Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(30)

"Who indeed," I said, not wanting to elaborate.

He studied my face.  "If you're worried I'll tell anyone anything about it, don't.  You can trust me not to say anything, if you wanted to talk about it."

I nodded shortly.  "Thanks.  I don't really want to now, but I might . . . some other time."

We walked down the hallway, and I led us back outside.  I needed some air.  I hated hospitals.

We found a bench outside and just sat there in silence.  He didn't sit close to me.  We were both being very cautious.

I don't think either of us knew what was happening.

"Thank you for checking up on me and for coming by," I said, feeling like I was repeating myself, but I didn't know what else to say.  No topic was safe for us.

"Of course.  I texted the second I heard.  But . . . did you say that because you're ready for me to leave?"

"No!  That's not what I meant by that at all.  I like having you here.  I hope you can stay for a bit?"

"I can," he said simply.

Another silence swallowed us.  It was full of things I was scared to say.

Finally, I said it.  The thing I needed to say, the thing I should have said a long time ago.

"I'm sorry for the way things ended with us," I told him quietly.

I heard his gasp and reached blindly for his hand.  He clasped mine warmly, with no hesitation.

"I didn't want it to end," I added.  "I wasn't ready for the things you were asking me to do, but I wish I had been."

His voice was thick when he replied, "No, I'm sorry.  I was such a jerk to you.  I really regret it.  I was just so hurt."

"I'm sorry for that.  I was hurting too.  And you were right.  I just wasn't ready to hear it yet."

"No, I wasn't right.  You were.  You have a right to your privacy, to dictate how you want to run your life."

I took a very deep breath and sent him my most honest smile.  I knew it was a broken one, but it was mine, and it was real.  "I'd like to be with you again.  I'm in no rush.  We can take it slow, but eventually I'd like to try to make it work between us.  I never did get over you."

He was suddenly pressed hard to my side, face buried in my neck.  "Yes, yes, yes," he said against my skin.  "I want that very much.  So much.  That's what I've always wanted."

I turned my face and kissed him, just a quick press of lips before I pulled back.

He was breathless when he said, "You don't have to make a big production out of it.  You don't have to throw a party or anything.  In fact, you don't have to say a word to anyone.  Just stop hiding, stop lying about it."

He was right.  He was so right, and I was finally ready to see it.  I was letting the past have too much power over the way I lived my life.  I had been for a long time.

"Coming out is not as painful as you think," Javier told me, his tone playful, teasing.  "You'll barely feel it.  Trust me."

"I did come out once," I confessed, watching his face, pulling slightly away, taking my hand out of his.  "To my parents, when I was fourteen."

That had swept the rug out from under him, going by the stunned look on his face.  "You did?" he asked.

I nodded.  "I know you love your parents, and you've told me how supportive they've been of you, but you've got to know that's not typical."

"I know.  My mother is the best.  I can't wait for you to meet her."

"My parents were not like that.  I knew they wouldn't be, but I told them anyway.  You know why?"

He shook his head, solemn eyes carefully scanning my face.

I clenched my jaw, clenched my fists.  "Because I was hurting.  Physically.  Mentally.  I was conflicted and surrounded by people that would not, could not ever accept what I was.  Who I was.  I've told you that my dad was abusive.  Well, I thought he might kill me when I told him, in fact a part of me, a big part of me, expected him to."  I cleared my throat.  "Not even expected.  I wanted him to."

He was blinking his eyes rapidly, and I looked away before continuing.  "So I told him, laid it all out.  We beat the shit out of each other.  I couldn't help it.  I fought back.  No matter how much I've ever hated myself, I've always had that instinct to defend.  To survive.

"I don't know how long we fought.  I remember it was light when it started and dark when I lost consciousness.  I guess my mom finally got fed up waiting for him to overpower me, because she clocked me on the back of the head with a frying pan."

Javier was crying.  He reached for my hand, and I let him take it.

My eyes were dry.  "I woke up in his work shed, in the backyard.  He'd tied me to a chair and tied the chair to a wooden beam.  I couldn't budge it.  Couldn't move my arms or my legs.

"There was just one dim light in the shed, but I could see him when I woke up.  He was just sitting there staring at me, hate in his eyes.  Disgust.  So much disgust.  Like I was everything he hated and feared in life, sharing air with him, his own flesh and blood.