Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter 43 Playlist


Here to Fall's tumblr

Chapter Forty-Three

APOV

I felt like I’d been on a high since I told Tyler I loved him, and for most of the last month we spent our time acting like two idiots in love.  But strippers keep really odd hours, so it was normal for me to make it back to Tyler’s apartment in the really early morning.  Most nights when I got there, he was already sleeping, but he’d stay up sometimes or I’d find him waiting on the couch, half-conked out or whatever.  I was surprised when I got home and he was completely awake.  

“Tyler?”  He was just sitting in the chair in the living room, sort of staring off into space.  He wasn’t facing me, and didn’t say anything, and I don’t think he really knew I was even there.  I dropped my bag and went over to him; thinking maybe seeing me would help, and fluttered my hand through his hair, down his face and neck to rest on his shoulder.  “Baby?”

He seemed to snap out of it slowly, his head rising a little in my direction.  “Hey.”

He reached out a hand, and I moved closer, dropping to sit on his lap.  Something was off; wrong.  And I couldn’t remember him telling me that anything was going on today.  “Are you ok?”

He didn’t say anything.  I kept my hands on him, trying to comfort if that was necessary.  “Tyler?  Did something happen?”

He just let me touch him.  He didn’t answer me.    

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head slowly.  “Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Of course.”  He had to know I’d do anything I could for him.

“Will you fuck me?”

Not what I expected, honestly, because that was such a simple request, and one he didn’t need to ask for at all.  “Of course,” I said quickly.  I mean, was he kidding?  He never really asked me that before.  It was something we just sort of assumed.  It happened regularly, hell, daily a lot of the time.  The novelty hadn’t, like, worn off.  He seemed relieved I said yes, which was just even weirder.  “Come on,” I said, moving to stand, and grabbing his hand, pulling him with me.  

He moved easily enough, and I pushed him towards the bedroom.  “Get into bed, ok?  I’m gonna turn the lights off out here.”

When I got into the bedroom, he was just sitting on the bed, facing me, but head down, shoulders slumped, and now, he was really starting to worry me.  I wanted to ask him about whatever was going on, but I knew he wasn’t going to tell me anything right now.  He definitely wasn’t in a talking mood.

I sat down next to him, touching his face.  He hadn’t taken any clothes off or anything, he wasn’t telling me anything he wanted either.  I kissed him softly a few times, finally reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt.  “Arms up,” I said quietly, peeling the shirt over his head.  I’m not sure I could classify his expression or his mood.  He was very…blank.  Or numb.  Not typical Tyler.  

“You wanna lie down?” I finally asked, my eyebrows arching.  

He moved without saying anything, just easing back and looking up at me.  I pulled my shirt off, losing the bra, too and laid down with him, half of my upper body on his.  He seemed to be ok with touch, so I kept doing that, kissing him gently.  I don’t know what I expected really.  He wasn’t normally like this, and I really didn’t know what to do for him.

“What do you need?  Tell me what you need.”

“I just want you to fuck me.”

“Ok, I can do that.”  I didn’t ask anything else, but it just seemed like something else was necessary.   Not that just getting right to it wasn’t fine, it just seemed like—or maybe I just wanted to do something else for him first.  I took his shorts off, and the rest of my clothes, too, while wondering about what else I could do.  It was the simplicity that bothered me.  Like if something had happened that he was this upset about, or it was making him not-Tyler-ish, that it would deserve some other introduction.  

“Do you want me to blow you?”

I didn’t even get a verbal response to that, just a quick shake of his head.  

“You just want me to get on you?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded, and just eased him inside me, waiting for some kind of clue as to what he wanted me to do for him.  I moved on him slowly, touching his face.  “Baby, I want to do whatever you need.  But you gotta help me out a little here.  Tell me what I should do for you.”

He really gave me nothing back.  I mean, he wasn’t unhappy; I knew that much.  But he was still just blank.  He wasn’t giving me any direction.  I moved on him for a while, varying the speeds and waiting for him to get frustrated or bored, or anything—just an indication of something.  Finally, I sighed.  “Tyler, you’re so much better at this shit than I am.  I don’t know what to do for you.  You always know what to do for me.  What I need.  Help me.  Tell me what I should do.”

He sat us up, shaking his head.  “I don’t… I don’t ask you to tell me what you need.  I just watch.  I just watch and I do what you need.”  

