Chapter Twenty-Two
Aiden
I was completely fucked. More than I’d ever been fucked before.
I was so utterly fucked that I hadn’t even realised how fucked I was until much later, when I was lying on Hunter and Bailey’s sofa with my head in Hunter’s lap while Bailey cooked dinner, feeling more cosy and at peace than I’d ever believed possible.
I’d never been so relaxed and comfortable in my life, and it terrified me beyond reason.
Because I’d let myself think something like this might be possible.
And that was never going to happen.
Not to me.
It wasn’t because I was trans or because I thought I wasn’t good enough—I was fucking awesome—but because I was difficult. Too brash, too independent, too… me. And sooner or later everyone realised I was too much hard work to be worth it. At least, that was what past experience had taught me.
Bacon said I’d always picked the wrong guys, and maybe there was a grain of truth to that, but it was easier to keep people at arm’s length and do the rejection for them rather than let them push me away.
I wanted to believe Hunter and Bailey were different. My heart was screaming at me to give them a chance, to be vulnerable for once in my fucking life and talk to them about how I was feeling. But there was no way in hell I was listening to it.
Of course, I was both a coward and a fool, so I wouldn’t run until I absolutely had to.
I’d draw this out until the last possible minute, maybe even thinking this wouldn’t end with me crying myself to sleep with a six-pack of cider, three tubs of Pringles, a tub of slightly stale cookies, and one of Bacon’s life-changing breakfast sandwiches, which I’d wheedle out of him at midnight when I called him drunk and sobbing.
Bacon would bring me one, he always did, and it usually came with sarcasm and a side of life according to Bacon. But I was usually too focused on the sandwich by that point to pay attention.
Although I was pretty sure the advice had once included something about never getting involved in a land war in Asia.
Sometimes I wondered if he was just trolling me.
“You okay?” Hunter asked, carding his fingers through my hair as a rugby match played on the TV. I wasn’t watching. I was staring into space in the direction of the TV.
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah.” There was a pause and he gently began to rub my head, the sensation sending waves of relaxation rolling through my body.
I yawned, my eyes getting heavier. It was barely eight or nine at night, but I felt like I could fall asleep then and there and be out until morning. And not my usual 3:00 or 4:00 AM alarm.
“You know it’s okay to let people help you, even when it feels like it’s the worst thing in the world,” Hunter said in a voice that was disarmingly casual, his fingers still rubbing circles on my scalp.
“I know how hard it is to let people in. Or just a person. It always feels like you’re burdening them, even if they’d never see it that way.
And if you’re used to doing things on your own, it feels like they’ll see you as weak for needing help.
And if you’ve asked for help in the past, sometimes you don’t want to ask for more, in case it’s too much.
Like suddenly you’ve maxed out the credit card they’ve given you. I don’t know if that makes sense.
“Anyway, I guess… I wanted you to know, me and Bailey, don’t feel like that—like, you can’t ask for too much.
I know what it’s like to feel like a burden, to worry that you’re too much and that your problems…
the way you feel… make you difficult. I wasn’t able to ask for help, to admit I was struggling, because I never saw it that way.
Not for a long time. But in hindsight, I was fucking drowning.
Anyway, I just… I wanted you to know I get it.
I know we’re not… we’ve not talked about what we’re doing, but that doesn’t mean I won’t help you if you need me.
Help isn’t conditional. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be. ”
“Was it hard for you?” I asked, my eyes still fixed on a spot next to the TV as Hunter stroked my head, his words enveloping me like a blanket.
They should have made me want to get up and get out, but my body was too relaxed to absorb the tension my brain was trying to flood it with.
I wanted to hate that he knew, that he could see me for who and what I was—a fucking coward who put up walls because it was easier than letting people in.
But there was another part of me that wondered whether it would be the worst thing in the world to trust them? I’d gotten this far. Put myself on the line and let them take care of me once already.
And nothing bad had happened yet.
That didn’t mean it was all going to be perfect—no fucking sunshine and roses here—but nothing ever was. And I was tired of running from shadows.
“Yeah, it was. The first time Bailey told me he thought I needed help I yelled at him. Then I ran away and had a panic attack in the toilets. I was so angry and upset and overwhelmed, because to me… to me there was nothing wrong. I couldn’t see what he saw, couldn’t understand why he was worried.
Looking back, I wish I’d reacted differently, but that would never have happened.
Maybe… maybe in hindsight, I wanted him to see there was something wrong, but at the time I hated him for it.
