a stop-start rush of what appeared to be completely unplanned statements.
What I could gather: He did like me; he wanted to be with me, but he didn’t think he was good enough for me?
Because of his family, because of what his family had done to mine.
I took a step forward, swallowing around my own surging hope, and lowered my voice, a counterweight of calm to his chaotic speech. “Andreas, I know you are not like your family. I know you aren’t one of them. You’re trying to help me.”
He grabbed my hands, holding them tightly, and closed his eyes. Andreas shook his head, his jaw tight, but didn’t let me go.
I kept talking, hoping my words would make a difference. “I would never put you in the same category as your family.”
He looked at me then, his face etched with misery. “I do not deserve you.”
I sighed. “Well, I’m not giving myself to you.
It’s not like we’re really engaged. And, to be clear, I’m not asking for a commitment from you, nor am I offering one.
In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever want a committed relationship with anyone.
I never have before. But, allow me to be just as honest here, I am extremely attracted to you. ”
Andreas grew very still, his eyes searching mine, wide and frantic. They seemed to be filled with hope and reluctance in equal measure.
So, I added, “I like you. A lot. I think about you all the time. I missed you when you were gone and checked my phone obsessively for your messages. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
And, so, the idea of a romantic commitment is frightening to me.
So, if you’re not ready for one, that’s a relief. ”
He seemed to stop breathing, and the raw desire in his gaze made my heart soar.
“We don’t have to commit to each other,” I said soothingly, lifting my hand to cup his face.
He leaned into my touch, his cheek hot. “But we are here in this apartment together for the foreseeable future, and I don’t see why we have to torture ourselves by holding back what it seems like we both want. ”
His breath came shallow, his gaze fixed on my mouth. “What are you proposing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I took a deep breath, sent a quick prayer upward for emotional bravery, and told him the truth.
“We both agree, we’d like to be friends, right? And we both agree, we want more than that. So how about we try something low pressure? How about being friends with, you know . . . benefits?”