Chapter Eighteen: Let Me Show You

Alex

I'm not sure when I feel asleep, but when I wake on Sunday morning my cheeks are stiff with dried tears, my neck sore from the angle I'd curled into my bed. I know you're still out in the living room, at least I assume you are. Around here there really isn't anywhere for you to go. If we were in New York, you'd be gone. You'd have gone back to your apartment, out to walk the city, gone into work on your day off. But here you're pretty much captive. At first I'm sorry for that, wishing to have this place to myself while I think, but then I'm glad, glad that for once you don't have the option of running away.

I walk into the adjoining bathroom and wash my face, scrubbing at the places where my salty tears stained my face, wishing I could scrub away the feeling that went with them. I know I shouldn't let this hurt me; on some level I understand that you're reluctance to be labeled isn't about me. But I can't help seeing this for what it is.

You're scared. You always do this when you're scared. You find a way to make me hate you for a while, until you stop being scared. You're very good at getting me back, but the sad truth is that you're even better at pushing me away. I can't have a marriage like this, can't have a life this way. I pull your ring off my finger, setting it on the counter, staring at it in the too white light of the fluorescents. My heart aches, pains, staring at that small circle, staring at the thing I want so badly I can hardly breathe. I feel my tears threaten to begin again, and I bring the cool washcloth back to my face, holding it over my eyes, feeling drips of water drop onto my neck.

For two days I had everything I wanted. Two days. I sink to my knees, gripping the counter. Why do you do this to me? I think back over yesterday, trying to find the place where it fell apart. It seemed so simple; it was just a discussion, just a word. Why does it always come down to that word? Maybe it's my fault, maybe I should just let it go, admit that you can't embrace this the way I have. I knew, I knew years ago that this wasn't going to be something you took to easily. When I met you, everything in my life changed. I changed. For me, 'gay' was just a word. You say it's because of your profession, because of being a cop. But do people want a gay lawyer anymore than a gay cop? Look what happened to Serena.

I love you, therefore I'm gay. It's just that simple. It's not a definition, it's not a description, it's just a fucking word. The only place it means anything is between the two of us. You'd tell me that's lawyer logic, that it doesn't hold up in the world outside our bedroom, in the world outside our relationship. I don't care what people call me, I've been called far worse than gay. Why does it matter so much to you? I didn't want to start crying again, but I can't help feeling like your rejection of that word is a rejection of me, and my sobs start without my help until I'm shuddering on the bathroom floor, wondering if things will ever be the same again. I reach above me and grab at my ring, clutching it in my fist as I cry.

I almost don't hear you open the door, until I smell your scent in the air I don't know you've come to sit beside me, all of a sudden so close and at the same time further away than we've ever been.

Olivia

I wake early Sunday morning, starting my day with a clutch of fear as I notice the bottle in my hand. For some reason the fact that it's water doesn't comfort me. I rise from the sofa and stretch the stiffness from my muscles. Then I walk to the closed bedroom door, wanting to open it and go to you, but stopping instead and placing my hand on the door's cool white surface. I rest my forehead next to it, wanting desperately to tell you I'm sorry.

Instead I move quickly away as I hear you stirring, locking myself into the hall bathroom to wash away my own tearstains and the stiffness on my cheeks. I take off my ring and place it on the counter, washing my hands, then rubbing your strawberry lotion into my fingers and palms, bringing my hands to my face and smelling you there. I think back to yesterday, trying to see your point of view.