I didn’t believe anything he said. I was sure it was a mistake because nothing I did was that different from anyone else. ”
“A mistake?” I twisted in his lap and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I thought so. On some level I knew I paid more attention to my calories and macros than some of the others, but I thought it was because I cared more about my performance. But now… now I know why Bailey did what he did, and I’m so grateful for it.
I mean, I treated him like shit and he stuck by me, because he knew I needed help and I was never going to ask for it on my own.
So, he made the decision for me. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find the words to tell him exactly what he did for me. ”
“That wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” I asked. Hunter was still playing with my hair, and I wondered if he needed the comfort as much as me.
“I know. It took me a long time to realise, but I did. But when your brain is telling you all these things, and you’ve been listening for years, it’s hard to believe it’s wrong.
” He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Look, I don’t know how you’re feeling, or what you’re struggling with, but I want you to know we’re here for you.
Whatever that looks like. We… we like you, Aiden.
A lot. You mean something to us. And that might be terrifying to hear, but I needed to tell you. ”
“Thanks.”
I licked my lips and tried to return his smile, hoping I could fool both of us into thinking I was okay. His words hit hard, though, digging into the vulnerable spots in my chest and lodging themselves there with a smugness that reeked of I told you so.
I wanted to tell him they didn’t need me, and that he didn’t need to lie and pretend for my sake. But I couldn’t. Hunter might be a lot of things, but I didn’t think he was a liar. If he was, Jonny or Devon would have said something.
But I didn’t need their assurance. I’d experienced Hunter’s honesty firsthand—the way he’d poured his heart out to me when he was worried about Bailey, how open he’d been about his desire to be fucked, and now the way he spoke about his experiences with his eating disorder and asking for help.
If he wanted to lie to me, why would he have done any of those things?
No, Hunter wasn’t a liar. And it would be beyond dickish for me to accuse him of that.
The problem was the truth was fucking terrifying.
If he and Bailey liked me, if I meant something to both of them, then that meant there was a chance for this, for us. And I didn’t know how to deal with that.
Hunter put his other hand across my stomach, like he was worried I was going to try and roll off him and run. He smiled down at me, and my chest tightened painfully, the muscles aching. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t worth it, that loving me would only bring him and Bailey pain, but I couldn’t.
Because some small part of me wanted him to notice me, to see how desperately I was trying to run while simultaneously crying out to be loved, and to hold me tightly until I gave in.
“I… I like you too,” I said. It was barely more than a whisper. I didn’t know if he could hear me over the TV and the sound of Bailey in the kitchen, singing along to every song on his playlist. “I’m not good at this.”
“You don’t need to be,” Hunter said. “It’s hard to ask for the things you want.”
“Don’t use my own words against me,” I said with a huffed laugh.
“I’m not. I’m just reminding you.”
“Why?”
“So you know that I get it. This is new for all of us, and we have no idea what we’re doing. But that’s okay. We can be scared, and confused, and—”
“Fucking terrified?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay. We can figure it out.”
“Can we?”
“Yeah, we can. Because we’re fucking awesome, and we’re not letting our brains hold us back. Not when they’re wrong.”
He sounded so sure, and I wanted to believe every word. But fuck, it was hard.
I’d spent years convincing myself I was better off alone. That it would be easier.
But for who?
Not for me.
I mean, it might be at first. There was no way I’d get hurt then. Being by myself meant being safe. It also meant being really fucking lonely. And as much as I wanted to pretend this was only about sex, it wasn’t. Not anymore.
Tonight had practically been a fucking date!
When was the last time I’d been on one of those?
I didn’t actually know. Years probably. Which, at twenty-seven, sounded pretty fucking sad.
How had I even gotten to this point? I couldn’t point to some horrific breakup I’d had in my early twenties and say, Yes, this is where all my trauma comes from.
It was more like a series of small cuts I’d allowed to fester, little wounds I’d shrugged off and ignored, pretending they meant nothing while slowly closing myself down.
It had been so gradual, and so simple, I hadn’t noticed until the damage was done.
Then I’d kept on denying it was a problem because it hadn’t felt like one.
Nothing ever did when you refused to examine it closely.
I couldn’t be traumatised if I didn’t admit the trauma was there in the first place.
Nevertheless, the hurts were always there, whether I wanted to acknowledge them or not. The question was what I did about them. I could keep running, or I could stop and try something new.
I just had to be brave. And that was the hardest thing of all.