by Jude Sierra
“Quim, that’s a thing to ask him. The language he needs must be different.”
“I guess,” he says. She has a good point. But what if Reid can’t separate the two? “That doesn’t help me figure out what happened tonight.”
“And you think I can solve that in the middle of the night when you’re depriving me of sleep over a boy I haven’t met?” Joaquim laughs. Despite the sleep deprivation he’s apparently forcing on her, her teasing is a leeway only she would give him.
“You make a good point.”
“Okay. I love you. I must sleep, though. I’ll look this thing up tomorrow. Text me what it’s called?”
“Sure.”
“Joaquim. Remember how much fun you’ve had with him? The things you’ve done that make this wonderful?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, do more of that too. This is heavy stuff. Bring yourselves back to the place where the good stuff started.”
Joaquim tamps down a defensive answer. There’s no criticism in her advice. Reconnection… not that they’ve disconnected. Joaquim remembers teaching Reid to trust him; easing him into the water, exploring the reef, the warmth on their salty skin, and the flirtation blooming between them. Yes.
“Te amo, Sofia. Boa noite.”
“Pra você também.”
Twenty-seven
Reid left the door unlocked; Nina is dropping Joaquim off after they run errands. Reid woke up off. His body is alien-skin-covered. He made a big breakfast he couldn’t eat. He washed the dishes carefully, took everything off the counters and cleaned behind them, wiped down all of the cabinets, cleaned the floor. He stopped every few minutes to shake his hands out, to breathe and try to remember the borders of his body.
When Reid went to make his bed, he ended up on it, obsessively staring at the ceiling. Rachel’s been texting him all morning, wondering why he’s been skipping therapy. Joaquim. Being with him, despite the complexity of their relationship, has trumped everything else.
I’ll go where the wind takes me. Joaquim’s words won’t let Reid be.
Reid should text Rachel back. He should reach out, because he’s on the cusp of trouble. He should tell Joaquim how much that both hurt and bothered him. He should, he should, he should.
Should. A bad word. Still, it runs through his mind in a loop. He stares at the ceiling. Nancy’s never judged him for self-harm. But they’ve worked hard to find coping skills for him to manage it. Unlike other therapists, Nancy knows how hard it is to stop. Small hurts, he reminds himself. They are a transition away from cutting, a way to mitigate the worst of his impulses. He doesn’t want to hurt himself. Self-harming stopped being about that long ago.
I don’t want that. I don’t.
Reid gets up and drags in a chair from the living room. He’s reaching for the ceiling when Joaquim comes in, startling him enough that Reid almost falls off the chair.
“What are you doing?” Joaquim puts a hand on Reid’s hip.
Reid bites his lip. Joaquim’s shoulder under his palm is smooth and round. He’s wearing a tank top and the heat of his bare skin is comforting. But even Joaquim’s body and touch won’t help right now. Trust, Reid reminds himself. He’s let Joaquim in. Despite Joaquim admitting to an uncertain future, Reid’s promised himself he’ll try.
“I needed to touch the ceiling.” As soon as he says it, hears it, Reid understands how insane he sounds.
“I don’t know that you’re tall enough, lindo,” Joaquim says.
Reid stares at him; a pregnant pause lies heavy in the air.
“How are you taking this so easily?”
“Because this is something you need, right?”
“Yes,” Reid says. He closes his eyes.
“I want to help you with the things you need. These things. And you trusted me enough to tell me what you need now. I want to be worthy of that trust.”
“Fuck,” Reid says. He leans down to kiss Joaquim lightly and blinks away tears.
“So. What if you stand on the dresser? I’ll stand next to you.”
“You are perfect.”
“Reid, I am so far from that. Come on, let’s get you up there.”