He was getting mad now.  Or not mad, just…upset.  Frustrated.  I didn’t want that.  That was part of the problem already.  He was pissed or frustrated or hurt or mad.  And he was right.  He didn’t ever ask me what he needed to do.  He just watched and learned.  I could do that for him, too.  Because I didn’t ever know what I needed.  That’s what he was trying to tell me.  He didn’t know what he needed.  That’s why he couldn’t tell me.  He picked it up for me as we went along when the situation was reversed.   He read me well—that was how he knew.  

His hand came up to rub over his eyes, like a headache was starting, or he had it all along.  “Just… I’m tired.  Let’s just go to bed.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.  “I want to do this.”

“Please just get off.  I can’t do this right now.”

“You don’t have to do anything.  You’re right.”  I grabbed the hand over his eyes, turning his face so he was looking at me.  “You’re right.  You don’t ask me.  You just watch, and that’s how you know.  I’ll do that.  I can do that.”  

I hadn’t convinced him yet.  And I think he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable, or ask me to do something that I hadn’t… I dunno.  I just know I hadn’t convinced him.  He started to move us again.  

“Tyler.”  

He stopped at his name, looking at me.  

I started pushing on his chest, easing him back.  “I’ll take care of it.  Just lie back.”  

He let me, still watching, gauging.  But it was better than the flat out refusing, or trying to move me off of him.  

He was thinking, too.  Too much—and all the time, the thoughts just running—I could see that now.  That was part of it—maybe distraction was what he needed because his thoughts were too distracting and consuming to start with.  

I was probably fumbling through the entire thing.  It wasn’t as easy as he made it look.  Or I wasn’t as good of a people-reader as he was.  Or he was a better Allison reader than I was a Tyler reader.  It wasn’t for lack of skill or technique; I mean I knew every fucking skill or technique that was out there.  It was more of a silent, physical conversation that I wasn’t the more talented side of.  Tyler was better at this.  He had more experience with people.  I tried to watch his face for what it might tell me: if he liked something, if I was moving too fast, too slow, too hard, too soft.  He wasn’t overly choosey tonight, and I think that was part of the problem.  I knew what Tyler liked.  I knew what got him off.  But Tyler himself was different, so it was sort of confusing from the start.  And it wasn’t that he didn’t like what I was doing, or it wasn’t getting the job done, I just knew he was still off.  So it didn’t much matter if it was hard or slow or rough or soft.  The changes didn’t work; he wanted consistent, so that’s what I wound up sticking with.  Everything in between; not fast or slow, or rough or soft, just the same pace, same pressure.  And he came, so it wasn’t a matter of not being into sex—he’d asked for that.  

It was just odd.  Not bad.  Tyler could have off nights, too.  I just wished I knew what the cause of it was.  

He was just as quiet after, so it didn’t seem very likely I was going to find out tonight.  I stayed close to him, and eventually he moved gently to sit against the wall, grabbing the pack of cigarettes that sat on the nightstand.  He offered me one, but I shook my head, watching him while still lying down.  He smoked in silence for a while, still completely lost in thought.  I considered asking him about it again, but think-y Tyler was a dish better left served when Tyler fucking decided.  

“Caroline had that art show thing tonight,” he said quietly.  It seemed sort of sudden, but we must have been sitting there for the better part of a half hour in silence.  

If life had music that randomly played like movies, a dark and sinking theme would have started when he said that.  I sat up.  “Oh, fuck, Tyler.  I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He was smoking like a chimney, one right after another.  

“You should have said something.”

“I did.”

I racked my brain, trying to remember when he said something about it.  It had to have been something small he said in passing.  There was no way I would have forgotten that.  “When did you tell me?”  I didn’t say it like I was accusing—just asking.

He blew out smoke and basically killed the cigarette in the ashtray.  His memory must have been much better than mine.  “I told you twice.”  He said this all clipped and angry.  When I didn’t say anything back, he just kept going.  “I told you once when Caroline told me about it, and I told you once on Monday, too.  Then that fucking Russian called and you said you had to work, so I didn’t say anything again then.”  

I closed my eyes for a second, sighing.  “Was Caroline mad?”

“Caroline doesn’t get mad.  She just gets disappointed.  Which is basically what our family has been like her entire life—just one big disappointment after another.  My father never showed either, so it wasn’t like your presence was missed.  I mean if her own fucking dad can’t show up, what’s the difference then if her brother’s girlfriend does.”  

“You should have told me again.”

“Why?  What difference would it have made?”

“What do you mean?”

“Forget it.”

“No, seriously, what?”

