~ 19 September ~

The door to my apartment slams shut with a deafening noise, and I’m left alone.

Alone.

In shock.

He left.

It takes my body a moment to remember it needs oxygen, and I suck in a breath. Painfully.

Panic claws up my throat, making another inhale almost impossible.

I can’t.

My mind is blank. I can’t comprehend. I can’t even think.

He left. He’s gone.

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t…

~ 31 December (9 months ago) ~

Rafa’s loft is packed with people, most of them standing around in groups chatting animatedly. Some are still dancing, and I spot Rafa and Elodie in the centre of the shifting bodies. They look radiant together. The DJ is playing some pop song with Latin rhythms, and Rafa twirls Elodie around like they’re in a dancing competition. Her honey-blonde curls fly as Rafa spins her out and pulls her back in. They laugh when they nearly collide, and he presses his forehead to hers for half a second before letting her go again, both of them practically glowing. When the chorus hits one last time, Rafa catches her around the waist and pulls her close, forehead to forehead again, swaying in a tiny side-to-side rock. They’re completely lost in each other, the outside world all but forgotten.

I’m genuinely happy for them. Rafa has become my best friend, and Elodie is the sweetest girl. They’re such opposites in so many ways that you’d never think they’d even match, but they just complete each other. I watch them for a while. They’re so into each other, completely in their own world, as if nothing and no one else exists outside their bubble. The DJ eases into a slower song, and a smoky voice, smooth as velvet, drifts through the room over lazy piano notes. Rafa pulls Elodie closer, one hand settling at her waist as they begin to sway together, slow and easy. Just perfect for each other. Rafa leans in and murmurs something into Elodie’s ear. For a second she just stares at him, eyes wide, before breaking into the brightest smile I’ve seen all night. It almost feels like I’m intruding on a very intimate moment, so I turn away to find something else to occupy me.

There’s literally no one here – except Rafa and Elodie – that I know. Which is good and bad. Good because I’m always a bit nervous about running into one of my former clients. Although Rafa said if that ever happened at one of his parties, he’d happily “boot the fucker” (I quote) to the kerb. And I believe him. Bad because it makes me feel a little out of place. Like I don’t belong. Everyone is apparently having the best time of their lives. And then there’s me. An outsider looking in.

I wander around the loft, meandering between the partying crowds. I’m actually so ready to head home, go back to my own walls, my cat Bruno and my own rooftop terrace. But the big downside of a New Year’s Eve party is that you’re kind of expected to stay until after midnight. A look at the large wall clock above the stylish but dark fireplace tells me it’s actually only after nine. Still three hours to go until I can quietly sneak away. I sigh and stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

Maybe I should get something to eat. Mari’s food is always amazing, and it’ll kill some time. The food is spread out in the kitchen: bowls and plates and baskets full of culinary treats, sweet and savoury, all neatly labelled. Little plant leaves indicate vegetarian and vegan dishes, while little pigs, cows, and chickens mark the different meat options. Shellfish and nut symbols warn people with allergies about other ingredients. Mari is nothing if not thorough. I grab an empty plate from a pile, add a few slices of ciabatta and veggie sticks and check out the different spreads and dips.

Before I can get far, I notice another person at the other end of the counter. I look up, and the view almost makes me want to laugh. Of course, it’s him again. The guy in the Luke Cage t-shirt. Despite the spacious loft and the number of people here, avoiding one particular person seems impossible. I don’t think he has seen me yet. He is bent down over a dish for a closer look, chestnut curls falling into his eyes before he pushes the offending strands back impatiently. The overhead lights pick out the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. After a moment he fishes a pair of glasses from his pocket – clearly intending to read the ingredient list of the guacamole in front of him.

“Does it say if this was made with avocados at law?” I can’t help but ask with a little smirk.

The guy’s head shoots up, his glasses almost tipping off his nose and into the dip he was investigating. I curse myself for startling him – again. Fuck! Only because you’re a walking, talking geek-o-pedia, Dupree, doesn’t mean everyone else is! Even if they’re wearing a Luke Cage t-shirt.

“Shit, sorry. Forget I said anything.” I murmur, resolving myself to a lonely dinner of ciabatta, raw vegetables and not much else, when I hear the guy’s voice again.

“Wait… was that… did you just make a Daredevil reference?” His head is tilted to one side, grey eyes squinting at me from behind his glasses. His brows are knit so tight together they look like a monobrow.

“Sure was.” I grin at him, relieved he got the joke. “Murdock and Nelson, avocados at law.”

“Huh…” He looks at me quizzically as if trying to figure me out. His eyes wander slowly between me and the bowl. “Um, it doesn’t say anything about avocados at law.” He adds with a wave towards the small label next to the bowl.

