Jasper
He hadn’t talked. I thought he would have opened up to me by now, but no.
From what I gathered, he had come out during some weekly event at his dad’s. And that was about it. I presumed his father wasn’t too happy about it, but as Edward wasn’t speaking, I didn’t really know.
I had tried different strategies to make him speak. Showing patience and letting him come to me had been the first one. Obviously, it didn’t work. My next attempt had been asking questions. Edward looked at me, smiled sadly and either shook his head no or shrugged. A few times, I pushed him a bit and he stood up and left, pretending to have something to do. Generally I would receive a text message fifteen minutes later saying: “I can’t, I’m sorry.”
It was vaguely tempting to play the relationship card, as in “you talk or you’re out.” But it just didn’t feel right. Not with Edward. Strangely enough, it never really bothered me to play this stupid game with Felix. I did it each time I wanted him to stop being annoying; each time he was pouting about something I did or didn’t do. In other words, I did it a lot.
But in this case, it wasn’t about me: it was about Edward. And he wasn’t pouting; he was… keeping it all inside. I didn’t even know why he was doing that. Did he think he was being a real man by not speaking? It was such a cliché; I really hoped it wasn’t that. Was he afraid that I would judge him? Judge him for what? I didn’t even dare tell my Dad I was gay.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized one thing: as much as I loved him, I didn’t know him. We only knew each other for what? A bit more than four weeks. It was a blink of an eye. Sometimes though, it just felt like a lifetime. Everything was so natural with him by my side.
Everything except making him talk, apparently.
So I decided to try a new approach: sharing my past with him. If I wanted to know more about him, maybe I had to be the first to speak.
He was reading on the sofa facing the window. Sitting by his side, I let my hand massage the nape of his neck. By the way his eyes closed slightly and his head tilted to give me more access, I knew he liked this caress. It was funny how quickly you learned the smallest thing about someone and yet couldn’t grasp the whole picture. I had to change that.
“I came out at my Dad’s funeral.”
Closing his book, Edward shifted on the sofa and put his palm on my thigh, showing me he was listening.
“Thinking about it now, I realized it wasn’t the best decision ever. My Mum was devastated by her husband's death, and I could have been much more respectful of her grief. But I wasn’t. I was completely focused on my own pain and drama: my Dad would never know me. I had never told him.”
Looking through the window, watching the planes landing at the airport a few miles away, I lost myself into the past.
“I ruminated on the idea the whole day. Throughout the ceremony, I had only that on my mind. While his fellow deputies, and even the sheriff, were describing what a reliable, brave, and thoughtful man my dad was, the only thought in my mind was: How come I wasn’t brave enough to tell him? Why didn’t I trust him?"
I sighed, taking in a deep breath.
" You cannot imagine how guilty I felt. So I decided to tell him anyway. After all, wherever he was, he probably knew by now. But telling him out loud seemed the least I could do.”
Edward took my hand and squeezed it, creating a link to the reality, helping me to not be submerged by my memories.
“Mum, Bella and I waited at the cemetery for everybody to leave before sharing our last moments with him. Bella went first, then Mum. She was crying softly, touching his coffin as she would his skin, murmuring her last words of love. I wasn’t the perfect courageous son. I was also crying, completely heartbroken by what had happened. Of course I was there for them, supporting and caring, trying to handle everything they couldn’t deal with. Which wasn’t much as women in my family are strong ladies. But at that moment, I was just my Dad’s little boy. I didn’t know how to live in a world without him. I was lost. So, I grabbed my Mum’s hand and holding on tightly, I whispered: “Dad, I am Gay.”
I paused, remembering the fear I felt after saying it and the weight, which lifted from my chest after revealing myself.
“The two women of my life showed me just how strong they were. Bella put her hands around my waist and hugged me from behind, while Mum looked at me tenderly and wiped my tears with her fingers.
Nothing was said that night, or the days that followed. It took a few weeks before these two incredible little evils invited me for lunch and started teasing me about my dates, my ex or current boyfriend. Mum and Bella even compared their taste in guys with mine. No recriminations, no drama, just pure acceptance. That evening, once back home, I felt full of their love. But at the same time, I was totally heart-broken that my Dad didn’t share that with us.”