“I wanted you there.  We were supposed to have dinner with my father.  And instead, I had to have dinner with him alone.  And then watch as he cut out and went to a fucking meeting instead of his daughter’s show.  Because his job has always been more important than his family.”

“Baby, nothing is more important to me than you.  You know that.  You didn’t tell me about dinner.  I know you didn’t tell me about dinner.  You mentioned Caroline’s show; that I do remember, but I know you never said anything about the dinner.  You should have reminded me about the show.  You know I would never skip that.  I didn’t mean to.”

“Does it matter?  Does it matter if you don’t mean to?  He never means to.  That’s what he says.  Or that it couldn’t be avoided.  What does that mean even?  That it can’t be avoided?  It can always fucking be avoided.  You just say you’re going to be somewhere, and you’re there.  How hard if it to just fucking show up?  Even if you didn’t stay.  You could still fucking show up.  That’s all she needs.  How do you fucking avoid your own child?  How do you do that even?  When you already lost one!  I mean it’s bad enough he fucked up Michael and me, but wouldn’t you think he’d try harder with his youngest?  That he’d at least make an effort?  Instead of being even more of a fucking absentee father?  And she was so excited.  So excited that we were all going to be there.  And he ruins it.  He ruins everything.”  

Shit.  This was more than just Caroline being disappointed in her father not showing up.  I was probably just an extra disappointment, but I didn’t think she’d probably hold that against me too badly.  I’d only done it once.  The bigger problem here was Tyler.  Tyler was disappointed.  And honestly, there wasn’t really a worse feeling.  Physical pain healed, words sunk in and they might have planted themselves deep in some place that hurt, but you still moved on.  You eventually forgot most of it.  Disappointment was harder, bigger.  It was harder to get over.  That feeling was draining—like it sucked the hope right out of you.  And making that up.  Fuck.  It was much harder.  I’d done the same thing to Tyler and Caroline that their father had done.  Only with Caroline, I knew I could make it up.  And it would be pretty simple.  Making it up to Tyler was something different.  

He kept switching between anger and just…he looked so defeated, and hurt.  Everything he was saying about Caroline, about his father not caring enough to show up—he was saying it about himself, too.  These were all just repeated things that he’d experienced himself.  

He lit another cigarette, the anger back.  “I almost hit him.”  He took a quick drag, smirking.

“Hit him?  When?  At dinner?”

He shook his head, the end of the cigarette disappearing in cherry flame at a really amazing speed.  “After he bailed, and I went to the show, and I had to tell Caroline—because it’s always someone else that has to tell her; that has to ruin it, and taint it, because he doesn’t have the balls to do it himself—she left.  She left her own fucking show because it just didn’t matter anymore when the one person you want to show up doesn’t bother to come.  So I went to his office, and interrupted the really important meeting he had to have during his daughter’s art show.”  

“What happened?”

“I wanted an answer.  I wanted to know what was so important, and why he insisted on letting his daughter believe that he didn’t even like her.”  

I didn’t say anything, didn’t ask anything else, because the anger was bubbling right there, and it was better if I just let him get it out.  

“They shouldn’t have stopped us.”

He said it so…lowly, and with this edge of cold to his voice, I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant.  “Shouldn’t have stopped you?”

“He was going to hit me.  And I was happy to return the favor.  His meeting lackeys stopped us.  Kept us apart until I left.”  

“Why was he going to hit you?”

“Because Charles Hawkins doesn’t like to be called out for shit he does wrong.  And definitely not in public, in front of people that are under him.  And because I was right.”  

“What did you say?”

“I said a lot of shit.  It doesn’t really matter.  It won’t make a difference.”  He didn’t even wait after his current cigarette was gone; he lit the next one with the old one.  He was back to the defeat part, the anger leaking away for the moment.  

“Tyler, I would never put my job before you.  I want you to know that.  But you’re right—I never say no to working—and when Yev calls, I don’t say no.  I think part of it is because I know what he’s capable of.  But working has always been the thing I did.  And I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I forgot.  You shouldn’t have had to remind me, either.  It was important to Caroline, but it was important to you, too, and I’m sorry.  I should have been there.  And I should have been there for dinner with your father, too.  I’m sorry you had to do that alone.”  He didn’t say anything, so I kept going.  “I’ll call Caroline tomorrow.  And maybe she and I can do something.  Just the two of us.  To make it up to her.”  

He crushed the cigarette out, blowing out the last of the smoke.  “She’s not mad at you.  It wasn’t you.  It was my father.”  

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Mad at me.”