I giggle in response. “I didn’t think so. I’m sure it’s against Mari’s culinary code or something.” I joke. He looks confused again, so I explain. “Mari, my friend, made all the food here. She’s Rafa’s cousin.”

He nods slowly, but I get the feeling he still has no clue who I’m talking about, and I wonder how he got invited if he doesn’t know who Rafa is. Maybe he’s a friend of Elodie’s.

I put down my plate and offer him my hand: “I’m Wendell, by the way. Rafa is a friend of mine.”

He still looks a bit hesitant, and I don’t blame him. I’m the self-absorbed asshole who made him spill all his nachos on himself and then posed for an awkward mirror selfie in the bathroom like some kind of social media diva.

“Freddie. Nice to meet you.” He accepts my handshake. “I recently started working with Elodie. She invited me.” He sounds like he needs to justify why he’s here. “I actually don’t really know anyone else.” He ducks his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I grin. “Me neither. Only Rafa and Elodie, but they were having a couple-y moment just there.” I gesture vaguely in the direction of the dance floor. He deflates a little, and I wonder if he maybe wasn’t aware that Elodie has a boyfriend.

“So, um, Luke Cage is your favourite?” I ask, pointing at his chest.

He pulls the hem down a bit and looks at his own t-shirt as if he can’t remember what – or who – was on it. “Oh yeah, he’s… um… cool.” Then he huffs, and his shoulders slump. “Actually, I had no idea what to wear to this party, and Elodie said I could wear whatever, so here I am – winging it in style.” He throws his arms wide and I chuckle.

“I think it looks great.” Admittedly, everyone at this party is dressed in what Rafa calls ‘smart casual’ attire, but I don’t want Freddie to feel bad about his wardrobe choice. His eyes widen with surprise.

“Thanks…” he says, sounding pleased. There’s a bit of an awkward pause between us, then Freddie starts piling up more food on his plate, and I do the same. I find a green salsa that looks tempting and drizzle some onto my veggie sticks. Freddie watches me, then mirrors me, adding a spoonful to his own plate.

“So, are you a Daredevil fan?” Freddie asks me.

“Oh yeah, he’s definitely one of my favourites. I love that he’s so fearless and still so… normal, I guess? Human? Okay, he does have super hearing, but that’s like his only superpower. He’s still vulnerable and gets injured, and he makes mistakes, but he still keeps going. He tries to do what is right, you know? Even if he sometimes gets it wrong.”

I haven’t gushed over one of my superheroes so much since high school, and I feel a bit embarrassed about my verbal diarrhoea, but Freddie nods seriously.

“Yeah, I also love that he isn’t a fighter. I mean, yeah, he fights a lot; of course, he does. His dad was a boxer; fighting is kind of in his blood. But he also listens to people’s heartbeats and knows when they’re lying. That’s awesome. I wish I could read people like that.”

It’s my turn to nod. “So true. It’s such a cool superpower to have. Not super strength or being able to fly or being invincible, but being able to see what others feel, whether they’re angry or afraid or happy or sad. That’s just the best. Daredevil is just… amazing.”

“Oh, for sure. Matt Murdock is badass.” Freddie agrees with me, balancing a slice of pizza on top of the pile of meatballs and chicken wings on his plate. I follow his example, making sure to pick a slice from the vegan tray.

“Matt sure is. But looks-wise, I wave a hand in the direction of his shirt. “This really does it for me.”

Freddie stares at me, his eyes going wide. Shit. Did that just sound like I’m attracted to Luke Cage? I mean… yeah… kind of…? If Luke Cage weren’t fictitious and I didn’t have a real-life boyfriend? Luke Cage was definitely one of my teen crushes. He has that whole gentle-giant thing going on, all broad shoulders and sexy muscles. The kind of man who used his fists to protect people instead of terrorise them. I can see now why teen me thought that was super hot. But did I just out myself as gay?

Not that I mind. I’m not ashamed of who I am. Never was. I just usually don’t advertise it. Growing up, there was no point in making a big show of it. It was simply part of me – no different from my dark brown eyes or my black hair. But it was also no one else’s business. Once Remy and I got together, it felt like everyone who needed to know found out about it. And those who didn’t just didn’t count. My dad would disagree with that, but frankly, he lost the right to have an opinion about me a long time ago. Since ‘re-entering’ society, ever since I turned my back on living on the streets, I sometimes struggle with the ‘norm’ of everyday living. Is it acceptable to announce your sexual preferences to a virtual stranger at a party?

Well, too late now. If Freddie has a problem with it, I’ll just take my plate of food and find a quiet corner to wait out midnight.