Edward rested his head on my shoulder, still caressing my hand, drawing small circles on it. He snuggled closer to me and still didn’t say a word.
“You do know that I am here when you are ready to talk, don’t you?”
“I know”, he sighed.
Making another attempt, I asked, “Why don’t you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When you know, you’ll tell me?”
He chuckled. “You want me to tell you when I know why I am not speaking to you about what happened at my Father’s? ”
“Well, I’ll take what I can get.”
Edward shifted to look at me, his face so serious. “Don’t worry about me, Jasper.”
Seeing my frown, he added, “Ok, I will. I promise.” And then snuggled back against me.
Silence 2, Jasper 1. Life is full of small victories.
A week later, though, he still hadn’t talked. By then, he was living on the campus again. One evening, quite late, I went to his flat under the false pretence to give him back a notebook he left at home. I could take the silent treatment, but the rising rage in him was painful to see. Stripped from his family's support, Edward was just a shadow of himself. A gloomy one. I felt powerless and I couldn’t watch him drowning in pain and anger anymore.
It started slowly, with just a few curse words here and there. His voice, nearly a growl, was what made me notice it: a mixture of frustration and contained ire. Then came the trembling hands, the closed eyes, and the deep breathing as if he was desperately trying to calm himself. He was just keeping it all inside: my Edward was way too proper to let it out.
Later, he started to get angry with pretty much anyone apart from me. From the noisy child upstairs to the old lady too slow in the corridor, everybody exasperated him.
I was certain that the only reason why he went back to his flat on the campus was because of his last outburst. He was piling the dishes in the sink, when a plate fell on the floor. This sent him into a rage. He called himself names with such violence! Before I reached him to calm him down, he threw his fist against the wooden cupboard, making a dent and hurting himself in the process. The brute force of his act took me totally by surprise. But what shocked me the most was that it took him five minutes to feel the pain in his hand.
Until then, my presence had seemed to slow the melt down process, but obviously I couldn’t heal him. And I supposed the main problem was that he believed that I could. That’s probably why he jumped on me that very first night. He was expecting me to make him whole again. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t replace his father. I couldn’t mend the situation. All I could do was to listen, care, and love him. I would be patient, give advice and help him find solutions. But one thing was for sure: he needed to heal by himself, not alone, and not without love. But I didn’t have the power to do it for him. And I was convinced the first step to recovery was letting the problem out, which he clearly didn’t want to do.
So here I was, facing his front door, waiting for him to open it. He looked very surprised to see me there this late.
“Hey! You forgot this.” I smiled, giving him his notebook.
Taking it, he asked, “You want to come in?”
“No. I was hoping to take you somewhere. Are you available now?”
He hesitated, his gaze not meeting mine, trying to find quickly an excuse to escape.
“Trust me, Love.” I held out my hand to him, trying to convince him to come with me. “Please?”
He smiled sadly and started saying, “I’m so sorry.”
“Sshh…. Just come with me.” I drew him to me, silencing him with a kiss. God I missed his soft lips! I lingered longer on them, savoring this quiet moment and taking strength from his presence for what I had planned.
Gathering my courage, I whispered against his mouth, “Get your jacket and follow me.”
The whole ride was made in silence. Seeing him bite his nails, I reached for his hand and brushed my thumb on his palm, giving him a small sign of reassurance.
Once we arrived, I led him inside a building, which looked like an old factory. It was isolated from everything, a few blocks away from the city, which was perfect for what I had in mind.
There was a boxing ring in the middle, a few small, tear-drop-shaped "speed bags" on the left wall, and two large cylindrical bags filled with sand, to practice power punching and body blows, on the right.
I went to the stereo and put the music on.
“Where are we?”
“One of my friends, Maria, owns this boxing gym. She trusts me with the keys and lets me use it anytime I want. I generally come when I need to take my stress out. I thought you might like to try.”
“I didn’t know you boxed.”
I chuckled. “Who said I was boxing?”
