Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Dark Spots
The rain eventually stops around lunchtime, and Luke and I reluctantly get up from our post-sex nap to join the others and enjoy the last night of the trip together.
I’m probably smiling too much. In fact, I know I’m smiling too much.
But I can’t help it. Every time I look at Luke, I’m reminded of him lying on the bed, all sexy and undone beneath me, and I turn into a giddy mess.
Luke seems to know what I’m thinking about when he catches me staring and finds it hilarious, but he doesn’t tease me.
He just laughs and shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to do with me.
I don’t know what to do with me. I’m acting like a teenager who’s just had sex for the first time in his life, and it’s embarrassing. Keep it to-fucking-gether, Ethan.
Still, I ride the high for the rest of the night, feeling like I could die on the spot and have no regrets.
If the others notice my euphoria, they don’t show it.
They’re too preoccupied with their own happiness to pay attention to mine.
Everyone is laughing and talking together like we did when we were kids, before all the stresses and responsibilities took hold.
The air is full of magic, and everyone seems to pick up on it.
It’s the last day of summer and the final chance to let loose and be free before going back to our lives tomorrow.
This might be the best trip I’ve ever been on, even with the speed bumps—especially with the speed bumps.
All the hiccups in the world would have been worth it for the edge of bliss I get to experience having Luke here with me.
Maybe it’s because the thrill of everything we’re doing is so new, but it’s intoxicating, and I can’t get enough of it.
Being able to kiss him when I want, to touch him as many times as I need…
God, I didn’t realize liking another person could feel this intense.
It’s like my whole world blew up overnight in brilliant technicolor, and I never realized until now that it used to only come in shades of gray.
It throws me off balance, and I want to shout from the rooftops to anyone and everyone that I’ve found something earth-shatteringly beautiful, which—quite frankly—scares me.
I’ve never felt like this before, and it’s all happening so fast when we’ve only been together a day.
But it also feels fragile, like I’m holding a porcelain doll that could break if I mishandle it.
I don’t want to read too much into that now and ruin the moment, and yet, the further we move away from our sexual encounter, the more my joy begins to dissipate, and then my head begins to do what it’s best known for… Overthinking.
While Luke sleeps in my arms later that night, my brain won’t turn off yet again. Only this time, it’s not focused on faulty logic or observation—but fear.
It starts small. When I look at Luke and see his unfathomable beauty, my self-esteem wavers, and I can’t help but wonder what on earth someone who looks like him could ever see in someone who looks like me.
I don’t usually dislike my appearance, but I’m not stupid enough to think I hold a candle to him.
Shouldn’t someone as beautiful as he is want to be with someone equally as beautiful?
That’s how it works, right? A ten and a six (at best) aren’t meant to be together.
I can’t seem to stop myself as more intrusive thoughts win out, and I fall further down the rabbit hole.
What if I’m making a fool of myself here?
Did Luke even enjoy himself when we were together?
He definitely seemed to, and the way he held me afterward was incredibly tender and gentle…
But that’s probably typical behavior for whoever Luke sleeps with.
Oh god. How many people has he slept with?
No, no. That doesn’t matter. What matters is whether I was actually good compared to his other partners.
I’ve never done anything sexual with a man until now, so who am I to judge?
What if I was truly horrible at it, and he’s too nice to tell me? Fuck.
Okay, don’t ruin the moment like that. Luke clearly enjoyed himself, so I must have done something right.
The sounds and faces he made when I touched him were real, and when he tilted his head back on the pillow as he came, holding onto me like I was a lifeline, there was no way he could have faked that.
It brings heat to my face just thinking about it again.
But what if I’m the only one who feels like this? This unusual tug at my heart and soul, like I’ve awakened from a long sleep and can finally see the world in all its resplendence. It disturbs me to think this man has such a hold on me, and we’ve only slept together once.
We never discussed what this makes us or where we want to go from here.
It all moved so quickly after that first kiss on the beach, and there’s been a lot of unspoken understanding between us that now I’m not so sure I fully understood.
