25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trey
I stare at my phone on the coffee table, where it’s been sitting since I got home because I can’t seem to pick myself up off this couch.
I take a swig of my beer—my second one, since I grabbed two knowing I wouldn’t want to get up again, and maybe out of habit, too, because it’s been how Hudson and I have spent almost every night since I got here.
On my couch, with a beer, watching movies or reading books.
After Hudson left, I told myself it was fine, he was upset and he should be, and I needed to respect his space.
Realistically, I know that, and if he were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t care as much.
If he were a woman, I would know what to do, how to handle an argument.
I would have no problem sending flowers or some extravagant gift basket to apologize, or compartmentalizing and moving on and doing whatever it is I need to do, because I’d be sure the problem wasn’t me , but…
Hudson’s not a woman.
He’s not anyone else.
He’s my boyfriend , and I am the problem right now.
That word hits me, truly for the first time since all of this started.
Boyfriend .
Even when I stood in front of Hudson, just a month ago, and told him I liked him as more than a friend, I hadn’t grasped the word.
I knew I wanted to be with him. I still want to be with him.
But I didn’t think we needed a label to move forward with things, we just…
needed to do what felt right for us and not overthink things.
Not much felt like it changed after we agreed to try an actual relationship.
We still talked every day, and I still found myself looking forward to those texts and phone calls.
But it’s not like we were suddenly gushing over the phone about our future or how badly we missed one another or having phone sex or sending shirtless selfies to one another.
It wasn’t like we were being… well, romantic, I guess, in the way I’m used to being when I’m in a new relationship with someone.
I take a long pull of my beer, letting the alcohol hit me.
Maybe that’s my problem.
Maybe Hudson doesn’t feel like my boyfriend because I’m not being myself with him, the way I would be in a typical relationship.
I mean, of course I’m myself with him, and don’t get me wrong, physically, I feel like we’re on the same page.
I definitely don’t feel like Hudson’s friend when he’s moaning my name or when I have his dick in my mouth—which I am finding that the more I do it, the more I kind of don’t mind it—but outside of the physical stuff…
It’s different. Outside of our bubble, I don’t know who to be or how to act when it isn’t just us, anymore.
I want to touch him. Like… all the time, but I’m also not sure if that’s something he’s comfortable with, judging by the few times I have hugged him in public, to which both times he got a little standoffish, so…
Hudson is the first person I have ever taken things slow with, and that fact is not lost on me.
I’m not scared of being with him, though that’s probably what he thinks now, and part of me feels like even if I tell him I’m not, he won’t believe me.
And I can’t say that I’d blame him, either.
But the truth of the matter is we haven’t even gone on a date yet.
A real one. Something I was hoping to rectify on this trip, but haven’t had the chance to yet.
I don’t count running to Target for placemats and tablecloths and an impromptu dinner because we didn’t want to cook, a date.
At least it’s not the kind of date Hudson deserves from me.
I had this stupid idea I’d give him these tickets I bought for him for Christmas, since I know he hates surprises, but gifts are supposed to be a surprise, and I know his schedule.
I thought he’d open it, see the tickets to the silent disco, and then I’d make us reservations and take him out and just…
Be a good boyfriend.
His boyfriend.
And then I realize that I’ve never even said the word out loud to myself.
“Boyfriend.” It comes out barely a whisper, even though there’s no one here but me.
I’ve never considered myself a touchy-feely guy or like… an emotional person; one that needs physical affection or obvious endearments to feel loved or cared for, but…
I realize as I sit here, tasting that word on my tongue for the first time, that maybe I do.
Maybe I need to hear those things, feel that affection the way Hudson needs the words to feel the same thing.
I look at my phone that’s staring at me from its spot on the coffee table. I shouldn’t text him. He’s upset, and rightfully so, because I’m an idiot, and I should give him the space he wants. It would be the smart, reasonable thing to do.
But I can’t. I can’t just sit here, wondering what he’s thinking about me, about us. About the fact he might decide I’m not worth it.
