Oh god oh god oh god
He's gone.
Chapter 35
Nicholas
"Hey, Pretty Lady. You must be dehydrated from being so hot. Let me buy you a drink."
Emily turns to me, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. "Is this guy for real?"
I peek at the suit with the slicked back hair and the new-money smile standing behind her. I'm way too dejected to be amused right now.
I think I just rolled my eyes.
He tries again. "You'd better get a Sex-on-the-Beach because that's where this night is headed for me and you."
Emily tsks, still giving him her back. She speaks as if he isn’t standing right there. "He's not even trying to be clever. Just gross."
He slides a hand down the side of her arm until he's cupping her elbow. Emily looks like she's about to strike him with a beer mug. "Baby, you gonna give it to me or what?"
Okay. Enough is enough. “Come on, man,” I roar, irritated, "She's a fucking lesbian. Can't you tell?"
The guy's eyes go wide with realization as he takes another look at my stepsister. "Aw man," he mutters. Grumbling under his breath, he hangs his head in disappointment and trudges away.
Emily breaks into applause next to me, wearing the delight of a proud parent. "There's the misogynistic hero that society expects you to be! I always knew he was in there somewhere under all those layers of indifference!" She dramatically wipes a fake tear from her eye.
"Whatever," I grumble, spinning my empty beer mug on the counter in front of me. I'm not in the mood for her ribbing even though she has the best of intentions, just trying to cheer me up.
"Jeez." She pounds a fist into my shoulder. "Would you lighten up, Nick?"
Lighten up?
The girl I'm in love has been getting pounded non-stop by some mysterious small town Casanova who picked up the pieces when I broke her heart.
Sorry. I can't ‘lighten up’.
Emily downs a gulp of beer, her eyes still on me. "Y'see, all this misery you're going through?" She waves an unsympathetic hand in my direction. "It's all self-inflicted. You've brought it all on yourself."
"She's got a new boyfriend," I huff tersely, not at all interested in her lecture.
"So what? She gave you her virginity. Trust me – you're the one she wants. She'd dump the new guy for you in a heartbeat."
I shake my head. "You just don't get it, Em."
"Well, enlighten me. What don't I get?"
I grunt. If I tell Emily that the reason I ended things with Blakely is because of my disorder, she'll talk my head off, chastising me until the bartender throws us out at closing call. So I keep my mouth shut, pressed into a flat line.
Emily sighs. "Nicholas. She will choose you over the other guy. That's just the way the female heart works. You took her virginity. She has a special place in there just for you."
That's part of the problem. Whether she's dating someone new or not, I'm no good for her. Blakely is sweet as cotton candy. She deserves the very best. And the thought of her ruining what might be a good relationship just for the damaged man that I am...I can't let that happen. I don’t expect Emily to understand.
My stepsister shakes her head, muttering to herself. "I told you to step up to her and tell her how you felt, but nnnooooo. You chose to be stubborn. And now, you're moping around like somebody just hacked your mainframe and planted a virus in your source code."
What?
I look at her and chuckle. "Okay. Enough love advice from you, Emily. Can we just sit here quietly so I can mope with dignity?" I feel bad enough as it is. I don’t need her rubbing my predicament in my face.
“No!” she shouts defiantly. “I will not let you mope with dignity. I will shame you into admitting that you’re wrong, you’re lying to yourself. I’m tired of tiptoeing around the issue, Nicholas. It’s time to face it head on.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye as she pulls up her phone and dials a few numbers. I grab the bartender’s attention and order another round of beers because what else am I good for, really?
Emily’s voice bellows out. “Hello Christina…” she says in a sour tone and my blood runs acidic in my veins.
“What the fuck!” I mouth, staring her down.
She’s speaking to my mother. My mother. Come on, Emily. That’s low, even for you.
She ignores my grimace and continues. “Yes, I’m sitting here with your son, watching him sabotage the one relationship he’s ever invested himself in and I think that it’s time you finally tell him the truth.”
My eyebrows furrow. What the hell is she talking about?
Emily’s eyes roll into her skull. “Don’t play dumb with me, lady. I know the real reason your first marriage ended, and your second, and your third. Your poor son has been walking around all these years with the burden of thinking that his disorder was the reason for all of your failed relationships. He thinks that he doesn’t deserve love. You’ve got to tell him the truth. Now! Tell him why you can’t keep a man.”
I can’t just sit here and listen to this. I need to know what Emily’s getting at. I grab the phone from her and bring it to my ear.
“Mom, what the hell is Emily talking about? What is it that I don’t know?”
My mother’s voice trembles on the other end of the line. “I always hated that little bitch!” she mutters. I hear the familiar sound of ice cubes clinking against the sides of her favorite crystal tumbler as she enjoys her nightly scotch.
