Page 97 of Darling
“He is. Which is my fault: avoiding him, lying to him, hiding things from him. I hide a lot of things… even from those I care about.” I give Asher a meaningful look. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the job offer.”
“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “Why would you tell me? It’s not really any of my business, I’m just some guy you fuck when you’re stressed or whatever. I’m not important.”
“Asher, of course you’re important. You must know that.”
“I don’t!” he yells, startling me. “I don’t know what the fuck I am to you, honestly, I don’t.”
“Then that’s my fault, too. For not treating you better.”
He looks at me, frustrated. “It’s not even that because you do,you treat me better than anyone ever has. Fuck, Christian, when we’re together… it’s like… magic. The way you make me feel, the way you look at me, touch me, talk to me.” He looks down and fiddles with a thread on the blanket. “Like I’m precious and wanted and so fucking special. Like I’mimportant.” This word is critical to him, I can tell. This notion of being important to someone. He needs this. “But then I’m reminded every now and then that I’m not, that this is just temporary for you and that it can’t ever be anything real, and you treat me the way you do because that’s who you are: a decent person who treats people with respect, not because you lo—not because I’m important to your life or your future or anything. And like, it’s fine, I knew that early on… You never lied to me about that, so I can’t even be mad about it. But now you’re going to run a country, and I’m just some little gay boy from Ohio who paints and who didn’t have a fucking passport until last week, and so yeah, I guess that’s that then. It was just really good… with you, and it was hardnotto get carried away when we were together, but like, that’s on me, not you. So, fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying. This whole thing has been a mindfuck, honestly.” I get off the chair and go to him, sitting close to him on the couch. He turns his head, a hesitant look in his eye as he looks at me.
“Asher, listen to me, you’re one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever met. You’re the very definition ofspecial. To me, to your friends, to anyone who’s lucky enough to know you. Good heavens, Doreen out there thinks you’re made of pure sunshine, and I happen to agree—Jacob Fordyce was charmed by the way, Felix, too.” His nostrils flare a little at the mention of Felix, which only makes me smile. “You live your life with all of your heart and soul and a self-assurance that I’m completely envious of. The moment I set eyes on you in that bookshop, I knew you were going to change my life.” I reach out to smooth a hand over his cheek, delighting when he leans into it. “Andyou have. You’ve made itimmeasurablybetter. You’ve made me smile and laugh, more than I have in years, more than I thought I would be able to again. These last few months with you… I’ve been happy.”
He turns on me then, eyes hard again. “This is what I’m talking about. How can you say shit like that and not expect me to fall for you? No one talks like this, not to me anyway, no one ever has. It’s this sort of shit that messes with my head, Christian, that makes me think about and want stuff I can’t have, because why wouldn’t I want this? I know you don’t mean it, and you’ve been honest with me from the start, it’s just… fuck, it’s hard.”
My heart breaks at the pain in his voice, at the idea that I’m hurting him in any way. I never want to hurt him. But being with me is hurting him. He deserves better than this half- thing I’ve been offering while I avoid dealing with my life. He deserves to be cherished and loved, fully and completely.
“The last thing I wanted was to hurt you,” I say miserably. For a very long time, he picks at the same thread on his blanket while I watch, feeling suffocated with ineptitude.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says. “I just… I can’t.”
When he lifts his head, his cerulean gaze is shimmering with tears and a look of fierce determination. “I love you.”
My heart gives an almighty judder, like a great ship moving out into the sea. And it doesn’t sink… it floats.
Thirty one
Asher
He looks fucking horrified. He looks like someone’s just told him his dog died, or his wife. Yeah, this is probably what he looked like when they told him his wife would never wake up again. I feel sick with guilt. But I don’t want to take it back
“Asher…” he says, and that, too, sounds like a fucking apology.
Amata told me not to tell him, said it would only make me feel more like shit if he didn’t say it back, and well, she was right. She usually is, to be fair. But I knew he wasn’t going to say it back. It was never about hearing it back; I wanted it out of me. It was eating me up, projecting shit onto my imagination every time we were together, and if this is as far as we go, which it looks like it is, then he can take it with him. I don’t want it anymore.
“Sucks to be me, huh?” And it does. More than it ever has. More than being alone in the world with nothing and no one. Being in love with Christian Darling, next Prime Minister to the UK, sucks far, far worse. I move to stand because I can’t sit here seeing all these weird looks cross his face as thoughts about how best to extricate himself from this flit through his head. I pour myself a glass of water—my mouth has completely dried up andI’m extremely hungover, too, which just makes everything that much worse—and drink the entire thing. He’s still sitting in the same place, staring at the spot I’d been sat in a minute ago.
“How long?” he says, finally turning to look at me.
I frown. “How long what?”
“How long have you felt this way?”
I’m not sure what difference it makes, but he seems to be very interested in the answer. Eyes narrowed to sharp, focussed points. “Not sure. But definitely since Jersey City.”
“Christ,” he says and stands.
I snort at that. “He’s never helped me out much before, so I wouldn’t count on him showing up for this.” Christian ignores my joke and wanders over to the balcony, deep in thought. I wonder if this is what he’s like in important political meetings, when he’s just been presented with a tricky world problem he needs to solve. He turns and gives me a considering look.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Um, because what would that have done? I knew you’d react like you’re doing right now.” He’d have ended it there and then, and I hadn’t wanted it to end. “You told me from the start that this thing between us was never gonna be about that, and I was fine with it. I mean, until I wasn’t.” There’s an almost accusatory look on his face now, which makes me defensive. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I wish it hadn’t.”
Actually, I don’t wish that at all, and ain’t that just the kicker.
“What is it that you want, Asher?” he asks, turning on me. “We’ve never discussed it, and I didn’t know you were unhappy with this arrangement, with what we had, with what I could give you. If I’d known that—”
“You’d have done what, exactly? Quit your job and run off into the sunset with me?” I laugh at this, but there’s nothing funny about it. “Your life would be ruined if people knew who Iwas to you. And that’s in this job now, which you keep telling me isn’t even that big of a deal. Now you’re going back to England to run the fucking country—and I’m happy for you, I am—but it means this is over, right? There’s no point in kidding ourselves. And, like, maybe you didn’t want it to be over, and that’s why you never told me, but I can’t live my life seeing the guy I love once a week or once a month in fucking secret. There’s no scenario that exists where we both get what we want. None.” My heart feels like it’s breaking in my chest, and I’ve no fucking clue how I’m holding it together.