Edward looked at me, confused. “So, what are you doing here when you want to get the steam out if you don’t box?”
“Let me show you.”
I walked to the far end of the gym, Edward on my heels. In a dark corner, there was a very old, very used heavy bag. It was attached to the floor and ceiling with a metal bar going through it. A tennis racket, which had seen better days, was there too. I took it and looked at Edward.
“Ready?”
He nodded, obviously perplexed by my actions.
I swung the racket with all the force I could muster on the bag, repeating the movement, again and again and again. I could hear grunts coming out of me. I was beating the poor bag, letting out my frustration not to be able to help Edward, my anger at his dad, my pain to see him hurt. Feeling I had nearly enough, I hit the bag for the last few times with a loud shout. I yelled out as long as I could, until no air was left in my lungs.
Catching my breath, I turned to Edward, who was watching me, dumfounded, his hands on his ears, his mouth and eyes open wide.
“You’re completely crazy!”
I laughed. Well I tried to, but my voice was too raw and it came out funny.
“Try! What do you have to lose? Your sanity? I think we both know you are loosing it anyway. So?”
Edward opened his mouth, but no words came out. Shrugging off his jacket, he took the racket from my hands, sweeping his sweaty hands on his jeans. He took his position, picked the racket up and stopped.
“I feel like a total idiot.”
“I know the feeling. I felt like that too the first time. Just try. One blow at least.”
He focused back on the bag, his hands tensing up on the handle.
But he didn’t move.
“Punch the damn bag, Edward! Just let it out. It is killing you and I can’t stand it anymore. So hit it. Hit it dammit!”
And he did. Finally.
The first thump made a loud sound that echoed in the whole gymnasium. The second and third one came rapidly after, and soon, he was making a symphony of whimpers and blows. The low whimpers became soft groans, then stronger pleas and finally heartbreaking cries.
“Why? Why? Why can’t you accept me? Why, Dad?”
My heart was racing and my chest contracting, each of his words taking my breath away, as if he was hitting my guts and not the bag.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you….”
He was sobbing now, slowing his movements, fumbling on his feet. I caught him before he fell on the ground, the sound of the racket hitting the concrete floor echoed on the walls. Kneeling, I pulled a tearing Edward on my lap. I rocked us back and forth, trying to lull the pain and comfort him.
Bits of sentences were coming out of him, punctuated by whimpers. “Don’t understand why… Doesn’t care about me….”. He was rambling, trying to make sense of his Dad’s rejection. “So focused on appearance…all about him.” I was trying to recreate the scene he was reliving in his head, but he was too incoherent.
“You know the worst?” He suddenly sat up and faced me, his expression so grave. “He doesn’t want to speak with me anymore. I’ve tried and tried to contact him. I even went to the house. But he is never there. I am pretty sure he doesn’t mind so much about me being gay. What he is mad about is that I said it in front of all his business partners. I basically killed his social image. That’s why he threw me away. He chose his social status over his own son!”
I was lost for words. I just nodded, stroking his cheeks that were wet with tears. What the hell was I supposed to say now?
Well at least he is talking.
“How do you think your Dad would have reacted? Have you ever thought about it?” He was looking at me, waiting for an answer that I didn’t have.
“I honestly don’t know, Edward. I have multiple scenarios in my head but I will never know. Mum thinks that he would have been upset at first, but that he would have accepted me in the long run. I cherish that thought.”
Edward looked at the floor, pressing his hand on my chest, over my heart.
“I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t know how to be in a relationship. My parents divorced when I was a kid and Mum just disappeared. Dad spent his time going from one arm-candy to another. I don’t know what to do, how I am supposed to react. In theory, from books and movies, I could guess, but in real life, it's just so much harder.”
Hugging him, I whispered: “It is ok, Love. We’ll figure it out. We’ll create our own way to be together. Just the two of us.”
He nodded against my neck, hugging me tightly. His breathing was still irregular as he was trying to calm down.
“As for your Father, maybe you could write him a letter; tell him what you have to say and let him decide if he wants to read it or not.”