“Stop beating around the bush,” I say, eyes glued to my stepsister, “Tell me what’s going on!”
My mother growls. “Is that anyway to talk to your m—”
“Stop stalling” I demand.
The woman snarls. “I’m a lesbian, goddammit! I’m a fucking lesbian! The feeling of a man’s hands on my body makes my skin crawl! The thought of lying with a man makes me sick! There! Are you and the devil's little pale-ass spawn happy now?"
Everything in my world freezes. My head spins. Whoa!
“You’re a lesbian? That’s why your marriages fell apart?”
“Fuck you for judging me, Nicholas!” she spits out.
I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t care that you’re a lesbian. But how could you let me go all these years thinking that I was the reason no man wanted to stay with you, that I was too fucked up to love?”
I hear her take a loud swallow. I imagine her in her floor-length pink satin duster, holding her tumbler of scotch daintily between her thumb and forefinger as she speaks. “It was the fucking ‘80s. My parents were high-society. Your father’s family was rich. There was a lot of stigma surrounding homosexuality. Our family’s arranged the marriage. I went along with it because what choice did I have? And when you came along a few years later, all lanky and strange…I don’t know, okay? Once you came along, I didn’t have to face the truth anymore. Yes, you put a strain on my marriage, but it was already cracked open long before you made your appearance.”
I’m hot with rage, betrayal stinging my lungs. “You just let me believe…” my words trail off.
“I’m sorry, okay! It was easier to blame it on you than to accept responsibility for it.”
My eyes turn to Emily. “And how did you know?”
She holds up her hands defensively and leans close to the receiver. “I’ve only known for a few weeks!” she says. “I say her at a Meet-Up for women in the closet. I went to offer support to a friend. And she was there.”
“Is that true?” I ask my mother.
She sighs. “It’s true.”
“This is fucking insane.” I feel like everything I’ve ever known about myself and my worth just got shot to shit. I guess I should feel free now that I know the truth but instead, I just feel like a stranger to my own self.
My mother continues to ramble on in her drunk slur but I just end the call and toss the phone to Emily.
“Y’see, Nicholas –”
I get out of my seat so brusquely that my s
tool topples over. “Don’t!” I growl, jabbing my pointer in her direction. “Just don’t!”
She calls my name as I stomp out the door. Yeh, I left her with the tab. I hear she has a few million sitting in the bank so I think she’ll manage just fine.
Shock still pulses through my body but now, I’m filled with remorse too. I built my self-image on a lie, a lie told by my mother, a lie that cost me the only woman I’ve ever loved.
And now it’s too late to do anything about it.
Chapter 36
Blakely
This isn’t healthy.
He’s gone. I should be trying to forget him. Instead, I spend every free minute Internet stalking him. And the information about him is scant, at best. His Facebook profile is barren. He hasn’t posted in months. Same with LinkedIn. Google searches don’t reveal much, either.
So I end up digging around on the website for Conquer : For Aspies. The site describes the app as a cognitive aid designed to help people with Asperger’s and other autism spectrum disorders to choose appropriate communication cues and social responses.
According to the website, Asperger’s disorder is a neurobiological developmental disorder on the higher-functioning end of the autism spectrum. Symptoms vary from person to person, presenting as mild in some while severe in others. The disorder is most commonly characterized by deficiencies in social interaction and nonverbal communication. Because of their odd behavior and failure to observe social norms, aspies are often ostracized and bullied by others. Although most aspies are educated in the mainstream education system, many also require additional special cognitive and behavior training.
Reading that description breaks my heart. I can relate, though. I know firsthand how hard it is to feel like you’re on the outside looking in just because you’re a bit different. I’ve always been shy and self-conscious, mainly due to my blindingly-red hair and the freckles littered all over my skin. It’s funny, though, because when Nicholas would put his arms around me, my strangeness didn’t matter to me anymore. He made me forget about all the things that made me different. I felt safe in our little world.
And then he left, and I realized that that sense of security was a lie.
On a heavy sigh, I bring my attention back to the website. There’s a long section listing off several examples of how Conquer: For Aspies can help Asperger’s sufferers. But it’s the section that drills down on the symptoms of Asperger’s Syndrome that really captures my attention. As I read through it, it starts to remind me of Nicholas.
Difficulty making and maintaining eye contact.
Check. I remember that day in the hallway when he told me that looking into someone’s eyes felt like staring into their soul without permission. I’d agreed wholeheartedly with that statement.
Flat affect and lack of facial expressions.
Check. Nicholas’ face is always so difficult to read. He always has this ‘game face’ on which makes it impossible to gauge what he’s thinking.
Difficulty understanding personal space and other boundaries.