Freddie coughs violently, and his face turns a deep shade of purple. Apparently that green salsa wasn’t as innocent as it looked. I eye him a little concerned as he grabs a cold drink from the fridge and downs about half the bottle in one go. Jay-zuhs, I hope he’s alright. Before Rafa’s kitchen can turn into a crime scene, I grab my plate and start to make my way out of the kitchen. I mumble an apology when I hear Freddie call after me.

“Wait… Wendell?” When I face him again, his skin colour is almost back to his normal state. At least the salsa didn’t murder him. “I think I’ll… erm… try and find some place to eat, and… well… I was wondering… well… we could talk a bit more? About Daredevil and… stuff? Maybe?”

He looks at me hopefully, and I grin, relieved that he seems okay. Talking about superheroes actually sounds fun, and it’ll make the time go by faster.

~ 19 September ~

My gaze flits around the room. Takes everything in. Bruno sitting on the couch, looking as confused as I am. Our coffee mugs and plates still unwashed from breakfast earlier. My unmade bed. Rashid’s bag beside the door. Something isn’t right with that picture. It should tell me something. I’m still gasping for air like a fish on dry land. Breathe, Dupree, breathe. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. Fuck, this isn’t working. When did it ever help steady me? Not the last time he walked out on me. It’s not helping now. It burns. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Am I having a heart attack right now?

His bag. His bag is next to the door. He left his bag. He… can’t… leave… without his bag. All his things. He took his bag last time. Packed all his things and left. Left me. Now my eyes dart around the room. My kitchen counter. His phone. His phone. My coffee table. His wallet. His passport poking out. He didn’t leave. Everything’s still here. He wouldn’t leave without his phone. He can’t get far without his wallet and passport. It takes my panicked brain an embarrassingly long time to puzzle the pieces together. He’ll be back. Even if it’s only to get his things. But he’ll be back. He was so mad. Oh my gawd, so mad.

I told him about Freddie. I know I should have told him sooner. Every day I waited, it felt like I was making it into something bigger than it was. I’ve always known that Rashid would probably not appreciate his boyfriend making out with another guy at a party – and I can’t even claim being drunk as an excuse; he knows I don’t drink – but I thought, I hoped, we could talk about it, that he’d let me explain. Instead, he stormed off. He didn’t say a thing. He listened, jaws clenched, and then just got up and walked out. Well, it’s not like I gave him a chance to explain just a few days ago before turning into the green-eyed monster of jealousy. Why would he?

My breathing is coming a little more easily now; it’s still a bit shallow. I decide to join Bruno on the couch. Eyes trained on Rashid’s phone. He’s coming back. He won’t leave his phone behind. I’ll have a chance to explain; I’ll get on my knees and beg if that’s what it takes. Bruno pads over to me and gives me one long look, head slightly tilted.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmur. “Your human is a fucking disaster on two legs.”

He tentatively puts one of his paws on my leg and meows.

“Yeah, no one else to blame here. Brought this on myself.”

It was maybe a stupid idea to tell Rashid today. We still feel raw after our fight. Wounds still open after the things we hurled at each other. Well, mostly me doing the hurling. Our relationship feels so fragile since then. Like we’re both walking around on eggshells, afraid to do or say anything wrong and upset the other. Upset the precarious balance between us. But I thought if we’re doing this, giving us a second chance, it shouldn’t be based on a lie. We should start over with a clean slate.

Bruno puts a second paw on my leg and then pushes himself onto my lap. I stroke his soft fur absent-mindedly.

“He’ll be back, Bruno; he’ll be back.”

Trying to convince myself as much as my cat. Jay-zuhs, listen to me. Convince my cat that my boyfriend will be back. Bruno bops my chin when my hand stills in his fur.

“Alright, alright.” I tell him and run my fingers through his coat once again. I bury my face in my free hand, and Bruno starts licking my cheeks. It’s only then I realise I started crying.

~ 31 December (9 months ago) ~

Freddie and I find a couch near the back of Rafa’s loft to sit down and eat. The food is so good; I’m literally moaning while chewing on my slice of pizza. Mari really has outdone herself, and I forgive her for abandoning me tonight for her new guy. My new friend and I also quickly dive into an in-depth discussion of Daredevil’s hallway fight scenes. My all-time favourite is the one from Season 1. It’s such a classic and so cool! Freddie’s favourite is the one from Season 3 because technically it’s Matt Murdock fighting, not Daredevil, without a suit or mask. We agree that Charlie Cox looks absolutely edible with or without a suit. I think Freddie might actually be batting for my team.