I keep expecting you to emerge, angry and hurt. As I open the door and move back into the kitchen I expect to see you perched at the table with your coffee cup, wanting to talk. As relieved as I am that you're not, I'm even more frightened by this lockdown, by this lock-away. I'd almost rather you were out here, yelling… crying… leaving even. But this so close so far thing is just-- it's torturous. There's part of me that wants to run from this but a larger part, the part that's twirling a small platinum ring on my finger that wants desperately to barge into the bedroom and hold you. I start to make food, but realize I'm not hungry. I still want a drink though and the thought of it makes me slam the fridge door in frustration. On the door of the fridge is a picture of us. The only decoration you keep there. I look at the walls around me, see pictures of us everywhere, pictures of me. How do you always manage to find that perfect light? I walk back into the living room and see a picture I've never noticed before, when was it taken-- in Greece? I see my image, my head thrown back in a laugh and you next to me, your arm wrapped around my waist, your head turned towards me. And that look in your eyes. That 'one and only' look. I've never noticed that before. I pull the frame off the wall and sit on the sofa, staring at your face, at the way you looked at me. I hate the old familiar feeling that washes over me. That feeling that says you were right, again.

I can hear you crying again, further away now and I can only assume you've gone into the master bathroom. For once, I'm the one that breaks the silence… I'm the one that walks back to you… I'm the one that tries to fix it-- not with flowers or candy or any of the other ridiculous ploys I've used in the past.

I walk into the bedroom, moving quietly pausing to see you sink to your knees through the open bathroom door. My heart catches in my chest, an exquisite rush of pain as I watch you collapsing, your right hand reaching upwards to grab the ring you've set on the counter. I watch your fist clench around it as you pull it to your chest, sobbing. I move timidly into the bathroom and sit next to you on the floor, our bodies matched in posture, with less than an inch between us I still am not sure you even know I'm here.

Alex

I don't acknowledge your presence, don't shift, don't change, don't even bother to try and stay my tears. Vindictive as it feels I want you to see this pain. I want you to know what this rejection is to me. I almost jump at your touch, and I hate that even in this anger and pain and disgust my body still reacts to your nearness.

I feel you pulling me towards you, and I want to resist, want to fight you. I want to hit you, to push you away to make you leave. I want to throw this ring back at you, to hear it hit your chest, hear it fall to the floor. Instead I let you gather me into your body and rub my back as I cry in your lap. I lose my breath, sobs wracking my body and I can't stop. Every pass of your hand across my back brings new tears and I can't stand this feeling, this loss of control over my body, over my pain. Where did this all come from?

"Alex," you whisper into my hair as I lean into you, feeling my tears pool on your shirt, on your jeans.

"Alex you were right." Your voice cracks, "It's just that I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of being stuck in a box, and you're right it does have to do with us. Everything has to do with us and I didn't get that. I still… I'm not sure I understand totally. I may not ever. But I'll try."

Your tears start to fall, joining mine as I feel my sobs starting to calm, feel my tears starting to wane.

"I'll try because I love you. Because I want this to last. Please don't let my fears stop us. I want this, I want us. Please… Lexi please."

I listen as your sobs begin, as you shake with me in your arms. Your fear is palpable, tactile. I lift myself from your lap, lift your face in my hands, forcing you to meet my eyes as your tears flow between my fingers. I kiss your forehead, then stare at you, unblinking.

"Liv, you have got to stop being afraid. I understand how you feel, I do baby," my voice cracks and my tears threaten to begin again. "But when you tell me you're afraid of someone thinking you're gay it kills me. Because it makes me feel like I'm not what you want."

"Alex--"

"No Olivia, let me finish. You are going to have to accept this part of yourself. Not for me, for you. You're gay. It doesn't define you, it's just part of who you are. You're gay. And yes, people are going to think that. And yes people are going to see that. And yes being married to me is going to mean that every once in awhile people are going to look at you and the first thing they think is going to be 'gay.' But baby, the thing you don't seem to understand is this,"

I make sure you're staring into my eyes, I need you to hear this, need you to know it, need you to feel it.

"It. Doesn't. Matter."

Olivia

"It. Doesn't. Matter."

I hear you say it, see your eyes sinking into mine. I try to believe you. I want to believe you. I need to believe you.

"Say it Olivia. Say the words. Say it out loud. 'I'm gay.' Maybe if you say it you'll see that it doesn't mean anything. Maybe you'll see that they're just words."