He let out a long breath.  “No, not really.  I mean I am and I’m not.”  He shrugged.  “It’s hard to be mad at the one person that you want around to fix it.”  

I smiled.  “Did I fix it?”

“No, but it helped.”  

“Should I help again?”

He smirked.  

“You can be mad, Tyler.  I understand.”  I waited for him to say something else but he didn’t.  “Just be mad.  Why don’t we fuck again?  It’ll help.  Be mad and fuck it out.”  

He snorted, blowing smoke out in a puff before putting the cigarette out.  “Is that a slogan?”

I shrugged.  “Whatever helps.  I can take it.  Whatever you need.”

He put his head back against the wall, shaking it slowly back and forth.  “I don’t want to fuck you while I’m mad.  Or mad-fuck you.  Whatever you want to call it.”

“Why not?  Angry sex can be good.”

“If you’re having a fight, sure.  We’re not fighting.  You’re not mad at me.”

“How do you know I’m not mad at you?”

His eyes narrowed.  “Ok, are you mad at me for something?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something if you want to have angry sex.”

He chuckled.  “No, that’s ok.  I don’t want to use sex to not be mad at you.  It just doesn’t feel right.  Seems kinda backwards.”

“Even if I’m giving you permission?”

“It doesn’t matter.  I don’t want to use sex to get over anger.  Not at you.  Not like that.”  

“So are we not having sex again then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So then what kind of sex are we having?”

“Does there have to be a kind?”

“Just trying to be helpful.  It’d be easier if I knew what you were looking for.”  I held up a hand.  “But I can just wait and read you instead.”

His smile was small, and kind of sad.  “I shouldn’t have said that.  I was just frustrated.  And I didn’t feel like helping or making it easy.”

“And you didn’t know what you wanted or needed,” I offered.

He swallowed, considering, his head moving back and forth slowly.  “Maybe, yeah.”

“It wasn’t wrong to say it.  You do that for me.  It’s not wrong to ask me for it back.”

“Still wasn’t very nice.”

I let out a breath.  “You don’t have to be nice 100% of the time.  You are allowed to have other emotions.  Even negative ones.”

“I am?”  He pretended to be shocked

“Yeah, even if they’re directed at me.  It’s cool.”

“Thanks for the pass.”

“You gonna fuck me now?”

He nodded.  He looked tired.  “Yeah, ok.”  

~ooOoo~

He’s actually pretty funny.  He’s amazing and wonderful and apologizes for asking me to read him like he reads me.  But when it comes to something that I know will help, and he just thinks it’s not right, he’s one stubborn motherfucker.  

And again, even with a gazillion other things on his mind, the boy can still fuck like a champ.  No complaints on this side.  But he was also completely transparent because the sex he was supposed to be having to help him get over his frustration and anger—he was completely absent for.  

Body’s there.  Mind’s not.  Which is sort of half of sex—sometimes more.  

What was funny was that he basically was fucking me like I fucked him the first time.  All the right motions, and sure, it’ll get you off, but none of the relief that’s not purely physical because he wasn’t really there enough to let it go.  

“Baby.”  I grabbed his face.  

“What?”

“You’re totally spacing out.  And that’s not going to help you.  If I ask you to trust me, will you try something?”

He closed his eyes for a second, and then nodded.  “Yeah, ok.”  

“I want you to pull out.”  

He looked confused, and sort of hurt, but he did it anyway.

I kept him looking at me, holding his face.  “I want you to stop thinking.  Stop thinking about everything.  Stop trying not to be mad at me.  Stop trying not to be mad at your father.  And stop trying not to take your anger with your father out on me.  Because we both know that’s the real reason you don’t want to fuck me like you really want to right now.”  

I stopped for a second and let that sink in.  ‘Cause he was a boy.  And boys are frequently slow on the important messages.  Plus, I was reading him really well here.  So he should take a minute just to appreciate that.  

“Stop everything.  All thinking.  Which I know is near impossible for you.”  

He blew out a short laugh.  

“Can you do that?”

He nodded.  

“Ok.  Push back in.  And when you do, you are not allowed to think about anything.  Just fuck.  Whatever you feel like.  Without thinking about it.”

He let out a breath, and it was slightly shaky, but he was trusting me.  

“I know who you are, Tyler.”  

I’m not really sure why I told him that.  Maybe because he was still afraid even if he was doing this because I asked him to.  It worked though.  

I forced him to keep eye contact with me at first.  Until I was sure he wasn’t going to start thinking in the middle, then I let him go, so he could let go himself.  