Freddie mentions that the kids in kindergarten love that their preschool teacher is as much into superheroes as they are and that he always reads the comics with them instead of classic fairy tales. I approve, of course. A proper geekucation is so important.

The stories he tells about the group of 4-year-olds that he teaches at Little Oaks Preschool are hilarious and have me laughing out loud. The other day he had to negotiate between two kids who wanted to use the same green crayon at the same time, and none of them would budge.

“I don’t even know how many crayons we have. They could have easily just picked a different colour and then come back for the green one after the other kid was done, but noooo…” He drags the word out, which makes me giggle. “They just had to have the exact same one at the exact same time.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Kids sometimes have the strangest ideas. For the longest time my niece Sophia was dead set on marrying me, no matter how many times we explained to her that I’m her uncle and she couldn’t marry me. I was her ideal husband, and no one would ever come close to me.”

I roll my eyes in an over-exaggerated manner, and Freddie smiles at me but looks down at his bottle when I glance at him. He fiddles with the label of his bottle. There’s a brief moment of silence between us, and then he chuckles.

“Kids are also brutally honest. I kind of love that about them. No dancing around on eggshells, no false pretences. They just straight out say what’s on their mind. Like the other week, Kenny looked at me during snack time for several minutes, unblinkingly, and when I asked if I could help him with something, he tilted his little head, scrunched up his face and said, ‘You look tired today, Mr Freddie.’ I asked why, and he replied: ‘You look kind of… wrinkly.’ And then he stabbed his fingers in my face.”

Freddie laughs and pokes the corners of his eyes in demonstration. I lean a little closer to get a better look in the dim light.

“Mhmm, my eyesight must be going. Everything looks just fine to me.” I assure him, and he smiles again.

Freddie tells me he’s from some small town in Illinois I’ve never heard of and then got a bachelor’s degree in early childhood education before moving to New Orleans to work at Little Oaks. I realise he’s probably even younger than me, and yet he feels so much more accomplished. College degree, moved across the country, started a new job and a new life. And here I am. Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful for what I have, I really am. A steady job, my own place. I’m one of the lucky ones who got out. Maybe I’m just a selfish prick, but sometimes I catch myself thinking, ‘I’m only 23 – is this really it? Am I stuck here for the rest of my life?’ Foolish, I know.

To cover the awkward moment, I get up to grab us another round of drinks from the fridge. I find one of the Hawaiian fruit punches that Freddie seems to like and a Diet Coke for myself. Another look at the wall clock tells me it’s only twenty minutes until midnight. Time really went by quickly. When I return with our drinks, Freddie suggests that we go up to the rooftop to watch the fireworks. I’m not a big fan of fireworks, to be honest. They’re nice to look at, but when it comes to the noises, I’m with Bruno and want to hide under the couch. But I don’t want to appear like a wuss, so I follow Freddie upstairs.

We’re not the only ones. The roof is filling up with other party guests anticipating the spectacle to ring in the New Year. Freddie hops up onto one of the metal utility boxes and pats the space beside him. It’s a cosy fit for the two of us, but we make it work. I let my gaze wander across the Marigny and down to the dark ribbon of the Mississippi. A deep exhale escapes me. Maybe it’s a bit boring, but New Orleans is my home, and it’ll always be part of me. The tattoo on my wrist reminds me of that every day. A few early sparks crackle somewhere down by the river, red and gold bursts mirrored in the dark, smooth water. The bangs make me flinch, but I force myself to stay calm. Then something warm lands on my knee. I look down. It’s Freddie’s hand. I freeze.

~ 19 September ~

I don’t notice how much time has passed until the door to my apartment opens. So he left everything but grabbed the keys?

I try to read his facial expression; he still looks tense but maybe slightly calmer than before. That is until his gaze falls on me. Apparently I look exactly how I feel. Which is close to losing it. Again. Rashid’s eyes widen, and he looks around for a moment. I pathetically hiccup, and my breathing suspiciously sounds like a sob. Rashid crosses the distance between us in one stride, squats down in front of me and takes my hands.

“Jaanu, what is it?” His voice sounds worried. “What happened?”

“You…” is all I can get out.

“Me?” He’s confused. “What about me?”

“You… left…” I manage to finish the sentence without another sniffle.

“I… did what? I only went…” He takes another look at me. “Oh my gosh, you didn’t. Oh no, no, no… you didn’t think…”

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m such an arsehole. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He murmurs apology after apology in my hair. “I just had to get out for a moment. Just to get some fresh air. I didn’t leave you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I’m now full-on sobbing into his shoulder. “You were so mad, I thought…”

“Oh, jaanu, I wasn’t mad at you. Never.” He pulls me in tight while continuing to whisper apologies. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because of what happened with Freddie. Because I should have never let it get that far. And I know I should have told you sooner. I wanted to tell you. I didn’t want this to be between us. But I also didn’t want you to think you can’t trust me. I didn’t want you to be mad at me. And then I was jealous, and you were so understanding. Gawd, Rashid, I’m such an ass, and I’m so sorry.”

