Chapter Thirty-Three
Giles
Marcello returns to the bedroom with my phone in the waistband of his boxers, and two glasses balanced on the box he was carrying earlier.
“Skills,” I comment as he gradually sets everything down on the bed or bedside table and then hands me a glass of water.
“I have some uses,” he says in a tone that I think is trying to be playful but actually sounds a bit flat.
“Come get back in bed,” I say as I slide under the covers. We’ve never been in bed together, cuddling under the sheets.
“Really?” he asks and I see the very active hesitation all over his face.
“Yeah,” I say as relaxed as I can although inside, I panic. The moment has gone. That closeness we shared when we were fucking. The things he said. The things I felt. The way he looked at me like I was the answer to every single question in the universe…
I got it wrong. It was just sex. Now, we’re back to… fuck knows what.
And isn’t that exactly what I wanted. Isn’t that exactly what I am planning? Isn’t that exactly why I asked Tony to go for a drink with me?
My hands automatically go to my thighs, even though they’ve been hairless for more than a decade. Some habits really do die hard.
I think momentarily about checking my phone to see if Tony has replied, hoping against hope that he hasn’t or maybe he has and it’s to reject my offer for whatever reason, but Marcello is moving, getting onto the bed and I quickly switch my focus to him.
Maybe we can get the moment back again? Maybe I can make this last a little bit longer?
“Are you okay?” I ask when he’s settled, lying on his back not touching me but still close with his head resting on his bent arm.
“Yeah, you?” He turns his head to me.
“Yeah, that was…” I swallow whatever adjective wants to come out. “I hope you know that sex with men isn’t always like that.”
“It’s not? What do you mean?”
Fuck. I’ve dropped myself in it.
“I just… I think we’re quite compatible, in the bedroom,” I say feeling like I’m walking on a tightrope.
“In the bedroom?”
“Yeah, we seem to have good chemistry.”
His smile grows slowly but when it’s there it’s like permission for me to grin stupidly too. “I had wondered.”
“So don’t expect it to always be like this,” I say, while my stomach twists at the idea of him with somebody else but he needs to know this. It feels only fair.
“Hmm,” he says to himself and his eyes return to the ceiling.
Suddenly, I’m aware that I’m still naked and he’s got his underwear on. And he hasn’t joined me under the covers. I slide out of bed to find my shorts.
“Where are you going?”
“Putting my shorts on.”
“Don’t do it on my account,” Marcello says and his eyes are unapologetically on my penis. My flaccid penis.
I laugh to myself as I find my shorts on the floor and pull them on. “You know you can’t look at me like that and pretend you’re not queer.”
“Oh, I’m definitely queer,” he says, possibly with a little bit of pride.
“And you’re okay with that?” I lie back on the bed, on my side, facing him.
Marcello shrugs. “What’s to not be okay with.
I’ve had nothing but good queer sex so far.
My best friend is gay. My cousin is queer.
Chloe and Radia are queer. The more I think about it, the more I know my mum will be okay with it.
Maybe this way I’ll actually meet someone who wants to spend more than five minutes with me.
You know, surely I’ve at least doubled my chances now? ”
Another twist deep in my gut. “Maybe you should ask Mr Speedos out?”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Marcello says. “I think he’s seeing someone.”
“Oh,” I say and then find I don’t have anything else to add. This changes everything. And yet, it also changes nothing. It’s not like Marcello has told me that he likes me, that he wants to pursue something with me. He’s just revealed that Mr Speedos isn’t available.
“Maybe I should try the dating app again,” he says and I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or thinking out loud. “Change my settings to include men.”
The twist intensifies, almost makes me feel like I could vomit, but my stomach is empty. And so, it feels, is my heart.
“Yeah, you should do that,” I reply so quietly it’s barely audible.
“You know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Giles,” Marcello is looking at me again.
“The training, yes, but also these Sundays. This time with you, with your body.” His free arm lifts, pauses and then reaches out and travels down my sternum and abs, his fingertips so light and yet so warm.
“Not everybody would have done such a thing, for a… friend.”
No. Not everybody is this stupid, I think.
“Well, just in case it wasn’t obvious, I’ve enjoyed it too,” I tell him and while it’s honest, it feels like a lie because it’s only a tiny fraction of the truth.