Reid wishes that Joaquim’s steadiness was enough. The burn of embarrassment hurts. But when he puts his palms on the ceiling, the texture digs into and imprints on his skin. The dual satisfaction of it rushes through him. Reid’s been fixated on this ceiling for months; he never tried to explain it, and probably won’t ever have the right words for the way compulsions get under his skin. Also, though, when he presses hard enough, the pain is centering. It’s not hurting him. It’s digging in, then spilling through him: small hurts, particular sensations that pull him back together. Nancy tried to explain sensory stuff to him once, but he’s had a hard time getting past the should of it all. He shouldn’t want pain, right? He shouldn’t need it.
But now, he can breathe. He can absorb the steadiness of Joaquim’s hands on him differently. His arms burn, which tells him he’s been standing there for a while. When he pulls his hands away, they are sprinkled with indentations. Joaquim breathes out with him when Reid cups his face in his hands. He helps Reid down. Reid buries his face in Joaquim’s neck. The fear of being judged broken or weird slips away when Joaquim’s arms come around him.
They’ll come back. All of those feelings. But Reid holds on to hope. Because maybe.
“Perhaps not the most convenient help, is it?” Joaquim says. Reid takes a moment to parse meaning from the strange phrasing.
“You think I’m totally crazy, don’t you?” They’re on the couch together for once. It’s impossible to tangle up together comfortably on the chaise on the porch. Reid needs Joaquim’s solid and steady body more than air and water.
“No. I promise. I meant, if you need to feel things… something like that. Um, it’s probably not always convenient to have to climb furniture.”
The hint of humor carries a lot of weight.
“No, you’re right. Maybe I won’t want to again, though.”
“But…” Joaquim turns toward him. “This was a pain thing?”
“Well.” Reid chews on his bottom lip, testing the words. “Yes and no. It’s not because I want to hurt myself so much as a need for a sensation. And also, sometimes I fixate on things.”
Joaquim frowns but doesn’t speak, giving Reid room to stumble through explaining.
“I’ve been staring at that fucking ceiling for months. When I’m in a weird place, sometimes it’s all I can think about. How it would feel.”
“And now you know, so you think maybe you won’t fixate on it?”
“Yeah.”
“But the sensation thing?”
“Yeah. I don’t know.” Reid turns his gaze outside. The sun is so bright. He’s through talking.
“Reid,” Joaquim keeps his voice soft. “Do you wanna go somewhere?”
“Anywhere?” Reid asks. It’s not as sarcastic or cutting as it could be, considering Joaquim’s words he’s been unable to shake.
“Well, I planned a date. A maybe-date.”
“What’s a maybe-date?” Reid kisses under Joaquim’s chin, safe in the turn in conversation.
“Like, maybe you’ll go with me. To Anna’s Beach?”
Reid gazes up at Joaquim. “We recreating our first date?”
“Well, I don’t have fruit salad, but we can take some drinks in a cooler.” Joaquim winks at him.
“That sounds perfect.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Joaquim pauses their trek in the shallow waters. They’re still in the mucky parts near the beach, but Joaquim’s promised him that it gets nicer a little farther out where the muck turns to sand.
“Sure,” Reid says. The beach is empty, and the water and sun have made a huge impact on his mood.
“Um, so you’ve told me
about the small hurts thing. And obviously, today. I was there.”
“Yeah.” Reid takes Joaquim’s hand and pulls him forward a little. They can walk and talk.
“The other night, when you were asking me to bite you?”
Reid blushes. That night had been really fucking hot. “Are you worried that it was the same?”
“Well, I don’t want to hurt you, is all. And I did. You liked that, right?”
“J, honey.” Reid’s the one who stops this time. “That’s totally different. To me, there are different kinds of pain. I don’t like all pain. Think about it more like sensations.”
“But—”
“Babe, if I were any other guy you were fucking, someone you didn’t know, and they asked for the same thing, would you worry?”
The water is a constant gurgle and shush, moving ceaselessly as he watches. “No. I guess not.”
Reid squints at him. His face is unreadable. He chooses not to force the conversation; maybe Joaquim needs to figure this out for himself.
