Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(22)

I shook my head.  "I know you got upset after I threatened Allen.  You don't think the way I handled that was appropriate?"

He grunted.  That was it.  Just grunted and went to bed.

I followed him, a kernel of annoyance moving through me.  I was plainspoken, and sometimes I really wished that he were too.

"I don't speak fluent grunt," I told him as I got into bed.  "Want to tell me what yours meant?"

He didn't even crack a smile.  "I think it bothers me the most that you don't even understand how screwed up that all was."

I sighed.  I hated arguments like this, so full of riddles and land mines.  "I guess I don't.  Explain, please."

"You were so willing, happy even, to get into a real fight over a fake relationship.  You weren't bluffing.  You would have followed through, kicked Allen's ass if he kept it up."

"The guy was being a jerk, talking that way about Bianca, trying to stir shit up with me and Damien.  And he never would have fought me, so it was a bluff.  I'm twice that guy's size."

He grunted again, and this time I could interpret it into a noise of utter frustration.  "You don't get it!"

"Explain it to me then," I muttered sullenly, wanting nothing more than to get off this subject.

He was in my face suddenly, eyes wide, passionate.  "You're so scared to show the world who you are that you would cripple your life for it!  Why?!  What are you so scared of?  The world is not your sick dad.  Half the guys we work with are g*y.  Do you see the straight ones stringing any of them up?  This isn't the fifties.  We don't have to hide anymore!"

My jaw clenched, and I just stared at him, refusing to talk about this.

He cupped my face in his hands, eyes imploring.  "There's nothing wrong with you, Stephan.  Nothing at all.  You are who you are, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't change it.  No matter how you hide it, you can't run from yourself, and you shouldn't want to, because there's nothing wrong with you."

I didn't cave one single inch, staring him down with cold eyes, letting him talk, giving him nothing.

One sad tear ran down his face.  "You're perfect, Stephan.  Perfect.  I love you.  I'm in love with you, but what are you even doing?  How long can you live with this farce?  How long do I have to pretend to be your bro, your bud, in public, lovers only in private?"

Nothing.  I gave him nothing.  No part of me was willing to cave to this.  I would not do it, not even for him.

He was getting more desperate by the second, eyes wild, lips trembling.  "You know what terrifies me?  That you're so willing to risk us, to risk this, just to keep up the front."

Nothing.  I gave him nothing but cold, resolute eyes.

He got the message, shaking his head back and forth as he looked into them with sad eyes.  "It's not even a dilemma for you, is it?  If I made you choose, go public or lose me, you wouldn't even hesitate, would you?"

My breath caught.  That one got to me.  "Don't," I said quietly, a plea in my voice.

He backed away, his jaw hardening.  "No.  I need to know.  If you care about me, you'll choose me.  Choose me, Stephan.  Please."

"Don't do this.  It's not fair.  It is manipulative.  I have a right to be a private person.  You shouldn't want to force me to live other than how I choose to."

"Tell me one thing, do you think you need more time, or will it ever be an option?  Do you plan to spend your whole life living a lie?"

"Stop.  Just stop.  This went too far."

"I notice you didn't answer, and I'm not surprised.  I can't do that, can't live a lie, Stephan.  Tell me which you choose.  The lie or me.  Which one is more important to you?"

I was suddenly furious, so angry at him, at his impatience, his inability to see my side of it, that I wanted him gone.  Wanted it enough to say, my tone glacial, "I choose to be me, and I refuse to be manipulated by you into living my life as you see fit.  We don't all have to march in the Gay Pride Parade, Javier.  That's never going to be who I am.  So if you're looking for an excuse to leave, there's the f**king door."  I waved my arm at it.

He gasped, face going slack, like I'd slapped him.  "This isn't about g*y pride, but do you even realize, even comprehend, how ashamed you are of being g*y?"

I didn't like that.  It definitely hit me in a place I wasn't comfortable exploring.  I made him sorry he'd said it.  "We're done here.  Get off your soapbox and leave.  Now."

His face crumpled.

I'd been mean to him, when I was never mean.  I was on a roll, though, and I wasn't done.  "I mean it.  Done.  This thing has run its course anyway."

I was numb for a while after he'd left, but the numbness didn't last long.

When the pain hit me, I crawled into bed with Bianca, moving like a wounded animal.

She welcomed me with open arms, and it helped, as it always did.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HOT BUTTON