Check again. Nicholas definitely has an issue with understanding personal boundaries. I remember when he went snooping through my laptop and found my manuscript. He couldn’t seem to understand why his invasion of my privacy upset me.
Plus, there was the day when we met outside of the bookstore. His leg brushed against mine under the table. I was dying of discomfort and he seemed cool as a cucumber.
Difficulty understanding sarcasm and implied meanings.
Oh god. Don’t get me started.
The more symptoms I read, the more obvious it becomes to me – Why didn’t I realize this before? – Nicholas has Asperger’s Syndrome.
My heart goes tight immediately. Could that be the reason why he refused to carry on a relationship with me? Is that why he ran away?
Chapter 37
Nicholas
I’m lying across my bed, feeling utterly useless. I’ve never felt so unmotivated in my life. I glance across at the army of pill bottles sitting on my bedside table. The medical profession tells me that those bottles hold the solution to my problems.
I know better.
Nothing else will make me feel better. Nothing but holding Blakely in my arms again.
I miss that girl. I miss her shy smile, her green crystal eyes, her wild red curls. I miss the way her fingers feel on my skin. I miss the way she looks laying beneath me, primed and ready for me.
Fuck – I thought that going to Reyfield would uncomplicate my life. I went there in search of reprieve. But now, I’m more twisted up than ever. I don’t know how I’m going to put myself back together again. This time, I’m out of ideas.
My laptop starts ringing, indicating that a Facetime call is coming through. I almost ignore it. Emily’s been trying to reach out to me ever since that night at the bar. But I need space and time to get my thoughts in order. I just learned the truth – my parents didn’t divorce because of me. I wasn’t so unlovable that my father chose to walk away. But knowing the truth isn’t exactly a magic solution. In some ways, it makes me feel worse. It makes me feel like an idiot for throwing Blakely away based on a false premise. It makes me hate my mother for making me hate myself.
And does the fact that my Asperger’s wasn’t the reason for my parents’ split automatically erase the fact that I’m a socially-awkward freak who relies on an entire pharmacy of drugs just to function somewhat normally? No, not really. I still behave inappropriately in social situations. I still say the wrong things. React in the wrong ways. I could still embarrass her in public. Fail to be there for her in the ways that she needs me. I might still end up letting her down. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for doing that.
So, yeh, I have some things to work out before I can just go back to drinking beers and chatting with Emily at the bar like nothing’s changed.
But thank god I glance up at my computer anyway because it’s Blakely’s name flashing on the screen.
I prop myself up on pillows and run a hand through my messed up hair. My heart riots in my chest. I just want to see her. To hear her.
“Hey Blakely,” I say as I answer the call.
But the sight of her is like a punch to the gut. Her nose is red and her eyes shine from crying. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with my pretty girl. I swear to god – if that new guy hurt her in anyway, I’m gonna –
“You have Asperger’s…”
She blurts out the words. The accusation in her tone slices through me and her expression is one I never wanted to see on her face. It’s pure disgust.
She’s disgusted by me.
That was always my biggest fear. That she would find out about this and she would be disgusted by me. Just like I thought my father was. Just like my mother told me her legion of ex-husbands had been.
I sit there silent, ashamed, and she sobs quietly wiping her eyes with a tissue as fresh tears spill down her cheek. “Got nothing to say?” she asks sharply, her voice cracking.
“Blakely – I should have told you–”
“Yeh, you should have told me,” she spits out bitterly, “You should have told me instead of running away from me…That is why you ran away, isn’t it?”
All my emotions bubble up to the surface. I curl my fingers into fists in an attempt to keep my shit together. “I get it. You’re mad that I didn’t tell you. You’re mad that I let you get involved with me without telling you that I have this repulsive disorder. I didn’t deserve to have you in any way. But I got greedy. I’m sorry. I should have never touched you –”
She laughs resentfully, shaking her head as if in disbelief. “What?!”
“It was wrong of me to take your virginity knowing how broken I am.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Her eyes are narrow, her lips pulled tight. Her outburst surprises me. She has my full attention now.
“You are absolutely clueless, Nicholas!” Her sadness has fully morphed into rage. “I’m mad that you tho
ught you couldn’t tell me. Like you thought I’d reject you if I knew the truth. You thought you were broken so to avoid talking about the ‘problem’, you broke me. That’s what I’m mad about, Nicholas! I gave you my body and whether you wanted it or not, I gave you my heart. I put all of my trust in you. And you didn’t trust me! You couldn’t see that I wouldn’t give up on you over a simple fucking diagnosis probably made by a group of fucking shrinks who don’t know you the way I do, who’ve never seen the sides of you that you showed me. I would never give up on you just because you have Asperger’s!”
Dirty Lover (The Dirty Suburbs Book 5) Page 14
