Six of Hearts(72)

When he looks at me, it’s not what I’m expecting. He seems guilty for some reason, and almost…sad. It’s a swift turnaround, and it takes me by surprise. Reaching to his neck and scratching, he replies, “Yeah, I wanted to do something for you, something you’d like.” He hands me a paper plate with some sandwiches. “Here, eat up.”

“Thanks,” I reply, still eyeing him. There’s something off about him all of a sudden, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Once it gets completely dark, the movie starts up, and Jay pulls me to sit between his legs, my back resting on his chest. The nearness makes me remember yesterday, his mouth on me, how incredible it felt. He runs his fingertips up and down my arms, noticing my skin pimpling with the cold.

“It’s getting chilly. I brought another blanket,” he says, pulling one from the bag and covering us both with it. I sink into him, feeling his breath tickle the back of my neck. A little into the movie, he pours us some wine into the plastic cups he brought. I sip on mine, savouring the moment, watching one of my favourite movies with a man my feelings are latching onto.

When I’m finished drinking, he takes the cup from me and sets it aside, wrapping both his arms around my middle and holding me tight. The scene I’d described to him comes on, and I close my eyes, unable to handle the intensity of watching it while he’s holding me so close.

I want him tonight. I want him to make love to me right here under the stars. I don’t care how cold it is or how short a time I’ve known him.

Toward the end of the film, I turn my face to his, and his lips are right there. Bravely, I lean in to kiss him, but he moves away, and I can’t tell if he does it to avoid my kiss or if it was an accident. He moves his nose to my temple, nuzzling. I accept the touch, even though it feels like a consolation prize.

The film ends, and a long sigh escapes him. We stay in our spot even while the people around us are packing up to leave.

“This is the difficult part,” says Jay in a low voice.

I turn in his arms to face him properly. “The difficult part?”

“Yeah,” he says, his mouth a bare inch from mine, his eyes full of emotion. “The part where I keep from touching you more. Touching you everywhere.”

I stare at him for a long time before replying in the tiniest voice, “You can touch me if you want to.”

His look is agonised, but I don’t understand why. “If I ask you to do something for me, will you do it and not ask questions? Just accept that this is how it has to be right now?”

Some kind of apprehension takes hold in my gut. “I’ll try.”

“I need you not to touch me, not to try to kiss me like you did during the movie. I know it’s hypocritical, given what’s been brewing between us lately, but it’s not in my power to explain yet. I need you to be my friend, Matilda, to spend time with me. But please don’t push for more, even if it feels like I want you so badly it hurts, even if I’m the one doing the pushing, because if you do, I might just have to be selfish and take you.” He pauses before finishing in a hushed voice, “and you’d destroy me.”

I’d destroy him? How ironic is it that it feels like he’s destroying me in this moment? “You don’t want me?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Then he says, “You should be running in the other direction, darlin’.”

I study him, trying to figure him out. Finally, I realise what’s going on. He’s trying to let me down gently. He’s saying nice things but mixing them with bad things to make me feel less rejected, because, let’s face it, that’s what this is. A rejection.

Yesterday when we were together was a lapse of judgement on his part. He was satisfying a need, and that’s all. I allowed myself to get carried away, I guess. I gather my reserve, blinking back the tears that want to come out.

“So, you’re saying you just want to be friends?” The tears are in my throat now, too, and it’s impossible that he can’t hear them.

He takes my hand in his and squeezes it tight. “I want you to be my best friend.”

Steeling myself, I say, “Okay, I get it. You don’t have to lessen the blow.”

He squeezes my hand to the point of pain now. “I want you to be my best friend, darlin’. I’m not lessening the blow. That right there is the truth.”

I want to just stay quiet, but I can’t help it. The verbal diarrhoea comes spewing out. “Is there….” I stop and take a breath, biting back more tears. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Jesus Christ, Watson, no. You’re perfect.” He pulls me into his arms and hugs me so hard it steals the air from my lungs.