Strong Enough

by Melanie Harlow

And it gave me even more insight into Derek too. The film ended with the main character admitting he’d made a mistake about something—a critical decision that had caused his life to take a certain path, and there was no going back. He was going to suffer the consequences of that mistake forever. But there was an upside—his playing grew more beautiful, more emotional, every bit as good as his rival’s.

  I wondered if something about that spoke to Derek, the idea of coming to a crossroads and making a choice, and even if you chose the path that caused you to suffer, you could find beauty or nobility in it.

  Don’t let your mind run away from you. Maybe he just likes the movie.

  I was still pondering it as the credits rolled. He turned the television and stereo off, but didn’t move.

  And then, “Don’t go.”

  Silence. Then I spoke.

  “What?” Although I’d heard him fine.

  “Don’t go. Tomorrow. Don’t move out.” His tone was one of quiet desperation.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you to.”

  It wasn’t that his words didn’t make me happy, but my gut said something was slightly off. “You don’t want me to?”

  “No.” Both his arms came around me. “I like you here.”

  “Does that mean you’re ready to—”

  “It means I like you here. It means I loved being with you this weekend. I want to hold on to it.”

  I so wanted this to mean he was arriving at a place of acceptance. But I wasn’t sure. I sat up and faced him, wishing I could see better in the dark. “So you want to…be together?”

  “Like we have been. Yes.”

  Like we have been. In secret. “You still want to hide?”

  “Yes.” He said it like it was obvious. “And if you move out, we’ll never see each other.”

  “So you want me to live here so that we can see each other in private, in the middle of the night?”

  “You don’t enjoy our time together in the middle of the night?”

  “Derek, it’s not that.” Fuck, arguing in my second language was hard. “It’s…it’s that it feels like a step backward. This weekend was so nice, being out in the open.”

  “We can do that sometimes. Take trips.” He sat up too, and I could see the tension in his body by the way he fidgeted. “It just has to be somewhere people won’t know us.”

  I shook my head. “How long do you think we could go on like that? Me living here, us taking trips…it will be obvious what’s going on within a short amount of time. Ellen isn’t stupid.”

  Derek struggled to reply, and something occurred to me.

  “You’re not planning on it lasting that long.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I scooted back, needing a little distance. “You’re still intent on a wife and kids. I’m just for fun?”

  He didn’t answer fast enough, and I stood up.

  “No, Derek. I don’t want that. You might think I’m just a kid, or a poor-ass immigrant, or someone just looking for a good time, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be your temporary toy while you keep looking for a woman.”

  “What do you want?” He stood too. “A fucking ring?”

  “No!” I took a deep breath. Getting angry at him wouldn’t help. “Look. I wasn’t looking for a relationship when I moved here. It was the furthest thing from my mind. I was prepared work really hard, as many hours as I had to every single day to make it in this country. And that’s what I’m doing. I don’t want to go backward.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” he snapped.

  “But you are.” I struggled with how to explain what I wanted to say. “I moved here for me. Because I have a dream for myself. Then I met you, and that dream changed.”

  He moved toward me, but stopped, hands fisted at his sides. “How?”

  “Now I find myself thinking about you and us as part of my dream. I came here to make a new life, and I want you to be part of it. Not in secret, like we’re ashamed of each other. Out in the open.”

  He flinched. “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t, either. I don’t want to live two lives, Derek. One in public and one in private, neither of them one hundred percent me. And I don’t want to hide.” I lowered my voice even more. “I’ve lived that way already. It doesn’t feel good.”

  He was silent.

  “If you want to be somebody else for the rest of your life, go ahead. I don’t.”

  “You don’t understand how hard this is for me,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s not about you.”

  “Is that what you think?” I moved a step closer. I wanted him to see my face. “I’ve never felt like I was good enough for you. This feels like you’re agreeing with me. And that hurts.”

  “It’s not that at all!” he burst out. “You’re everything to me. And the way you make me feel—no one has ever, ever made me feel those things before. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  “But you’re willing to give that up?”

  “No! That’s why I’m asking you to stay.” He grabbed my head and sealed his mouth over mine, and the temptation to say fuck it, I’ll stay for this feeling nearly overwhelmed me. He pulled back a little. “Please don’t leave. You’re the only one who understands me.”

  I hesitated, feeling like I was being ripped in two. “Then that should be worth something more than this.” Gently, I pushed his arms down and walked out of the room.

  He didn’t come after me.

  Upstairs, I got into bed, wishing I didn’t have to sleep here. It would be hard knowing Derek was right across the hall and hurting, especially when I knew I could take away the pain. But that would only be on the surface. Deep down, he’d never be at peace with himself if he didn’t live the way he felt. If I gave in, if I stayed, he’d only keep putting that off. He’d never let me love him the way I wanted to. He’d never really let me in, even if he loved me too.

  Then he would leave me.

  No. It would be foolish to stay. I had to walk away, for both of us. My only hope was that he’d miss what we had enough to change the way he thought. If he didn’t, I’d have to deal with the loss and move on.

