Chapter 7
VOSS
My leg bounces, and I stare at it. I grip the back of the chair behind me as I slouch, scowling.
My room is dim. It’s late. We’re going on day eight, where Brek isn’t speaking to me.
I’m surprisingly… hurt by it, though I’ve taken a note out of Brek’s book and I’m letting that hurt manifest into grumpiness.
However, I’m doing my best to keep it to myself.
Whether I’m doing a good job is up for debate.
I might have snapped at Isabel at work today.
I’ve already ordered flowers and chocolates to be delivered every hour on the hour tomorrow in apology.
She did nothing wrong. In fact, she was doing her job when she interrupted me, staring at nothing and obsessing over Brek, who isn’t talking to me, to tell me my dad asked for my presence in Crestley’s office.
What I should have done is camped out in front of his damn door. I thought maybe that was too forward. I’d been going for casual.
It’s almost eleven now, and I’m frustrated. I asked him several times if he wanted to stop, and he said no every time. He’d felt into it. He’d acted into it.
Growling at my empty bedroom, I scrub my hands over my face, knocking my glasses askew. I bet his door is locked again. Might as well go check.
I push myself to my feet and leave my bedroom. The hall is quiet since it’s so late. I glance at Lorissa’s room, wondering if I checked on her tonight. Probably not. I’ll check on her extra early tomorrow.
Unsurprisingly, Brek’s door is locked. I’m not accepting that tonight. I march myself back to my room and grab my phone. I’m not wasting my time with texts, though. I dial his fucking number and keep calling until he answers.
He was definitely asleep. “What?” he demands groggily.
“Open your fucking door or I’m letting myself in. You have two minutes.” I don’t wait for a response as I smash the red button to end the call. With my phone still clutched in my hand, once more I stomp down the hall to Brek’s door.
He opens it just as I stop in front of it. He looks all rumpled and adorable, with wrinkle lines from his sheets all over his exposed skin and his hair sticking up. No glasses. This man is in nothing but his underwear. I nearly sigh because he’s beautiful.
We’ll get to how beautiful he is later. I press my hand on his chest and shove him back into his room. I follow and shut the door behind me.
“What the fuck, Brek? What’s with the ghosting? I asked if you were into it. I asked if you wanted to stop. You decide being with a guy is too freaky after all?” I demand.
Brek shakes his head. “No. Your gender hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“Then what is this freak out over?”
He sighs, hanging his head. I feel a little bad about whisper-yelling at him. I don’t even know why I am. It’s not like my yelling would be overheard. The walls are well insulated.
Probably. I’m not sure we’ve ever had a reason to test that.
“I’m asexual,” he says.
I’m not sure how to respond to that assertion. It also leaves me with more questions since he was definitely hard, and I didn’t at all force that on him.
“Okay.”
Brek sighs. “I spent a lot of years trying to figure out why I wasn’t into it like other guys.
Like my friends. I won’t pretend that I asked a lot of questions or seriously looked for answers.
I didn’t. It wasn’t until my world truly began to crumble when Oakley started seeing Loren that I actually tried to figure out what was wrong with me and why I reacted the way I did.
” He shrugs. “I found a lot of answers, one of which is that I’m asexual.
When I was reading about asexuality and all the different facets and its spectrum, it felt like I finally understood something about myself.
For eight months now, I’ve lived in peace in my body.
I understood myself. There are thousands and thousands of people just like me. ”
“And then I come along and something changes,” I guess.
He nods. “Yeah. On the couch… I kind of thought it was a fluke, you know? Something common among asexual people is that they enjoy the thought of sex quite a bit. They like to watch sexy scenes in movies and read them in books. They enjoy talking about it and often enjoy body parts, you know? But when it comes to actually engaging in the event, they’re completely turned off.
So I thought when we were kissing on the couch, that’s kind of what was happening to me.
It was the idea of sex with you I enjoyed. ”
“But when I touched you the other night…”
“And I got off, yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Brek turns around and walks to the window. “I don’t want help figuring my shit out.”
“I didn’t offer to help you.”
He glares at me over his shoulder. I grin because I knew that comment wasn’t for me anyway.
“All I’m saying is you could have just told me you’re going through some shit and needed space, Brek. Acting like a dick isn’t cool.”
He huffs, giving me his back again. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I would have left you alone.”
“I know. I’ve realized that when something is going on with me, my reaction is to be an asshole. I’m sorry, Voss.”
We stand in silence for a while. “Hey.” He looks at me over his shoulder when I don’t say anything else. “Want a hug?”
Brek continues to stare. I’m a little surprised when he nods. He turns and comes toward me. I wrap him in my arms as soon as he’s within my reach.
For a very long time, we stand in front of his bedroom door in the dark of night, locked in a tight embrace. I have a feeling this man doesn’t ask for comfort from another person often.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”
“I forgive you.”
His lips curl up a little. I feel it against my shoulder. Eventually, he takes a step back.
“Come here.” I take his hand and pull him down into a recliner. It’s one of those really big, fluffy ones that practically turn into a bed.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” he says quietly. I hear the tension in his voice. It’s reflected in his body as I settle beside him.
“Good. I’m not in the mood either.” I pull my phone from my pocket and navigate to a website before offering him my phone.
“Asexuality is like a twenty-sided die. No two sides are exactly the same, though they have one thing in common—they’re all part of the same die.
One of those sides is yours. Maybe two or three. ”
“I’ve looked at all these before,” he says.
“I know. But look again. I’m not being cliché or anything, but sometimes, it takes a specific situation or person to… awaken something inside you. It’s not a change or a fix. It’s a part that’s always existed, but you’ve never been in a position to recognize it before.”
