Page 23

Micki

Oh God, what a question. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person.” My thumbs are pointing at me as I answer.

“No, I wasn’t. There’s no place I’d rather have been tonight than here with you. Granted without the asshole, but so what.”

I snort and roll my eyes. But Mathéo is unperturbed and grabs my hand.

“I know what I’m doing! Okay, maybe not exactly, but I know what I want. I want you. I’ve struggled with the fact that you’re a man for a long time. I’ve tried to fight how I feel about you for so fucking long, waiting for it to go away. But no chance. Am I shocked by what just happened? Hell yeah. But not for me, for you. And knowing that it’s not even rare makes me so angry. Assholes like that have no idea what they’re missing. You’re perfect, Micki. And even if it took me a while to accept it, you’re perfect for me. And nothing you say will change my mind.”

I don’t know what was in my Bacardi Cola tonight, but tears are welling up in my eyes again. I’ve actually been out of the habit of crying for a long time. It’s too exhausting and doesn’t change anything in the end. But Mathéo’s words hit a nerve that has been stinging for a long time, this subconscious conviction that no one really wants to stay for me. He does.

“Look at me.” My eyes find his, he cups my face with both hands for the second time tonight and, for the second time, he kisses me. This time gently and tenderly, as if he’s savoring every moment. It’s closeness, not passion. Something I’ve never had before, because until now men have always left once the initial passion has faded. But it’s beautiful and it’s something I want to explore further if Mathéo lets me.

He slowly pulls his head back. “Let’s walk?”

“Where to?”

“Home?”

The laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it. I hope he doesn’t think I’m laughing at him. “I’m not making the 45-minute walk home in these shoes. I thought you had experience with girls, you should know that, shouldn’t you?” Mathéo scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. I reach for his other hand, kiss his knuckles and wink at him. Then I call us a cab, his hand firmly in mine.

***

Mathéo is sitting on my bed, and it feels like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself, his fingers restlessly tapping on the mattress.

“Are you okay?”

His head falls onto his chest with a heavy breath. “I have no idea what to do next. I know the rules with girls, but with you... I’ve never touched a man.” His face contorts, and he narrows his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“What do you mean?” I have to swallow. Is Mathéo getting cold feet? Is he backing down? Does he not want me after all?

“I fell in love with you when I thought you were a woman. Everything I imagined in bed was with you as a woman.” He doesn’t want to be intimate with me as a man, he doesn’t want to touch me. But then why did he kiss me? Why did he get my hopes up at all? My heart stings. Mathéo has plunged a knife into my chest and now he’s turning it over.

“It really pulled the rug out from under me when I found out you were a man, everything I had hoped for was suddenly gone. I wanted to forget you, but it didn’t work until I had to admit to myself that I miss you, and that I like you, a lot... no matter what gender. Kissing you is absolute madness in the best way, but getting there was a horrible nightmare in my head. This voice in my head telling me it’s wrong, that loving a man is wrong. But it feels so right. My heart says yes, but my head screams no. My head is wrong and yet I can’t turn it off so easily... I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this...”

I don’t think Mathéo is suffering any less than I am, but he’s fighting. For me, for us.

“I understand.” And I really do, even if he looks at me in disbelief. Mathéo has grown up told that a relationship is a strong male protecting and caring for his helpless female. Feelings are a weakness that cannot be tolerated. The external image must be preserved, even if it destroys you. This way of thinking is so ingrained in him that he can hardly fight it. But he tries.

I slowly approach Mathéo and place my hand on his cheek. Such a small touch, but he immediately leans in although he’s grimacing again a moment later. He wants this, he just can’t let it happen yet. “How long can you stay?”

“Sunday afternoon. Then I have to go back.”

“To Dijon?”

“Yes ...”

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. If I understand you properly, you want to be close to me, but you can’t bare it as soon as your head switches on.”

Mathéo nods dejectedly. “I’ve always taken and gotten what I wanted, who I wanted. I’ve never worried about any feelings. And now I really want something, someone , and my head is trying to take it away from me. But I refuse to have you taken away from me, okay? I just don’t know what to do, or how to go from here.”

“We go together, yeah?” A hesitant nod. “I have a suggestion. We go slowly, very slowly, at your pace. We only do what you feel comfortable with at that moment and if that’s just kissing, then so be it. We have time.”

“I ... You know my past. I don’t know how to be slow. I’ve never had that. I’ve only ever had sex and hookups, but never have been in a ... are we in a relationship?” When I met Mathéo, he was surrounded by an aura of self-confidence and arrogance. His nose was always a little higher and he always looked down from above. Together with his immaculate appearance, he immediately took over every room with his presence. Sitting here now, he is a far cry from the man he was just six months ago. Back then he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, while today none of that applies. Both versions have their appeal, and I’m not willing to give up either.

“Would you like that? Would you like to label us? I’d love to be your boyfriend, but if that’s too much for you, we don’t have to decide now.”

But Mathéo nods vigorously. “Yes, I want to label us. That’s early, though, isn’t it? Do you do this that early? I want us to be together, exclusively, just us. I... I don’t want to share you and for me it’s just you, anyway, it has been for a while.”

I’m so close to Mathéo that our knees are touching, and his head is leaning against my thighs. He can barely look at me. I tap his thighs. “May I?”

Mathéo understands immediately because he straightens up and pulls me towards him by the waist until I’m straddling his lap, then I whisper, “I don’t want to share you either and I want to be close to you.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“What are you...?” His lips are firmly on mine before I can even finish my sentence. The kiss is passionate and hungry. Mathéo’s tongue seeks its way between my lips, demanding, possessive, but also free and playful. As if he needed the security of the label to let himself go a little more. My stomach tingles and I feel a little bit of hope rising. We need time, but we can do it.