The difference was completely obvious to me.  I don’t know if it was to him or not.  But the minute he stopped thinking about everything, and stopped trying to not let that affect what we were doing, it was like night and day.  Absent Tyler vs. Present Tyler.

“Good.  That’s good, baby.”  

“Just fuck.  Don’t think about anything else.”  

I suppose that was sort of crazy—forcing him to stop thinking so he could fuck mindlessly in order to resolve feelings he had while thinking too much… But it worked.  Because sometimes physically releasing without the mental bullshit could lead to the mental bullshit being released along with the physical.  

He looked completely wrung out and exhausted after he came, but the fact that it worked was all that mattered.  

I moved up the bed, holding my arms out to him.  “C’mere.”  

He moved slowly up to me, his body landing gently on top of mine, his lips pressing against mine just as gently.  “I love you,” he whispered.  “Thank you.”  

“I love you, and you don’t have to thank me.  Especially not when I was part of the problem to start with.”  

“You’re never a problem.  Frustrating?  Yes.  Annoying?  Yes.  Demanding?  Yes.”  

I pinched him while he smiled at me softly.  “You sure now how to make points with a girl.”  

“You help me fix everything.  That’s all that matters.”  

He rolled off next to me, pulling me back against him, my back to his chest, which was sort of always our go-to when either one of us needed comfort.  It was safe and warm and close and it felt intensely right and us—always.  

He looked tired, so I wasn’t really anticipating anything, but I couldn’t say I was really surprised either when he kissed my shoulder and parted my legs to slip back inside me.  This spooning position and sex that happened with it also sort of became our go-to for comfort sex.  It was deep and intimate and slow and gentle and usually meant resolution or it was one of those sleepy, soft kinds of sex that occurred on a pretty regular basis.  I think we both just liked the affection and intimacy with it.  I loved how it felt to have his whole body in contact with mine, and how his arm always pillowed my head.  I loved the free range of his hand, and how he could touch any part of me easily.  

It told me that he wasn’t really mad at me anymore, and we’d be ok, and he’d be ok eventually, too.  

His breath was so shaky afterward.  I turned in his arms, and the second I saw his face, moved so that I could hold him.  He cried for a while.  Caroline being hurt by something hurt Tyler, too.  And when the person hurting her had done the same to Tyler, it just added another whole level to an already massive amount of shared family pain.  It was Tyler at 6, Tyler at 12, Tyler at 15, Tyler today.  

I didn’t ask him if he was ok, because I knew he wasn’t, and he didn’t need me to ask that.  He just needed me to hold him, and be there.  

He fell asleep quickly then.  And I stayed awake thinking this time, running my fingers through his hair.  

I needed to make some decisions.  For me, but for Tyler, too.  If I was in a committed relationship with him, I couldn’t strip forever.  It really wasn’t fair to him.  He needed to know that I was making choices with him in mind, for both of us.  I needed to find a different job.  I had no idea how I was going to do that, because stripping was all I’d ever done, but…I had to figure it out.  I’d have to talk to Yev.  Or maybe Anatoly was a better way to go.  And I’d have to tell Jordan, too.  

I think this had been coming for a long time actually.  I hadn’t really been into stripping since I met Tyler.  It’d been just a job so long, and it’s not something you get off on after a while.  It’s a means to an end.  But the days of actually enjoying the job (did I ever really enjoy it?) were long gone.  I just didn’t want to do it anymore.  And while I knew he didn’t like my job at all, he never asked me to stop.  He never demanded that I quit because we were in a relationship.  He hadn’t given me an ultimatum and made me choose.  And he wasn’t asking me to, here, either.  He was just frustrated.  And if I was honest, so was I.  The job wasn’t something that you could be invested in for a long time.  I probably lasted longer than a lot of others just because I’d never really come to any realization about wanting to quit for myself before.  

~ooOoo~

“Anatoly?  Have you got a minute?”

“Of course, katyonak.”  

“Um, I don’t really know how to say this.”  

“Just spit it out.  Give it to me straight.”

“I can’t strip anymore.”

He blinked at me.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I just can’t do it anymore.  I have to quit.”

“And what will you do?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t be stripping.”

“Is someone telling you that you can’t strip?”

“No, it’s something I have to do for myself.  I can’t strip forever.  It’s not exactly a career, ya know?”

“I suppose not, no.”  

“I mean, would you want your daughter to have that as her profession?”

“My daughter will never strip.”

“I’m not sure how to take that, exactly, but I’m guessing no.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.  I understand what you mean.”  