Brek nods minutely. I watch as he scrolls slowly through the website. I keep him in my arms, still offering him comfort, which I think he wants since he periodically snuggles a little further into me.
After a while, he drops his hand to his lap, phone still in his grip, and closes his eyes. “Did you know there’s one called WTFsexual? When you don’t understand what the fuck is going on with you? That’s what I’m feeling right now.”
I chuckle. “For the record, I’m never going to be upset if you tell me you’re not into it. It won’t change anything between us. I won’t be mad. I’ll never make you feel guilty or shitty for not being interested.”
“What if you come in here for—”
“Your consent is always open to change. You can revoke it at any time for any reason, no questions asked. It doesn’t matter what I come in here for.”
A small smile curls on his lips, and his eyes close again.
“You know what? Don’t judge me on this. I think I feel this way because it’s never affected me before, but I always kind of thought that there was such a big fuss around consent that was blown out of proportion.
Way too much explanation and whatever. Yes and no. What more do you need, right?”
“You feel differently now.”
“Yeah. As selfish as it sounds, I understand what it’s like to feel pressure to have sex, even if that pressure is all in my head. I needed to hear you reassure me several times. I never understood that before.”
“Hmm. I guess I don’t think I’ve ever really reassured anyone like I have you until now. Different situations call for different responses, right?”
“Are you still going to come around if I never want to… get sexual again?” Brek asks.
“Yeah, I think I am.”
He turns his head to look at me, and our eyes meet. I wonder how much he sees of me without his glasses. He seemed to read my phone well enough. Maybe he needs them for distance more than up close. I need them for everything, though they’re not a strong prescription. I’m not blind without them.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Forcing your way into my room and making me talk. And for forgiving me for being a dick. I don’t know why that’s my initial response, but thank you for not holding it against me.”
“You’re misinterpreting your response, Brek.
Your response isn’t shutting down to push everyone away by any means necessary.
That’s just how it kind of manifests. Your response is self-preservation, and you don’t like anyone else coming in and influencing your answers.
That’s why you keep everyone out. Your friends mean well, but they don’t like to take no for an answer when one of you is struggling.
They love you, and they want to make it better. ”
“You have a psychology degree or what?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
“No,” I laugh. “But I’m obsessive about knowing. I’d say that on any given day, I spend only a fifth of my day working. The rest is me falling down rabbit holes as some tiny thing catches my attention and I suddenly need to know everything about it.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Think of how productive I’d be if I could stay focused.
I have dozens of different chairs that are supposed to help me focus.
I have hundreds of different fidget toys and techniques that are supposed to help me focus.
I take a very small dose of ADHD meds that is supposed to help me focus.
They all probably work, but for only a small portion of my day, because when something more interesting comes along than my task at hand, I’m diving deep and there’s very little that will pull me from that hole. ”
“They say you’re a tech genius,” Brek says, narrowing his eyes. “How are you productive if you can’t focus on anything?”
“Technology is magic,” I say, grinning. “Think about it. I can make a screen recognize a person. I can push a button and carve shit into the moon with a laser from thousands of miles away. I can create a prosthetic that’s so thoroughly connected to the nervous system that it acts as if it’s the missing limb.
Modern technological advancements are real magic if you know the right spell.
Think of everything we can do if we break the code? Or create the code?”
“I see. So when you’re passionate about something, your focus stays on the subject more easily.”
I laugh. “Yes. Exactly. But sometimes, I need to step away and come back with fresh eyes. Breakthroughs don’t happen overnight.”
“That’s really cool.”
“Thanks. But to answer your original question, I’ve studied psychology a lot. I bet if you thought about it, you’d know why.”
Brek is quiet as he watches me. Eventually, he says, “Loren.”
I nod. “Yep. When I was maybe six, I remember overhearing Mom on the phone. Maybe with her sister or mother—I don’t know.
But she was complaining about how fucked up Loren is.
She literally used those words. To describe my three-year-old brother.
He was three. I was so angry, and I told Myro all the things Mom was saying about him: Loren wasn’t a real person, he couldn’t feel anything, he was going to grow up to be a criminal.
In later years, I remember hearing her say that he should be put down. As if he were a fucking dog.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I was eight when I began to understand how to do research. Sociopathy is the first subject I truly researched. I read everything I could get my hands on. But as you can imagine, to understand sociopathy, you also need to have a grasp of psychology.”
“Everything falls into place,” he notes.
I nod. “So, no degree. But more than a search engine degree.”
He grins.
“That was a long way to say that you’re allowed to figure yourself out all on your own if you choose, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Especially with something like your sexuality and identity.
We live in a world that programs us to fit into cookie-cutter roles, and anyone who deviates from that is mentally ill. ”
“Or a terrorist,” he notes.
I snort. “Right? It’s not easy figuring yourself out when everyone around you says that there’s something fundamentally wrong with you because you innately don’t fit into that role.
Especially when you’ve had a lifetime of indoctrination to be one thing and when you finally break free, you may need another lifetime to unlearn that bullshit and figure out the truth about yourself. ”
“I admit that I’m not good at asking for help,” Brek acknowledges. “I guess… My friends will accept me no matter what I tell them, but I kind of feel like I need to come to my truth on my own. Without any other voices in my ear suggesting that maybe I’m this or that.”
“Do they do that?”
“Not in a malicious way, but yeah. I think they do because they want to make sure I have all the facts. I have all the resources. I appreciate that, but…”
“You need to do it on your own.”
He sighs. “Yes.”
“Then do it on your own. I’m going to sleep.”
Brek grins.
I curl up into him in the chair we’re currently sharing and close my eyes. He laughs quietly. I never said I was going to my own room to sleep.