He hasn’t actually moved, except I can feel his presence looming over my shoulder a touch more. The back of my neck warms while I pause and contemplate him internally, followed by my skin breaking out in goosebumps.
Nate picks up my arm, studies it, and then rubs away the bumps there.
Purposely, I don’t look. I am falling in love with these grabs at events all over again and don’t want to be the one to assume, ruin whatever we’ve got here.
I flick to one of a knot in a tree trunk. “You had just joined the Photography class and I begrudgingly signed up too, since I didn’t really have a choice but to keep you company, you said. The first shoot, we went out into the yard and took photos of all the interesting things we loved. You said you loved that knot because the rest of the trunk was so smooth and perfect, and the knot was messy and shapeless and rough and spoke to you.”
As I come out of that photo, I flick the page, to turn to the next photo Nate took from early on in his photography days, but his hand comes out of nowhere and stops the page from turning. He holds his hand to the film cover, the photo on that page, where I’ve taped the picture to the side and decorated two opposing corners with some designs to fill the space.
“You know,” Nate says, “there’s beauty in the imperfect sometimes.”
So close—to good or bad—I don’t want to turn and change this. Not seeing him, but feeling him behind me, smelling his scent now I’ve allowed myself to take him in. I fight the urge to turn to jelly and collapse.
I place my fingers over each corresponding finger of his on the photo. Both of us begin working our fingers together, rubbing shapes onto each other’s skin.
I dig my head into my chest cavity. “I never wanted to do that with him.”
“How could you? I thought …” Pause. His breath, sharp. “I thought I heard some people fucking in the toilets or something and then when I heard talk spread …”
I know, I think. Don’t tell me how it felt like your heart was torn up, stomped on and eaten by acid. I put it all on myself and felt the exact same thing when I realised what the fuck I’d done.
“I want to pretend it never happened. But did you really? Did he do that to you against the wall? Did you touch him? Anywhere? At all?”
“I kissed him, we made out for a moment or two but I swear I didn’t touch him. Just over his jocks. He just … did that stuff to me.”
Nate grunts, the result of gritting his teeth. “Okay.”
I don’t dare ask for more explanation.
“I don’t expect you to understand how my head works, because I’m still trying to figure out why I did it, but I didn’t even want to touch him.”
Nate’s lips come to my ear, and he traces my skin with his lip. “Back up,” he whispers.
I shuffle back, but he catches my waist. “No, not like that. Back up to the part where you said you don’t know why you did it and you didn’t want him.”
Nate doesn’t drop his hands from my waist, and this proves overwhelming. I can’t think or utter a word in response.
“I’ve never wanted him.” I go on. “I’ve actually never liked any guy in that way. No one, until you. Stupidly, I assumed handling you as I did all those other guys was expected and normal and usual, but you’re not any of that.”
I hang my head, again. I feel for his hand at my waist, and hold mine over it to feel his skin. Nate tries to turn me to look at him, but I still can’t. This could go bad or good, and looking might make him see the dirty whore I am. The ruined person inside. But he’s too strong for me, so I close my eyes and twist.
Before I open my eyes I need to finish my thoughts, before I feel this is real and shut up about my feelings as I’ve always done.
“You’re the first boy I’ve liked, and I had no idea I liked you. Like isn’t even right because I’m just …”
I open my eyes and see the want in my thoughts mirrored in his gaze. I hold out my hands and they won’t quit trembling. How stupid! I clamp my hands on each other, but still feel it.
I don’t realise the shakes are gone until some time passes.
“I feel everything with you. I’m sorry it took years to get close, weeks to feel so intensely about you, and an instant to hurt you in the worst possible way.” I look up, my gaze direct, and say, “But I was running away from me, not you, and I hate that I had to fuck up to realise I like you.”
His eyelashes flutter, and his forehead creases.
“What did you say?”
“I like you, and more.”
“I needed to hear that before. Like, shit, we weren’t together, but we had something, ya know? To me, that something didn’t need to be said. I felt something with you.”