Stars in Your Eyes(89)

He nudges me with his arm. “You okay?”

I don’t like seeing the worry in his eyes—the worry that I won’t communicate, maybe. I take a breath. “Yes. I’m okay. I’m just—nervous, I guess.”

“Nervous? Why?”

We pause and face each other. It’s a quiet path, no one else around, breeze rustling through the trees. I swallow and force myself to say the words. “I’ve been thinking a lot, recently,” I say. “I—”

He’s waiting, hope fluttering across his expression.

“I really want to try again.”

Matt pauses. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes. If that’s something you want, too.”

“It is,” he says. I don’t think either of us mean to step closer to each other. It’s more like gravity has us leaning in. “I’ve been waiting to ask you the same thing.” His voice lowers. “I wanted to make sure we weren’t moving too quickly.”

“I know. I’ve appreciated that.” I’m whispering, too. He’s biting his lip, maybe too afraid to ask for what I’m pretty sure we both want. He’d always been the one to ask for consent for every little touch. I can do the same, too. “Is it all right if I kiss you?”

A small smile—he nods.

We meet in the middle. It’s been years since I kissed Matt. The kiss feels so familiar, so nostalgic, so much like home that I might start to cry. The kiss feels like all the comfort he’d shown me, the love when I needed it most, the joy I’d allowed myself to feel with him, the peace I learned I deserve. And it reminds me, too, of how much I fucked up and lost it all.

I pull back. I would’ve hated that I’m crying, once. Matt touches my hand with a finger. “You okay?” he asks, but when I look up, I see his eyes are wet, too.

I nod. “Yeah.” I take his hand, and we both slide our arms around each other, holding our bodies close. We hug like that for maybe a minute, maybe ten. Just holding each other and breathing.

He pulls away first, kissing my cheek. “I don’t know how slow or fast you want to go with—with the physical…”

I’m not sure either. This would be my first time having sex in a few years. I’d had random hookups at the facility, at first, before Amy convinced me that sex with strangers was a part of my trauma response. The break from sex was necessary for me to heal. I’m nervous, ending my celibacy. I don’t know how I’ll react. This is uncharted territory. But maybe it’s okay, to figure it out together.

“Do you want to come over?” I ask him.

His eyes are hooded. “Are you sure?”

I squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”

*



We hold hands and sit quietly on the subway. We have a couple of double glances—people who might recognize Mattie, people who might remember me—and I worry that a photo will be snapped, Matt pulled into a firestorm again. But he doesn’t seem to care. He rubs a thumb over my knuckles. That would’ve scared the shit out of me once, but I intertwine our fingers now.

When we get to my apartment, Matt hovers uncomfortably by the bedroom door as I pick up clumps of dirty clothes and toss them into the hamper. I’ve never returned to the states of mess I had when I was trapped in my depression—but I’ve also discovered that I’m just a messy guy, and that’s fine.

I turn to Mattie and take a deep breath. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what might trigger a trauma response. But I trust I know how to help myself when I am triggered. That if I say I need to pause and breathe, Matt will listen to me. He’s safe. I can trust that.

“What would you like to do?” he asks uncertainly.

My voice shakes. “Maybe—maybe just kiss a little?”

He steps forward, gaze on my face. This is familiar, too. This take-charge attitude that I always loved. He’s waiting for me, I realize, so I lean down to kiss him. It starts as slow and tender as we’d kissed in the park, before the energy shifts. Longing, maybe? Desperation. We’re pressing against each other. I guide Mattie to the bed and we tip over, Mattie on top. Our hands roam and grab, tugging at each other’s clothes. It’s always been easy to let go, let my body take over, just focus on making the other person I’m with feel good— We could have sex. I could keep going, the way things are, without thinking about it. Mattie could ask for consent, and I could nod and insist that this is what I want, and after we have sex we could cuddle, and I could say that I’m all right even when I feel anxiety stringing through me.

“Hey,” he whispers, staring down at me. “You okay?”

I don’t know. I take a shuddering breath. I’ve had more time to practice being in my body—figuring out what feels good. Feels safe. But now, I’m realizing I’m not in my body. I don’t know if this feels good. I don’t know, honestly, if this is consent.

Mattie sits back, watching me closely. “Do you want to stop?”

I would’ve asked to keep going, once. “Yeah. I do.”

He’s nodding. “Okay.” He hesitates. “Should I leave?”

I take a deep breath. Having sex with Mattie right now wouldn’t feel good. But lying here with him—kissing him, touching him, holding him. That’s what I want, more than anything.