“Even when he’s hurting you.”
She’s right. I shake my head. “It’s messed up, isn’t it?”
“I’m not judging you. You can’t help feeling pulled in by him. But I hope you can find that sense of freedom without Logan, too.”
“I’m curious about him. It feels like there’re so many layers, and when I was trying to get to know him better, I couldn’t get past those walls.”
“They’re impossibly high.”
I nod. “It’s probably better if I just focus on myself. Figure out how to feel free for me, like you said, instead of wanting to rely on Logan.”
Her smile is full of compassion. “Probably.”
Julie is staying at her apartment instead of the hotel, but she takes the thirty-minute walk with me to the Winchester, chatting about nothing—favorite recent films and actors’ performances, recent favorite games （she loves Stardew Valley, too）。 We say goodbye with a hug in front of the lobby.
“Thank you for listening,” I tell her. “I haven’t had anyone else to talk to about this.”
“You’re welcome, Mattie,” she says. “Anytime. Seriously, okay?”
It’s only when I’m upstairs in my room that I pull out my phone and see that I have a text from Gray. Sorry. I needed some time to myself. I shouldn’t have kicked you out.
I hesitate, then type. It’s okay. You needed space. I wish he would open up and tell me why, but I already have a feeling that he won’t. I remember how he turned away from me while we were in bed. His entire body had begun to shiver. He’d scared me, and I reached for him as he pulled away.
I type again. Do you want to come over? We don’t have to do anything. If you need to be with someone, I’m here.
He doesn’t answer, so I start to get ready for an early night in. I order some in-room dining and watch a film. I’ve always enjoyed watching movies and dissecting actors and studying them. I’m not sure I’ll ever be as talented as most of the actors I see on screens. It’s just as I’m finishing up dinner that I see Logan had sent a text almost twenty minutes ago.
Okay. I’ll come over. As the phone is in my hand, it buzzes again. I’m here.
There’s a knock on the door. I open it. He won’t meet my gaze as he stands in the threshold. He’s showered, his hair still damp, and he put on a fresh black t-shirt and black jeans. His eyes are red. I can’t tell if he’s high or if it’s because he was crying or if it’s just allergies. I step aside, and he walks in. He stands in the middle of the room, like he isn’t sure where he wants to go or what he wants to do.
“You can sit on the bed, if you want,” I tell him.
His gaze snaps to me. He almost seems defensive. “You said you didn’t want to do anything.”
I frown. “I don’t. And it’s okay if you don’t want to, either. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Gray. Ever.”
This takes his defenses down a little more. He sits on the edge of the bed. Maybe I was right. Having sex yesterday was a bad idea.
I sit down beside him, careful not to touch him. “What’s going on?” I ask him. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but—damn, Gray. I’m worried about you.”
He swallows and sits straighter. He still can’t look at me. “I think—uh, I don’t know. Having sex with you fucked me up a little.”
Did I hurt him? I always try to be careful about consent. Some of the guys I’ve had sex with have been annoyed with me, asking for permission every three seconds, but I’m more attracted to communication in bed. Making sure we’re still on the same page together, still wanting to be touched in the same way. I don’t like to assume consent can’t and won’t change from one minute to the next. But maybe I messed up. I could’ve gotten too caught up in the moment without realizing that Gray wanted to stop.
“Did I…I didn’t force you to do something, did I?”
“No,” he says. “No, nothing like that. It was—I don’t know, different from the sort of sex I usually have, and it triggered me, I guess, bringing back different memories. Usually the feelings go away and I can go to bed and wake up and I’ll be fine, but this time I started to get scared I would hurt myself. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
My heart clenches at the thought of him hurting himself. “I’m really glad you came over.” I don’t realize I’ve reached for his hand until I’m gripping it. He looks down at our hands for a moment, before he pushes mine away and stands up. He looks anxious, walking to the balcony and walking back again.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can just watch a movie. I finished dinner, but I can order you something.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I want to talk. I haven’t told anyone before, and you—this is so fucked up, but you’re so innocent. Golden boy, right?”
Golden boy? I’m having a hard time following him.
“It’s like I want to punish myself even more by telling you. No one else. To see how disgusted you are.” He looks like he’s either about to laugh or cry. I want to take his hand again, suggest that he sit down, but he walks out of reach. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll be kind enough to accept me anyway. Seems like you’ve been kind enough to accept everything else about me, right?”
I don’t know what to say. I hesitate. “I accept,” I say, slowly, “that you’re struggling, and hurting, and because of that you’re hurting other people, too. Purposefully, sometimes, because you’re scared.” I want him to tell me this secret of his, but I don’t want to rush him and scare him off. “What’s going on, Logan?”
I wait quietly as he keeps pacing, until finally he stops and sits on the edge of the bed again, farther away from me. “When I was seven, my dad was trying to get me a role on that movie. Won my first Oscar for it. My dad was struggling. The production company was going under. He needed to use me, I think. Use my success to bring back some attention to our family name. It ended up working for him. But he needed me to get that role, first, and there was this producer.”
I think I know where this is going. My heart sinks so fast I feel sick.
“It’s fucked up, right? It was only one or two times with that guy. I can’t even remember what happened, exactly. I don’t even know who he is. Just flashes. It was so long ago. How can it fuck me up so much, if I can’t even remember? That first guy was probably the one who fucked me up the most. After that, there were actors or producers at industry parties. I knew what to expect, so it wasn’t as hard to stomach over the years. I don’t know. Maybe I’m lying to myself. People knew what was going on. They knew what would happen if I went into a bedroom alone with someone. No one batted an eye. That shit happens all the time. I don’t know why it fucked me up as much as it did. Everyone else got over it fine, right?”
I feel so sick that I think I’m going to cry. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to make this about me right now. I want to support Gray. I don’t know if I can. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him. That’s all I can manage. “I’m so, so sorry that happened to you.”