  But at least I’d have given us a real chance.

  After a sleepless night, I waited until I heard Derek leave for work, then I packed up my meager belongings and ordered an Uber. I left the clothing he’d loaned me folded on the stripped guest room bed, his old laptop on the kitchen table, and the house key he’d given me on the counter next to a note.

  Thank you for everything. I will always be grateful.

  Maxim

  My head felt cloudy from the lack of sleep, but I didn’t want to make coffee in his kitchen. I would get some breakfast somewhere eventually. Right now, I just wanted to leave. The memories were getting to me.

  Right there is where he kissed me for the first time.

  Right there is where I dropped to my knees.

  Right there is the door he knocked on in the middle of the night.

  Right there is where we argued and tumbled to the ground.

  Right there is where he first tasted me.

  Right there is where he said I want to fuck you.

  Right there is where he asked me to stay the night in his bed.

  Right there is where he left me a note that said you’re cute when you’re sleeping.

  And right there…right there is where he stood when I walked away.

  I went out to wait on the front porch, too restless and upset to stay inside, pulling the door shut behind me. It locked with a heartless click, and that was that.

  Thirty-Three

  DEREK

  I didn’t sleep at all.

  All night I lay there, my body still sore, my mind a jumble of anger and frustration and hurt, my heart splintered into bits.

  He said no. He was leaving. He didn’t want me enough to stay.

  How could he do this to me? How could he make me fall for him this way, turn my lif
e upside down, make me doubt everything I believed in and wanted and worked for, and then walk away?

  He was acting like a child, wanting all or nothing. It wasn’t that simple. He didn’t get it. He didn’t know how hard it had been for me to ask him not to go. He didn’t know what it had cost me. I’d had to admit to myself that I wasn’t strong enough to bear the punishment I’d brought on myself, that I was weak weak weak, that I wanted what he made me feel more than I wanted to be straight.

  Part of me knew I was being a selfish prick. That asking him to stay was a short-term fix to a long-term problem, a Band-Aid over a gaping wound. It would make me feel good temporarily, but what about the future? What if I never got him out of my system? What if things between us only got better? Or what if I met the right woman, the one who could make me fall for her, the one who could do for me what Maxim could? That was still a possibility, wasn’t it? So I should be glad Maxim had left. He’d saved me the trouble of breaking things off later.

  Because all the reasons we couldn’t be together still existed. I didn’t want to be gay. I wasn’t. It was just him. This was simply a roadblock on the way to the right kind of future. A test. I’d always been good at tests, and there was no reason I couldn’t pass this one. I’d had my fun, my fling, my side trip, and now it was done.

  But I punched my pillow a few times and buried my face in it, full of rage. I wished I could scream. I wished I could tear myself limb from limb. I wished I could drink myself into a stupor so that I wouldn’t feel this hopelessness, this loss, this fear that I’d never be happy no matter what I did.

  It was fucking hell. But I deserved it.

  I dragged my ass out of bed around five the next morning, skipped the gym, and got ready for work. I was bleary-eyed and exhausted and still sore as fuck. But the memory was worth it—I hadn’t changed my mind about that.

  My anger from the night before had mellowed somewhat, but the despair remained. I figured I’d throw myself into work and try not to think about him leaving my house for the last time. Try not to remember all the things he’d said last night. Try not to see his point of view. But it was impossible.

  You’re still intent on a wife and kids.

  I don’t want to be your temporary toy.

  I don’t want to live two lives.

  I’m not going backward.

  I’ve never felt like I was good enough for you. I know that I’m not. This feels like you’re agreeing with me. And that hurts.

  Sitting at my desk behind my closed office door, I closed my eyes and slouched in my chair. Fuck. I’d hurt him. It wasn’t true, what he’d said, but I knew it looked that way. Of course he was good enough—more than good enough. Too good. He deserved someone who could accept him, who could share one life with him, who could love him the way I wanted to, but couldn’t. Openly, fully, unconditionally.

  It killed me to think of him with someone else. Those hands on someone else’s skin. That laugh in someone else’s ear. That endless enthusiasm for life brightening someone else’s day.

  I kept looking at my phone, hoping he’d text me something, anything. A question about his new place. A request for help. Even if he just needed a ride somewhere, I’d have run out to pick him up.

  But he didn’t reach out.

  What do you expect? You insulted him. It’s better this way.

  Still, when I got home later that night and saw his note, my chest tightened painfully. Before I could help it, I was wandering into his room. It smelled like him. He’d stripped the bed, or I’d probably have gotten in it and wrapped myself up in the sheets he’d slept in last night. I missed him already. His clothes were gone from the closet and dresser—I checked all the drawers—and his phone wasn’t on the nightstand. I sat on the bed and opened the drawer.

  My heart kicked up. He’d left his notebook.

  Don’t do it.

  But I did it. Of course I did. It was the one piece of him I had access to, the one thing that might ease some of this loneliness.

  I opened to a random page, glad to see it was in English, then started flipping through, as if skimming it would make it less of an invasion of privacy. Phrases jumped out at me.

