Chapter Seventeen #5
And there was still gentleness in it. Still that warm Nathaniel cocoon that always came with his words, as if he were laughing at himself and encouraging others to laugh too, to laugh and warm each other and never, ever hurt.
But there was heat there as well. Just a touch of exasperation.
The tone he used when he’d said something dozens and dozens of times already—and he had.
In every phone call, in every visit, in every letter, Nathaniel had given that love and said it so openly, so without embroidery or embarrassment, that Samuel had entirely dismissed it, as he had to dismiss it, because no part of his experience had ever prepared him to receive a love like Nathaniel’s, so free of burdens, not expecting anything or asking for a trade.
It was impossible, that kind of love. The world they lived in should have stamped it out or at least distorted it into the usual twisted thing.
It couldn’t allow a feeling like this. And maybe it didn’t—maybe it was stamped out in every corner of the world with just that one tiny exception.
Because even Eli didn’t love like this. That love was wonderful, but there were threads of guilt mixed in, his own, and the ones he put in others.
And Jenny’s love too, was like that. Except instead of water, it was a wall.
A powerful and unbreakable thing meant to lock around him like armor, one that caused a certain tightness in his breathing.
It was impossible to be made so safe without some restrictions.
But Nathaniel—Nathaniel just loved. There were no expectations there.
No demands that he keep himself safe. No seeing him as he wasn’t.
No roles being pushed onto him. He just kept that love open, the support there if he wanted to fall into it.
A support Samuel hadn’t just misunderstood, but entirely vandalized, slapping all his own labels on it.
Calling Nathaniel clueless or strange, as if a love like that could be some sort of accident.
He’d been so stupid. Not just a coward, but a complete fool.
An idiot of such magnificent proportions he didn’t know how he’d ever forgive himself, much less be forgiven by Nathaniel.
And yet, Nathaniel was still holding out that netting to him, the support always promised and always there and never a trap.
Without wasting another of so many already wasted moments, Samuel flung himself into it, head and heart first, for once with no worries of what effect that might have or what damage his actions might cause.
He didn’t have to think. Because it was Nathaniel, and Nathaniel would always take care of him.
“I love you." And it was so good to say. Such a wonderful gift. "I can’t think without loving you. I don’t want to have any thoughts without you. I fall asleep as fast as I can at night to be with you. Because in those dreams—the good ones—you’re always there, and you feel so good.
You could never feel like anything else.
Nat, I love you so much it doesn’t even hurt. Do you believe me?”
Because that, if it was a worry, was the only one. Not that he might not deserve loving Nathaniel, or that he’d be sure to fuck it up like he did everything else, but that, after wasting so much time waiting, Nathaniel might not believe him—and then what would he do?
Keep telling him, he discovered, because that was what he was doing. The pent-up words of so many months spilling out over and over. “I want you here. Need to feel you and to be close. Talk to me, Nat. Let me hear. I don’t ever want to let go of you.”
And Nathaniel did his best, stumbling at times, but always generous, as he spoke the words he most needed to hear, and never getting annoyed, no matter how many assurances he had to give, and always with that warmth and an enthusiasm so flattering he found himself smiling into the crook of his arm, terrified to show his happiness in the fear it would be taken from him.
But no one made any objections. None he could hear, anyway—not that he was listening.
“I want you, Nat. I want you. Please, I want you.”
And from the receiver he heard a sound almost like pain. “I’m yours, Sam. Every minute of every day I’m with you. You can feel it, can’t you?”
And maybe he could. Maybe that was why air came into his lungs so easily these days, as if the pain in his shoulder didn’t matter, and the predators didn’t matter, and nothing in the world mattered except for the hand on his back and the voice on the phone.
“Jenny,” he said, and finally a bit of the guilt came back.
It wasn’t fair to have all this. To have taken so much for himself after everything his sister had sacrificed for him. “Can I speak to her? Is she—?”
“Here,” Jenny said, too soon, and he realized she must have been right there, as close to Nat, maybe, as Eli was to him right now.
She’d heard everything. Knew everything.
As she should. He’d never wanted to keep anything from her.
But was it right? If it caused her pain—if she thought he loved her any less— “Sammy, are you happy?”
And he sank a little. He might have gone to his knees if Eli’s arm hadn’t been there, ready and able to take all the weight.
“Yes.” And he wondered if it was wrong. To feel this much.
To admit it. As if he were showing off his good fortune.
But denying it would have been worse, so he denied nothing and let her hear the gratitude in his voice—not as much as she deserved, maybe, but there wasn’t enough in the world for that.
“Good,” she said, and said it with so much satisfaction that he found he was finally able to summon up the bravery to ask the question he’d been dreading for months. “And Darren?” he managed. “Will you tell me? How is he treating you?”