The words just tumble out of my mouth between more pathetic sobs and hiccups, and I know I’m just rambling nonsense at this point, but there is no stopping me. Rashid’s eyes are on me, searching my face. His hands cup my jaw, and his thumbs slide down my cheeks before he uses the most efficient way to shut me up and seals my lips with his. I’m too stunned to react; I just let him kiss me and hold me in his arms.

He sits beside me on my couch, one hand rubbing up and down my back, pressing kisses against my hair and my temple until my breathing comes a little easier. I know I’m still being an ass. I know he hates seeing me upset, and no matter how much I hurt him, he’ll always comfort me first. It’s not fair; I shouldn’t accept it. I don’t deserve it, but I can’t stop myself. I’m such a mess.

Once I’ve calmed down a little, Rashid lets go of me and sits a little more upright, clearly steeling himself.

“Tell me what happened. All of it.”

I nod, but it takes a few more steadying breaths before I can go on.

“So, we were on the rooftop, on that box. The fireworks started, and he just put his hand here. Like this.” I hesitate but then demonstrate the move with my hand on Rashid’s knee, and I can feel his whole body tensing like a bow. I close my eyes and inhale before moving my hand a little further up until it rests mid-thigh. I can see the muscles in Rashid’s jaw clench, but he doesn’t say a word. Just nods tersely in my direction to go on.

“I know I should have told him to take his hand away, that I don’t want this, but I just couldn’t.”

I wish I could tell Rashid why. Why I couldn’t move. Why I couldn’t say anything. Why I just froze and let it happen. Like I did all these other times before. I was 16 when Quinn, my first client, touched me. I didn’t want it, but I was afraid of what would happen if I said no. He might have hit me. He might have forced me anyway. And he might not have paid me. I needed the money, desperately. I was starving. So I made myself keep still. Allow him to do whatever he wanted to do with my body. It hurt. I was so ashamed. But he gave me some money. I survived. It got better with time. I pretended I liked it. That earned me more money. Which meant I didn’t have to do it as often. But I still couldn’t be picky if I wanted to eat. No matter what they wanted, no matter what they looked like, smelt like, felt like, what they did to me, I had to make myself compliant.

So when Freddie touched me? I froze. I was back there. I couldn’t say no. And the worst part was? All the voices in my head screaming at me: ‘No! No! No! Tell him no! Make him stop!’ and that one deadly calm voice between them telling me, ‘You’re still a whore. You’ll always be a whore. Bend over for every dick that tells you to. Just hold still and be quiet.’

But how can I explain this to Rashid? I know he accepts my past, but what if my past is still my present? What if I’m never able to refuse? He deserves better than this.

“I didn’t know how to say no.” It’s not the whole truth. Not even close.

“Go on.” Rashid doesn’t sound angry, but his body is still rigid.

I look down at my hand where it still rests on Rashid’s thigh.

“Then he leaned in to kiss me…” I’ll never forget the way Freddie’s eyes were big and bright, the bursts of light from the riverside dancing across his glasses. I didn’t move – I couldn’t move – and just let him get closer and closer until I could smell the fruity punch on his breath. The voices in my head yelling at me, ‘No!’ and ‘Whore!’ until one thought broke through the mayhem.

“Before he could, I said the only thing that I could think of.” Rashid’s face turns toward me, his eyes on my hand on his thigh first, then looking up to my face. “I said your name.”

It stopped Freddie’s movement, and I remember his eyes flying open to look at me, wide and shocked.

“What?” he asked, sounding a little dazed, and I clung to my lifeline: “Rashid.”

“Who’s Rashid?” Freddie backed away, his face suspicious and confused.

This is when my voice returned: “He’s my boyfriend. I love him.” The latter part was maybe unnecessary to add, but in that moment I needed to remind myself as much as make it clear to Freddie. His face twisted into a grimace of disgust.

“You have a boyfriend? Fucking asshole! Why didn’t you say so? You led me on all night with your flirting. What the fuck is wrong with you?” And he stormed off, leaving me alone in the crowd of cheerful people, toasting to a happy new year, couples kissing and fireworks going off in the background, every loud noise making me flinch. Did I lead him on? Did I flirt with him? I didn’t mean to. I was just being friendly. I thought.