  So unexpected…this thing between us…wants to deny it…a truth about him no one else knows…never wanted someone like this…love his arms around me while we sleep…can’t stop thinking about him…wish I could be what he wants…it’s so good…a turning point for us…know what I want…include me in his life…never imagined myself with children, but…I’m in love with him…

  In love with him?

  My eyes scanned every word on the last page before I could stop them, my insides churning. He must have penned them last night.

  He asked me not to move out tomorrow, but not because he wants to be with me for real. I’d hoped that after this weekend, he might think I was worth taking a risk for, worth coming out for, but he doesn’t. He still wants to hide. It would be so easy to give in, to stay and be with him on any terms. But I can’t. I want more. I want to share my life. I want him to be proud of me. I want to make him happy, and I think I could if he’d let me. But not in secret.

  I’m done hiding. I’m in love with him, and walking away tonight was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I did it for him as well as for me. He’ll never be happy if he doesn’t face the truth.

  I clapped the notebook shut and dropped it onto the bed as if it had bitten me. I shouldn’t have read it. Now I had his words in my head. I’m in love with him. Was he? Did he feel that way? Why hadn’t he ever said it?

  Same reason you didn’t, asshole. He’s scared.

  Groaning, I flopped back on the bed and threw an arm over my eyes. I was a selfish prick. I wanted to hear him say it. I needed to hear him say it. I was sick and that was the cure. If I could just hear him admit he felt the way I did, then I wasn’t alone.

  I took my phone from my pocket.

  Stop it, you self-serving fuck.

  I didn’t. I texted him. I miss you already. Call me?

  Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then twenty.

  I frowned. But he was at work, right? Maybe he hadn’t seen my message yet.

  I went downstairs and ate leftovers for dinner without tasting anything. I loosened my tie. I poured some whiskey.

  An hour passed. Then another.

  He had to have seen it by then! Was he ignoring me? How could he! If he loved me, he’d at least respond to my text.

  Maybe he didn’t have his phone. That had to be it. He didn’t have his phone and he was as miserable as I was, thinking I didn’t care about him. I had to fix it.

  I left my glass of whiskey half-finished on the counter, raced upstairs to grab the notebook, and jumped into my car.

  I parked in the garage down the street and rushed down the sidewalk to the bar, then burst through the door like an angry cowboy in an old western. I must have looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care.

  Ellen saw me right away and came over, her face concerned. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Where’s Maxim? I need to see him.”

  “I think he’s in the basement pulling some liquor. You know where it is?”

  “I’ll find it.” I took off, leaving her blinking after me and probably totally confused, but I didn’t stop. Through the kitchen. Down the stairs. Around the corner.

  He was alone among the shelves, squinting at a list in the dim light.

  I went at him hard, backing him against the brick wall, crushing my mouth against his, wanting to say what I came here to say but terrified to end the kiss, because what if it was the last one I ever got?

  Finally he pushed me away. “Derek, what the hell? You can’t do this.”

  “I have to. I’m in love with you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m in love with you. And you’re in love with me.” I held up the notebook.

  His eyes went wide. “You read my notebook?”

  Fuck. “Just the last page,” I said, squirming. “And
I’m sorry, okay? I know it was wrong, and I’m sorry, but—I had to know how you felt.”

  He grabbed the notebook from me. “You knew how I felt. I told you last night.”

  “You didn’t tell me you loved me.” My heart was racing so hard. “Do you?”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “Yes!” I yelled, although I wasn’t at all sure I meant it.

  “Oh, really? What difference? Are you ready to love each other for real? Or do you want to keep it hidden?”

  “I’m—I’m protecting it! If we put it out there in the open, it will be ruined, Maxim. Right now it’s something beautiful and extraordinary and special. It belongs to us. If other people know, they’ll fucking vilify it. They’ll make it ugly. They’ll say it’s crazy and wrong. If we keep it for ourselves, it stays safe.”

  He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. You’re the one making it ugly, Derek. Not anyone else. And I won’t be part of it.”

  “But—”

  “You should go now. You said what you came here to say.”

  Frustrated and helpless, I ran a hand through my hair, feeling my eyes go damp. “I don’t know what to fucking do. I’m being torn apart from the inside out. I don’t want to live without you in my life, but I can’t bring myself to change my mind.”

  “Then this is goodbye.” His voice shook. “I want nothing more than to be with you, to take care of you and let you take care of me. I’d even begun to imagine a future for us—a family. To me, that’s what’s crazy about this. You’re turning away a chance at your dream because it doesn’t look exactly like you wanted it to. But I can’t make it into anything else.”

  He was right. And he was so much smarter and perceptive and stronger than I’d given him credit for.

  “Go,” he said firmly. “I have work to do.”

  But I couldn’t leave. “Tell me first. I want to hear the words.” I’d never hated myself more than I did at that moment. But I needed him to love me.

  “I love you.” His eyes held mine, his voice was calm. “Now go punish yourself for it.”

  With a sob caught in the back of my throat, I turned away and stormed up the stairs, back through the kitchen and restaurant and out the door.