My chest tightens because I’ve never felt like this before.
I’ve dated lots of women over the years, and been broken up with plenty of times, but none of those times ever left me feeling like this.
I’m not sure what I can do to change his mind, or make him understand that this…
it doesn’t have anything to do with me not wanting to be with him.
I just… need time, I think.
Time to figure out who I am with him. Time to figure out how to navigate all of this, including my feelings.
I almost told him I love him. Granted, it was in the heat of the moment but I stopped myself.
Not because I didn’t want to tell him how I felt, but because I didn’t want to scare him.
We’d barely scratched the surface with calling each other baby , and he hadn’t even called me his boyfriend privately. Saying those words…
I didn’t want Hudson to think I’m some clingy, overemotional guy and get weirded out… or worse, feel uncomfortable or like I’m moving too fast.
How is it that everything is happening so fast, but somehow also so fucking slow?
I drain the last of my beer and set it down on the coffee table, my phone pulling my attention.
I reach for it and pull up our text thread. He hasn’t texted me, not that I expect him to, given everything that’s happened today. The store. The conversation in the car. Me panicking and pissing him off.
Part of me thinks I should just let this go, get a shower and go to bed, maybe sort this out in the morning.
A good night’s sleep could be good for the both of us, and I’ve been drinking—though I’m not anywhere near drunk, I do have a little bit of a buzz, but not enough to make me feel better about being a shitty boyfriend, apparently.
I know if I don’t say something, I’ll lie awake all night thinking about it, like I’ve been doing ever since he left. So I text him anyway, even though I’m sure he won’t text me back tonight.
Me
Hey
I suck in a breath, waiting a moment before I continue, but nothing comes through. He’s probably not near his phone, or maybe he’s busy reading a book or doing something. Whatever the case, I take the moment of silence to continue.
Me
I didn’t panic because you wanted to call me your boyfriend. I panicked because I didn’t want the first time I heard that word coming from your mouth to be in front of some stranger. We never talked about labels. We said we’d take things slow.
You want to call me your boyfriend, but I want to feel like your boyfriend, Huds, and I don’t.
We don’t text like we’re dating or send each other thirst traps.
I called you baby, but you didn’t say it back.
Every time I hug you in public you get weird, which is fine if you don’t want to do the PDA thing but you should know I want to touch you like all the fucking time…
not just when we’re alone. I mean, when we’re alone I like how you touch me a lot obviously.
I wish you were on my couch right now so you could touch me.
Shit, that sounds fucked up. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…
Fuck
I sigh, the words coming out like rapid fire. I can’t stop them. Even if I wanted to.
Me
I had this whole thing planned, and it probably doesn’t matter now.
You probably want nothing to do with me and I don’t blame you.
But I wanted to take you out on a date. A real date where we could like be together and maybe you’d let me hold your hand underneath the table and take you home and kiss you like a real boyfriend would.
Then you’d say it. Then you’d tell me you had a good time with your boyfriend, with me.
And I’d tell you I did too, and it would be this thing, this romantic thing between us.
I wanted the moment to be special I guess because you’re special to me.
I realize as I read my text, it sounds kind of weird and clingy and also like I’m calling him special and I panic because I don’t want him to think I mean special like… because of the autism. Shit!
Me
Not because of the autism.
Shit, that sounded bad. I meant special like you're different than other people.
That doesn’t sound any better. Fuck!
I mean you’re different because you’re a guy obviously
Fuuuuuck I’m fucking this up even more. I’m so bad at this.
I’m the worst boyfriend ever. No wonder you hate me right now and probably don’t want to be with me anymore. I’m a fucking idiot!
Never mind forget I said anything, I’m just making things worse. You just mean a lot to me, Huds. Sorry for being an asshole. Is there a way to delete these? Fuck.
Good night.
I groan as I let the phone fall onto my chest and look up at the ceiling.
“Real smooth, Trey. Real fucking smooth. Now he really will run for the fucking hills and let everyone know how crazy you are on top of it.”