Hand in hand, they walk through the water; Reid tips his face toward the sun and enjoys its boosting effect on his mood.
“Mike told me they probably won’t be able to hire me after the internship, at least not for now,” Joaquim says.
Reid stops; the world, which had faded to the pleasant shush of the water and the cries of gulls, rushes back.
“What?”
Joaquim tosses him a small smile, totally oblivious to the tightness in Reid’s voice and the panic swelling in his chest.
“Yeah, but we’ll keep in touch. Maybe in the future. I’m not worried.”
“You’re not worried? But what happens next?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But I was going home to visit when this was over anyway, right? I have between now and then, while I’m back home, to find something.”
“To go where the wind takes you, right?” Reid snatches his hand away and begins to wade back toward the shore. The reminder that Joaquim is going home to visit his family is a cold slap of water. With Joaquim, everything else fades away. Their time together is a series of moments; bright, sharp, insular, strung together like pearls, each one separate. Joaquim makes him forget the outside world sometimes, helps Reid live in the present.
Apparently, too much in the present.
“Reid, what’s wrong now?”
Wow. That now needles. Its implications and the exasperation elicit a response so strong, Reid bites his cheek until he tastes blood. Back on the beach, he begins to fold the towels.
“Reid, seriously.” Joaquim stops his hands.
“Don’t ask me to take this conversation seriously when you’re the one who made promises you don’t take seriously,” Reid says.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You. You’re so cavalier! It’s like this,” Reid gestures between them, “means nothing. Requires no planning. You don’t give a shit about the future!”
“Reid, if I didn’t care about the future, why would I have taken an unpaid internship where I had to work my ass off far from home?”
Reid squeezes his eyes shut. Joaquim’s homesickness isn’t a secret. Reid never let himself think he would lose him to it.
“Look, life is short. Sue me if I don’t sit around stressing about my next move when I have time to figure it out. Something will come; if you’re open to it, life can be a great adventure. I’m young. You’re young.”
“What do I have to do with it?”
Joaquim’s face, a study in concern, shifts to puzzled. “What?”
“What do you mean what? I can’t—” Reid is ready to pull his hair out. Dual frustrations—his inability to articulate and the redundant nature of this conversation—make him want to yell. Twining with his frustration is panic: white, numbing panic, so tight in his chest it’s beginning to hurt.
“I guess I figured one of us would land somewhere and the other would come. We’re not tied down.”
“I’m not tied…?” How on earth can someone be so obtuse? Reid may not be tied to a job or to his grandmother’s home, but he definitely has things holding him back. Reid works on drawing in air, on breathing normally rather than panting. His heart pounds too hard, a constant drumming in his ears, throbbing in his sinuses.
“Like I said,” Joaquim takes Reid’s hands, and Reid lets him. “Life is short.”
“Oh, my god, really? Do you think I don’t get that? I probably get it more than anyone, I’m the one who—”
“Do you get ownership?” Joaquim snaps, and Reid blinks.
“No, I—” Reid swallows. His mouth is so dry. “That’s not, I’m just trying to…”
“I’m sorry. I need to take a break.” Joaquim roots around for his flip-flops.
“What do you mean?” White spots sparkle at the edge of Reid’s vision.
“I’m going for a walk to clear my head, okay? I’ll be back.” Despite his anger, Joaquim’s face softens, and he kisses Reid’s cheek.
Joaquim heads back to the boardwalk; Reid settles on the towel facing the water, determined not to watch for him. Perhaps it’s best that we clear our heads. At the very least, Reid should use this time to bring himself out of his panic attack without depending on anyone else. When he closes his eyes, the sound of wind through the mangrove trees, the call of birds, the rolling of waves envelop him. Rather than run his fingers through it, he buries them in the rough sand. Sun-warmed skin provides a gentle boundary for his body. Reid imagines himself rooted to the earth, legs solid, crossed on the blanket, as if he is one of the mangroves with roots growing into the mud and water. Calm rises through him.