This is how Elodie found me some time later. Everyone else had left the roof at that point. I was all alone. I was stiff and cold and still trying to make sense of what happened. I can’t remember what she said to me, just that her voice was so sweet. She squeezed my shoulder and asked if I needed a lift home. She knows I don’t like to walk in the dark, and there were no cabs. Rafa was busy with something else, so Elodie drove me in her light blue Mini Cooper. She filled the silence in the car with some chatter that I didn’t pay any attention to. When we reached my apartment building, she kissed my cheek and wished me a ‘bonne année’. I couldn’t imagine a worse start into a new year.

Rashid remains silent, eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly, clenching. Then he says. “Did he ask your permission?”

“What?” I’m baffled by Rashid’s question.

“Did he ask your consent, Wendell? Before he touched you?”

“Umm… no… he just… did?”

Rashid murmurs something under his breath which suspiciously sounds like a very bad swear word. One that I’ve never heard from Rashid before. Or even expected him to use.

“He didn’t have your permission then?”

“No, of course not.” I’m still unsure where Rashid is going with this.

“Motherfucker.”

Okay, this time I heard it loud and clear. A moment later Rashid punches the cushion next to him and jumps up, making me and Bruno jump. My cat hisses and flees my lap, digging his claws deep into my flesh, and I yelp. Rashid paces up and down my room. There isn’t much space for pacing, so he’s almost just circling around himself. I watch him, and then we both say “I’m sorry” at the same time.

“What? Why are you sorry?”

“He touched you without your consent.” He says it as if that would explain anything.

“But… I don’t understand. Why are you sorry? That’s not your fault.”

Rashid’s jaw is working overtime.

“I promised you, Wendell. I swore to you – on my life – that no one would touch you against your will ever again. I promised you, and he did, and I wasn’t there to stop him. I failed you.”

“But, Rashid…”

He turns towards the large glass front that opens to my rooftop terrace, away from me, and hangs his head. He’s silent for the longest time, and my brain can’t make sense of what is going on. He cannot, in all seriousness, blame himself for what happened. Can he? But it is all on me. I couldn’t say no. I screwed up. He didn’t fail me. My thoughts ping-pong across my skull like Bruno’s favourite toy, ricocheting from wall to wall.

“How much do you remember from the night you were attacked?” His question comes completely out of the blue. What has that night got to do with anything?

“Not much…” I confess. And I wish I could forget the bits I do remember. “Just that…” I shake my head. I can’t talk about it.

Rashid doesn’t say anything, just buries his face in his hands, and his voice comes out muffled when he says, “I saw it.”

My room tilts. Not literally. But somehow it is not the same as it was just a moment ago. He was there…? “I thought you said you weren’t there…?”

His head flies up to meet my shocked gaze: “I wasn’t! If I had been, Louis and Lestat wouldn’t have found much to take apart, I can promise you that!” His eyes blaze with fire, and it makes me shiver. I believe him.

I’m suddenly glad he wasn’t in that alley that night. There were four guys attacking me, and it would have been only him. He might have got killed.

His shoulders slump forward, and he hides his face again.

“I was still in New York when it happened.” He visibly swallows. “If you want the truth, I was fucking a random stranger in a hotel room. I don’t even remember his name. He didn’t mean anything to me. He was just…” He makes a vague gesture. “And all the while you…” A shiver runs through his body.

Instinctively I get up to stand behind him, reaching out to touch his arm tentatively. “You had no idea of knowing. You didn’t even know me.”

“There was a video… My friend Callum cut it together from footage he found online.”

“Was?”

He nods, still not looking at me. “I made sure it was deleted. It’s gone. Completely. If Callum does something, he does it one hundred per cent.” He pauses, looking down. His gaze briefly flits to me before he stares down again as if the pattern of the hardwood floor held any answers. “I altered my report. Cleaned up your file, too. I couldn’t delete it completely, but most of it is gone.”

Rashid showed me my Talamasca file months ago. I was surprised, almost a little offended, how thin it was. To learn there had been more, much more – how much more? – and Rashid deleted it. When? After we started seeing each other? Before? He never said anything, not even hinted at it. Only…

“When you said you made enemies in the Talamasca…”

He shakes his head. “They have no proof. Callum made sure of that. But they suspect. Especially since we’re dating now…”

I know Rashid. Or at least I thought I did. But the man standing in front of me deleted official records because he couldn’t bear the thought of strangers picking through my life. I don’t know what to do with that. He looks at me now. “I’m not in any trouble. They might not be happy, but they can’t do anything about it. I’m safe, I promise.”

He takes my hand and tugs me close. I follow his pull automatically. My brain still feels like a browser with fifty tabs open and at least ten of them playing music. I can feel his body basically vibrating with tension and wrap my arms around him, burying my nose into his neck.