It wasn’t just sex to me, but the genuine fear that that’s all it may have been to Luke threatens to take me under.
The longer I think about it, the lower my confidence gets as I convince myself that Luke doesn’t want me.
After all, he’s a New York City Gay?! He’s used to glamour, glitz, and culture—everything I lack.
There’s no chance in hell he would ever be happy settling for the guy who’s never left his shitty little hometown and is riddled with anxiety and mental health issues leftover from unresolved trauma. I mean, who am I trying to impress?
I could always tell him I’m filthy rich. Maybe that’ll be the incentive that gets him to stick around because it’s not like I’ve got anything else going for me here. And that’s a dark thought. Fuck.
No matter how hard I try to rebuke these false notions and end this unyielding torture, nothing seems to work. While Luke sleeps like a baby beside me, I don’t sleep very well at all.
By the next morning, the rose-colored glasses of my joy have entirely worn off, and I find I’ve tumbled into a dark place mentally. It’s like a switch flipped in my brain overnight, and I can feel all the telltale signs of a slip into a depressive mood.
Typical. I have the best day of my life and can’t even be allowed to enjoy it for more than five minutes without the painful reminder that my brain is broken.
However, simply recognizing this for what it is does little to ease the symptoms. My head is underwater, and an elephant is standing on my chest, keeping me pinned down. I don’t have the energy or strength to shove it off, leaving me feeling numb and helpless.
It’s been a little while since the last time this happened to me, but the timing makes me feel ten times worse about myself. Like I’m somehow supposed to be better about regulating the chemistry of my brain, and clearly, I’ve gone and fucked that up as well.
Logically, I know that’s not true. It’s also unfair of me to think I’ve somehow brought this upon myself, but old habits die hard, I guess.
Luke is still sleeping beside me, oblivious to what’s happened, and I wonder what he’d think of me if he knew I’d spiraled out of control.
Would he push me away again? Run for the hills rather than sign up to deal with the pile of damaged goods?
I wouldn’t blame him. I don’t expect anyone to want to handle me when I’m like this.
I’m no fun to be around, yet it’s a part of me that I’ll never fully be rid of. Sold as is, no refunds or exchanges.
I have learned to manage it better since I was a kid.
At least now, while the merciless thoughts shout at me in a constant stream of negativity and self-deprecation, it’s easier to tune them out.
They’re still there, but more like background noise instead of at the forefront, trying to take control.
A therapist once told me it’s like I have my own personal Jiminy Cricket perched on my shoulder, only he’s evil and trying to bring me down, and I have to imagine trapping him in a glass jar that muffles the sound.
I hate the analogy, but it’s stuck with me for life.
While I lie here in bed, I go back through the numerous therapy sessions I’ve had over the years, trying to remember what else they’ve taught me to do to cope when shit gets bad like this.
Moving through the various strategies, positive affirmations, and soothing mantras, I try to pull myself out of it and go general with my thoughts. I don’t know if it helps.
At least I can be grateful that this happened on the last day of the trip.
I don’t want anyone to freak out or fawn over me like they do when they see me like this.
They mean well, but it rarely helps being dragged to the center of attention, getting poked and prodded while they come up with steps and action plans as if they can fix me.
They can’t, but it only makes me feel worse for sucking the air out of the room, ruining what would otherwise be a good time.
I have years of practice under my belt pretending that everything’s fine, so no one should notice.
Most of the time, they can’t see through the masks and pretense, and I can keep it up for a while.
At least long enough to get me through necessary social interactions until I can crawl into bed and shut myself away from the world while I come out of it.
As I force myself out of bed and Luke’s comforting embrace, I slip into the character of a happy Ethan and go out into the world, acting like everything is normal.
Nothing interesting to see here. If it seems like I’m staring into space, that’s because I’m tired and not because my brain is threatening to undo me. Move along.
I just need to get through the day, and then I’ll be free to deal with this as soon as I’m alone.