“Right, so…I’m hoping you might tell Yev for me.  Or smooth things over.  He doesn’t like things that aren’t his idea, ya know.”

He smiled at me.  “What will you do?  For a job?”

“I have no idea.”

“How will you live?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

He nodded, thinking.  “May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll wait to tell Yev that you’re quitting.  Instead you work the tables fulltime.  There are other things to do in this club.”

“Really?”

He nodded.  “Hours aren’t much better.  Tips probably suck compared to what you’re used to.  But it’s something.”  

“Ok, I’ll try it.”

“Good.  You start tonight.”

~ooOoo~

Waitressing?  Lasted about two nights.  I just couldn’t do it.  The assholes treated the waitresses like they were strippers anyway; just with clothes on.  They still felt like they had free license to touch your ass, or cop a feel, and it was just not going to work.  Not unless Anatoly wanted assault charges to deal with on a nightly basis, or food dumped over those asshole’s heads.  

The second night, he pulled me aside, and said, “Why don’t we try bartending again, katyonak?”

I nodded, sighing in a really relieved way.  “Thank you.”

~ooOoo~

I hadn’t told Tyler.  I wanted to have a plan in place; a job in place when I told him.  Just the idea of it wasn’t enough for me.  So I told him my schedule like nothing was different.  He’d nod or grunt or otherwise acknowledge, and I knew he was annoyed and frustrated with it, but he never told me what to do.

We were having dinner one night when I decided to tell him.  

“I quit my job three weeks ago.”

His head came up, eyebrows all scrunched in confusion, fork halfway in mid-air.  “What?”

“I quit.  I quit stripping.”

He sat back in his chair, the fork falling back to his plate.  “So what have you been doing when you tell me you’re going to work?”

“I’ve been trying other things.”  

“Like what?”

“Waitressing.  Bartending.”

He looked at me for what seemed like a long few minutes.  “Why?” he finally asked.  

I came over, sitting on his lap.  “Because I can’t be a stripper and be your girlfriend.  Not anymore.  It’s not fair.  And I know it bothers you.  And actually, it bothered me, too.  Because it’s yours.  And…it wasn’t.  I mean, it obviously was different, but…”  I trailed off, trying to come up with what I wanted to say.  I thought I had this conversation in my head with him a thousand times, but it just wasn’t the same when it was time to have it.  “I love you.  And I don’t want to be a stripper and be in a relationship with you.  Not anymore, anyway.  I dunno, it’s different now.  I feel different about the stripping.  I have for a long time.  And you need things, too.  Things that I should care about—for you, but for me, too.  So I needed to stop.”  

He was trying not to smile, and only halfway succeeding.  “I mean, I’m not going to say I’m not ecstatic.”  

“It’s ok, you can say you’re ecstatic.”

“I’m ecstatic.”  

“I know.”  I chuckled.  

“Do you like waitressing and bartending?”

“Waitressing lasted two nights.”

He laughed.  

“Anatoly moved me before I dumped a plate of food over some asshole’s head.  Bartending is ok.  Having the bar between you and those assholes is nice.  And you get fewer complaints.”

He nodded, watching me for a minute.  When he started again, he was quiet.  “You didn’t have to, you know.”

I nodded.  “No, I did.”

“You didn’t have to for me.”

“I didn’t do it for you.  I did it for me.  And us.”

“So I was just a happy coincidence?”

“You just got a happy bonus.”

He was smiling.  “I’m glad it wasn’t for me.”

I nodded again.  “I am, too.  I’m glad I made the decision.”  What I didn’t say there was the part about him making any decision for me.  And that I was grateful he didn’t ask me to.  I could tell he knew what I meant without saying it.  That I was happy that he let me do this on my own, in my own time, for myself.  

And I felt really proud.  Especially when he was still smiling at me, looking proud of me, too, kissing my forehead, then my lips, and pulled me to lean on him, holding me while we finished dinner.  It was the first decision I made not only for myself, but for another person that I cared about.    

One (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two | Twenty-Three | Twenty-Four | Twenty-Five | Twenty-Six | Twenty-Seven | Twenty-Eight | Twenty-Nine |  Thirty  |  Thirty-One  |  Thirty-Two  |  Thirty-Three  |  Thirty-Four  |  Thirty-Five  |  Thirty-Six  |  Thirty-Seven  |  Thirty-Eight  |  Thirty-Nine  |  Forty  |  Forty-One  |  Forty-Two  |  Forty-Three  |  Forty-Four  |