“I wish Callum could do such an impeccable job on my brain.” He huffs humourlessly. “I don’t want you to get hurt ever again.” His words are muffled against my shoulder.

I’m silent. Stunned by his revelation. I had no idea. I knew he saw me that day. Followed me. Watched me go off with a client. Which is weird enough as it is. But he saw a video of the attack? I didn’t lie when I said I can’t remember most of it, and that’s for the better. I can’t imagine what seeing it did to him. Just the thought of seeing a video of his own attack churns my stomach. It’s different because back when Rashid saw my video, he didn’t even know me. I’m completely frozen.

“I know men hurt you.” Rashid continues, his voice almost inaudible. “I can see the scars…” His voice breaks, and he stops himself.

I know what scars he’s talking about. The ones my dad left. His belt. And some of my clients, too. The round ones along my inner thighs and butt cheeks – small, pale burns where one of them used my skin as his personal ashtray. They’re not going anywhere. I just always assumed they were only mine. I never took into consideration that they might pain him, too. I pull back a little and take his face into my hands. His eyes are glistening with moisture. I rub my thumbs over his cheeks.

“I’m here, love. I’m here. I’m safe. I’m whole.” If anyone understands being haunted by images from the past, it’s me. His body shakes with suppressed emotions. I wrap my arms around him and hold him. I know what comforts me when my past gets to me, and I’m trying my best to anchor him, reassure him.

“And now I’m acting like an ass again.” He shakes his head and presses it against my chest. “It happened to you, and I’m making it all about me.”

“It happened to you, too, love.” I start kissing his face, his cheeks, his forehead, his jawline. “Your experience is as valid as mine.”

Oh boy. Eli would be so proud of me for quoting him.

Rashid looks up at me, tear tracks still visible on his cheeks. “When you said earlier that this guy touched you against your will, I just… I kept seeing those bastards, and I just lost it…” He shakes his head.

“It wasn’t like that. It was a misunderstanding.” I can’t believe I’m defending Freddie, but I know he didn’t have any ill intentions.

“He should have asked!”

“Oooh… growly…” I tease him. It’s still my go-to reaction. Things get serious, and I revert to silly jokes.

We just stand there, wrapped in each other, holding onto each other. I hope he can feel the warmth of my body and it’s comforting him. I breathe him in, trying to steady my own nerves.

When I feel Rashid finally relax against me, I break the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why weren’t you upset when I danced with Karim? At the night club in Paris?” I add when I see his brows knit in confusion.

“It looked like you were having fun. And like you were in control of the situation.” He pulls back a little to look at me. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened. But he touched me, too.” I can feel Rashid tense again and hurry to tell the whole story. “I was dancing, and then there was a hand on my stomach, and I thought it was you. When I looked up, I saw you sitting at the bar, and I was confused. How could you be over there and touch me at the same time?”

When I’m quiet for a moment, Rashid asks me in a low voice, “Then what?”

I take a deep breath. “I turned around and… I think I gave him a bit of a push… or at least held up a hand. And I pointed at you and said you’re my boyfriend. He asked if we could dance – just dance – and I said yes, so we did.”

Rashid considers me for a long moment, then a smile spreads across his face and he kisses my cheek. “See. You said no.”

“Of course I said no!”

Rashid’s hands trail down my arms, and he weaves his fingers with mine. “You might think you’ve unlearned how to say no. Because for so long, you couldn’t. But you know how. You said no to Freddie. When it mattered, you did. You said no to Karim. I don’t care about anything else.”

I can only stare at him. I’m fairly certain I didn’t explain myself too well, but he still understood? He knows…?

“I’m sorry,” we say at the same time again, and I can’t stop a giggle bubbling up inside me. Not because it’s funny but because the tension is getting too much. Rashid shakes his head, and his smile is gone.

“I’m sorry, I should have said something sooner. I was just…” My mouth feels too dry, and I swallow, trying to gather any kind of moisture in my mouth. “I was so ashamed. I thought, what if you can’t forgive me? What if you stopped trusting me? When I couldn’t even trust myself?”

“I trust you. I do. I don’t trust other men.” Rashid huffs out a breath. “I just can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt again.” He gently rubs his cheek against mine. “I’m sorry, I stormed off earlier the way I did and made you feel like I left you. Or that I was mad at you. I should have just said I needed some air.”

“That was very caveman of you.” What the fuck is wrong with me? When have my lame attempts at humour ever resolved anything?

To my utter surprise, I can feel Rashid chuckle. He presses a small kiss to the hollow between my neck and shoulders.

“In future: less caveman, more supportive boyfriend?”