“That’s good,” he says, holding my eye contact. “That’s important. But…”
He trails off and his gaze drifts away too. “What?” I prompt him. He did tell me he wanted to tell me something. My heart kicks with what is probably blind, foolish hope.
“We also said if one of us met someone, we’d stop, right? You wanted us to be exclusive and if that wasn’t possible, we’d tell each other. Yeah?”
“Yeah, I did say that.” Because I’m a fucking knobhead. That kick of hope turns into a body slam of fear. Is that what he wanted to tell me? “Are you saying you’ve met someone else?”
“No, no, I haven’t. But if you did… That’s okay.” Marcello swallows so emphatically his Adam’s apple seems to do a full roll in his throat. “I would want you to be happy.”
For a few seconds, I’m convinced that if I open my mouth to speak, there won’t be words but tears. So I keep my lips closed and focus on his fingertips which have now found their way to my forearm, tracing lines back and forth up it. I shift so I can hold his hand in the small space between us.
“I want you to be happy too,” I say because what else is there to say?
Or rather, what else can I say when there’s so much more I want him to know, but I don’t think he wants to hear it.
And I don’t think I can say it. I don’t think I want to even risk what it would mean for him to feel a fraction of what I feel for him.
Because then it would be about him. All my threes.
All the cleaning. He would be the third person.
He would be the greatest loss I don’t ever want to risk.
I’d rather lose him like this – by forcing myself into a situationship with Tony – than risk getting closer and losing him in any of the other devastating ways my brain will only too happily play out for me.
This way, it’s not up to me and my counting and my cleaning. This way, Marcello is safe.
I can't say any of that. But telling him I want him to be happy, I can say this honestly and with my whole heart. I’ll deal with the knife in my chest and the barbed wire in my stomach later.
I’ll clean and count and clean and count until some of this pain has worked its way out of my system.
And if that fails, I'll go to the gym and try sweating it out.
“And with that in mind.” Marcello’s whole presence changes in an instant. He squeezes my hand and pushes up to sitting. “I got you something.”
He reaches for the wrapped box that he’d placed on the bedside table next to him and holds it in his lap while I also get into a sitting position.
“What is it?” I ask, completely clueless.
“Open it.” He hands it over and our hands brush as I take it. It’s startling but heat flares through me at the touch.
I study his expression for a few seconds, to see if he felt it too, but then I focus on taking the paper off, sliding my finger under the layers to loosen the Sellotape.
“Of course you open it neatly.” Marcello laughs gently and his comment doesn’t sound like he’s taking the piss, which is confirmed when he adds, “You do make me smile.”
I keep my eyes downcast in case looking up means Marcello spots the blush on my cheeks. I pull the box out of the opening I’ve made and I see…
“A jigsaw puzzle?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at the box. It’s a 1500-piece puzzle of a view of Edinburgh from Arthur's Seat.
“What… I mean, thank you,” I tell him and look up searching for some kind of explanation. “But… why?”
“Look,” he shifts back, sitting up straighter, “I hope I’m not overstepping. And you can just throw it away if I am but I thought it could help. With your… counting. And those thoughts that make you count or clean.”
“Oh.” I stare back down at the box.
“One of the better therapists I had when I first got diagnosed with ADHD, she recommended puzzles as a way to get me out of my head. To pull me out of my busy brain and just focus on one thing. I thought I would hate it, that it was a foolish idea, but it really did help. It was also better for me than gaming all night when I couldn’t sleep, and it was also something I could do with others and stay calm and focused.
Kris and I did them a lot. Sometimes Mamma and I do them. ”
“That’s… nice.”
“Yeah, so I don’t know, maybe it could help you.
Especially because it’s something you can do to completion, like your cleaning is for you.
You know, it’s something where you can see your progress right in front of your eyes.
And I know it’s a bit of a ballsy one to start with but I wanted to get you a puzzle with a number of pieces that’s divisible by three.
“Yeah, I see that,” I say and my smile relaxes the frown off my face.
“But if not, like I said, give it to a charity shop or something. I won’t be offended. Or actually, give it to me. I could probably do with starting again myself.”
“Are you… struggling? With your brain, I mean?”