I shake my head, I've said them before… said them to you even. I don't know why I'm so hung up on this, it's not something that makes sense to me. I'm not afraid of anything, it's part of the job. But I'm petrified of three little letters and I can't explain it. You tell me you don't really understand and I want to explain it-- I do. But how can I explain something I don't understand either? Suddenly I feel your lips on mine, pressing against me. I didn't expect this. What's happening? I try to stifle my tears, to stop my sobs but I'm still crying as you gently shift your tongue between my lips, touching gently inside my mouth. I pull away,

"What are you doing?"

"I want you to know what that word means. What it means to me. All the beautiful things it includes. This is one of them, let me show you baby please."

You bring your hand to my face, and turn your body to face me as you grab a washcloth from above and wipe my tears, then yours… we've done this before, only the last time I think I was consoling you. You move back to my mouth, take my hand and lace our fingers together.

"This is what it means, baby." You kiss me again, pulling my body into you wrapping one hand around my back, pulling me closer and I tense, feeling trapped for a moment before giving in.

You break from me, take the hand you're holding and pull me up with you, pull me into the bedroom. I can still see you're hurt, that deep down there's part of you that's still angry and I wonder why you're doing this. You step back from me and strip off your t-shirt, pull off your sweats then reach for me, tugging away my clothes then lying on the bed and pulling me to you, drawing my body over you.

"Alex…"

"Livvy no, just let me show you. This is what it means," You cup my breast with your hand as I rest above you, almost kneeling over you. You use your hand to draw my breast to your lips, your tongue snaking out to lick my nipple, and I feel my body responding to you the way it always does, feel the goosebumps raise on my skin, feel a warmth between my legs. You draw more of my soft flesh into your mouth, suckling at me as I feel the heat spreading through my body.

"This is what it means Livvy," You move your hand away from my breast, sliding it slowly down my torso, touching my dips and curves, every inch of your palm, the tip of every finger sliding over my skin. Your hand rests at my hips as you use the other to pull me into another kiss, breathing against me…"This is what it means baby."

I let your tongue slide into my mouth, feel it slipping between my teeth and tangling with mine. I close my eyes involuntarily, getting lost in this feeling. When I feel the hand you've cupped around my face leaving, moving downwards I became aware that you're shifting me, pulling me up, towards the top of the bed and I break our kiss partly because my body is now out of position and partly because I'm surprised.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you what the word means Liv. This is what it means. This, here. It means I love you, it means I want to be with you. It means I want to taste you on my lips every day for the rest of my life. That's what it means baby."

You draw my body towards you, shifting me up until I'm kneeling above you, above those lips, above that mouth, until I can feel you breathing against my slit. You've never done this before. You've always resisted this. Resisted the image of one of us kneeling above the other, I've never known why. You didn't have a problem with one of us hanging over the edge of the bed, but for some reason this proximity always made you nervous.

"What are you doing Alex?"

"I'm showing you what it means baby. Because I want you to replace the words I'm gay with I'm loved." You stop speaking, pulling me to your mouth and gently sliding your tongue up my slit, pushing deeper every second. On the third pass I feel you pass through my folds, feel you entering my body. My back arches at the slick feeling of your tongue inside of me, and I tangle my hand in your hair as you dive into me, feeling you love me in a way you've never allowed yourself before.

"Oh god Alex…" the words escape my lips without intention. I look down, below my body, past the curve of my breasts to watch you raise a hand, wrapping your arm around my leg, upwards, reaching for me. I clasp your hand with my own as you add the fingers of your other hand to the stroke of your tongue. I grip your hand as I feel my body contracting, and as much as I want to watch your eyes staring up at me my neck arches against my will, my body reacting without my help as you bring me over the edge.

Later, as we lie together… after I've given up trying to return the favor you ask me if I understand now, if I can see that they're more than words, and less than words. If I see why it's so important to me, if I see what it means to you.

I nod against your shoulder, "It means you love me."

In the stillness of our room I hear you sigh, "finally."