“Yes, please,” I affirm, and this time my smile feels real. I can feel the muscles in my body slightly relax. Maybe my special kind of humour is good for something after all.

“I’m sorry.” Rashid pebbles the skin of my neck with tiny kisses, and I automatically stretch my neck to give him better access.

“You’re forgiven.” I sigh and just want to lose myself in Rashid’s affections, but I need to tell him the rest.

“There is one more thing.” Rashid stops kissing me to look at me. I hate it. “Mari’s cousin Gina apparently runs around spreading the rumour that she saw me making out with Freddie. I don’t know who or what she saw, but it’s not true. I never kissed him.”

Rashid’s facial expression goes from wary to amusement. “Cousin Gina is a bit of a blabbermouth, isn’t she?”

“That’s what I said! She also has a wild imagination. She still thinks I’m dating Rafa.”

This time Rashid snorts with laughter, and that’s when I know we’re okay.

“Didn’t she get the memo that Rafa is engaged to Elodie?” Rashid rubs a hand down his face, laughter shaking through him as the tightness finally eases. I join him, and it feels so good to be laughing with him again. When he finally sombers, he places his hands on my face, combing back my curls.

“I’m not the jealous type, Wendell. If you wanted to kiss that boy on New Year’s Eve…” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been thrilled about it but as long as you choose to come back to me, I could live with it. And I believe you when you say that’s all that happened. No matter what Cousin Gina or anyone else thought they saw.”

“There’s only one man I want to kiss.” And that’s what I do: kiss the only man I want to kiss, and kiss him thoroughly.

That night, we lie in bed, Rashid on his back, me curled up on his side, my head on his chest listening to my favourite sound in the world – the steady ba-dum ba-dum of his heart while his hand is rubbing intricate patterns against the skin of my back. I’m slowly drifting off to sleep when he surprises me with a question.

“Do you want an open relationship, Wendell?”

My head shoots upwards so quickly that I accidentally smash my thick skull into his chin. Thankfully I don’t take out any of his teeth, and he doesn’t bite off his tongue (that would be a shame. I love that tongue). I just glower at him while he rubs his chin, laughing.

“Okay, I take that as a no.” He reaches up and brushes a thumb along my jawline. He chuckles when he sees my still unhappy face and stretches to kiss me. “Relax, Wendell, it was only a question.”

“Is that… what you want?” I finally ask after letting his lips mellow me a little.

“No. I’m happy to be exclusive with you. I just didn’t want to assume it’s the same for you. I should really talk about things with you. Not just make them up in my mind. I know I should have done better in the past. I realised that when you thought you were only an affair for me. You’re not. You’re my partner, and for me that means you’re the only one, and there’s no one else. I never cheated on any of my exes, Wendell. I slept around, a lot, but never when I was with someone.”

I nod slowly, taking his words in. I believed him when he said he and Sam are definitely over, but hearing him say I’m his only one actually makes my insides glow a little. It doesn’t answer my constant questions of ‘Why?’ and ‘Why me?’ but it sure does feel nice.

“Can we do this? If there’s something you want – or don’t want – can you tell me? We can talk about anything. You snogged a guy at a party?” I inhale sharply to protest, and he puts a finger on my lips. “Hypothetically. But if you did, please tell me.”

This is an easy promise to give, as I don’t intend to kiss random strangers at random parties ever again. Now if they could just keep their hands off of me…

With a deep breath, Rashid continues: “For example, if you wanted someone else for the time when I can’t be here…”

That’s enough talk about inviting other people into our relationship. “I! Do! Not! Stop! Saying! That!” I emphasise every word by stabbing a finger at his sides. There might also have been low growling sounds. Rashid squirms underneath me, giggling.

“Okay, okay, okay, I get it. I surrender.” He laughs. “Just you and me.” He looks up at me, his eyes shining bright in the moonlight streaming inside from the windows. Too late I recognise the mischievous gleam in them.

“As if I could handle another one of you, Dupree.”

I gasp. In shock. He did not just say…

Before I can even finish the thought, he expertly flips us both over, and I land on my back with an oomph, his solid body pressing me into the mattress.

“Get off of me, you oaf!” I protest half-heartedly (less than half) and try to shove him off, but he’s quick to find my ticklish spot underneath my ribcage, and I’m forced to give up any resistance.

“Oh, Jay-zuhs Christ, you win, you win, I give up…” I manage to squeeze out between giggling fits and trying to squirm away from his relentless fingers. When he stops and replaces his fingers with his mouth, kissing along my torso, my lungs are happy to be filled with air again.

Rashid’s journey leads him back to my face, and when he hovers above me, beaming down at me, it takes my breath away once more.

How? How do I deserve this man?