He opens his eyes and watches the water. He sorts his thoughts and the words he couldn’t articulate in the heat of the moment. Our future isn’t here. This tiny life in Key Largo was a stopping-off point for both of them, a transient moment they happened to land in at the same time. Reid’s life needs order. He needs plans to help curb his compulsive tendencies.
He needs more than whims and wishes, though; Joaquim’s casual confidence that something will work out won’t work for Reid.
“Hey.” Reid startles when Joaquim’s hand touches his hair. His face is no longer drawn with anger. Reid pats the sand next to him in the hope that Joaquim will sit so he doesn’t have to twist to talk to him. Joaquim does. Reid kisses his cheek, lingers next to his skin, makes apology in gentle touch. He’s not yet found a way to explain himself to Joaquim, but he’s no longer angry or panicking.
Joaquim leans into the touch; neither of them speak. Perhaps Joaquim hasn’t found his words either.
“Ready to go?” Reid wants nothing less than to leave things as they are; his instinct is always to push for resolution. Waiting with anger and unsettled feelings is a skill he’s been getting better at. Continuing to fight when either party isn’t ready to talk isn’t productive. Reid also tends to want a particular resolution. With Felix, he was always pushing for the right apology. Forcing it didn’t help; forcing the “right” apology from someone isn’t genuine. Creation of resentment is an inevitability when Reid does that.
“Yeah, I think so,” Joaquim says. They fold the towels. Joaquim smooths Reid’s wind-tossed hair and takes his hand. Reid kisses him lightly again. These are gestures of reassurance, offered despite silently acknowledged understanding that they must come back to this later.
The car ride is both too short and unbearably long. Silence hangs in the air and it’s too much, straining against them.
“Call me?” Reid winces at the neediness in his voice.
“Of course.” Joaquim touches his cheek, and Reid closes his eyes. He watches Joaquim until he’s through the door, takes a breath, and drives home.
Twenty-eight
“I have no idea why he freaked out like he did.” Joaquim stabs at a stubborn cherry tomato he’s been chasing in his sa
lad bowl. “I mean, I’ve told him I love him. We’re in love. Why would I tell him these things if I was going to leave him?”
“Well, aren’t you?” Nina asks. She’s managing to eat her salad competently.
“No! God, I’m just going home for a little bit. I mean, obviously we’ll work something out after that.”
“Dude, is that obvious to him, though?” Bobby comes up behind them with his own lunch.
“How much of this conversation have you heard?” Joaquim struggles with his tone. “Because if you don’t know what’s going on—”
“Chill, man. I haven’t heard it all, but I know you. You’re all…” Bobby gestures indecipherably. “And he’s not. I mean, isn’t he like, a neat freak and stuff?”
“What does this have to do with—?”
“Maybe he needs more. Not everyone is as chill as you.”
“Ugh,” Joaquim moans and puts his head on the table. Nina takes his salad bowl and begins picking out the unfinished bits. “He accused me of being cavalier with our relationship! That’s fucked up, though, right?”
“I don’t know that I’d call it fucked up. That’s harsh, sure. But he worries about shit, right? He’s got issues,” Nina says. Joaquim glares at her. She shrugs.
“Do not judge him; you don’t know anything.”
“Man, we’ve all gone on dives with him. You talk to your sister in the room sometimes,” Bobby says, mouth full of a turkey and spinach sandwich. “We don’t know details. I’m not judging him; I don’t know his story. But we’re not totally obtuse, man.”
Joaquim struggles to hold back his words. He’s not sharing Reid’s story with anyone; it’s never going to be his to tell without permission. And he wasn’t expecting people who barely know Reid to take his side, though he knows it’s immature to expect that they would take his. The frustration he felt when he and Reid fought hasn’t left him; he’s been stewing in it all night and into his morning shift.