He hummed his reply, nestling even closer to me, pushing my back against the wall. I was ready to stay like this all night long if he demanded it. I would support him, protect him, encourage him and love him…. I might not have been as new as him regarding relationships, but I had never felt like this: so ready to be anything he needed me to, convinced that he was my life. What a strange and exhilarating feeling! I held on to him tightly, revealing in this strong embrace how much I love him.
“I wanna go home with you.”
I cradled his head in my hands. “Home?”
Giving me one of the sweetest smiles I had ever seen, he repeated: “Yes, your flat. Home.”
My chest tightened with adoration and pure happiness, as I told him: “Let’s go home.”
o----o----o---o---o---o---o
Edward’s letter to his Dad
Dad,
I wrote this letter in my mind a thousand times, before being able to actually sit down and take a pen. I imagined a polite letter to tell you how I felt. I wanted to use arguments, rationality. I wanted to be your perfect son, the one you used to love and admire. But as you clearly don’t, I think that I’ll just let it flow and send it to you like this. Raw. Just like my feelings.
I am mad at you, and at myself. I can’t believe I was so stupid to just blurt out I was gay like that. Why did you need to know anyway? Why couldn’t I have waited until after I finished my studies? I know: I am using your money to get my diploma and then say fuck off.
Maybe I am a bad son, but you clearly are a bad father. You made a child selfishly, just because you wanted one. You never asked him if he wanted to be born. You just made him because you desired a little you going around, or you needed an heir for your company, or a meaning to your damn life.
But it was NEVER about the child. It was always about YOU! And once the child was there, you were expecting him to be everything you are not, do everything you didn’t dare to do, to be exceptional. You were expecting him to be this magnificent and ideal version of you. A version that only exits in your head, that you certainly were unable to achieve, because you were just scared shitless. And when this child, your son, tried to be different from it, to actually be himself, what did he get? Rejection.
Damn you Dad! You are so wrapped up in your expectations that you don’t see me anymore. You don’t know me. You don’t want to know me. You don’t really care, as long as I am following the path you traced for me. As long as I bring you satisfaction, as long as you are proud of me.
So what should I do?
Follow some expected path, being unhappy for the rest of my life, but have the “satisfaction” to say: “it was my family duty.” That’s bullshit!
Or decide to be my true self from far away, always keeping my distance, always lying a little bit to protect myself. It was my plan all along: to protect you and your great dream of me. Never letting you, dear Dad, come too close. Is that being a bad son? Well, I am guilty then.
I suppose I got fed up trying to hide. I am honestly still not sure why I came out to you. Maybe I didn’t want to be a coward anymore. Maybe I wanted to give you a chance to know me before you died. Not to have regrets. I mean, you are supposed to love me NO MATTER WHAT.
I am gay, Dad! I just prefer men! It is just a question of love. The gender of the person I love. What difference does it even make? Shouldn’t you just be happy that I actually LOVE someone? Anyone? Can’t a man be worthy of my love?
It isn’t like I have killed someone, or raped, or robbed, or… I don’t know. It is just about love.
But you rejected me.
You know the worst part? I kind of believe that you would have found a reason to reject me anyway. What would have been your reaction if I had married someone from another race? If I had decided to become a priest? If I had failed in High School and married my very pregnant 18 year-old girlfriend? If I were straight and just stayed an unknown architect? If I had became an actor? A straight porn actor? If I had a depression? If I was a gambler? Which one would have been the worst according to you?
It turns out I am everything you were expecting me to be. Good student, properly educated, fine piano player, perfect gentleman in society. I will become an architect, which is quite a high-standing position, even according to your criteria. No drugs, no alcohol, no drama. On paper, I am the perfect son.
I'm just gay.
If I weren’t, would it have even been enough for you to love me? Would you have seen ME?
I'm afraid not.
All things considered, I can also tell you that I am disappointed. You are not the father I was expecting you to be.
But I love you anyway.
You don't.
-Edward
o----o----o---o---o---o---o
Since he sent his letter to his Dad a week ago, Edward’s mood had increased considerably. He was back to his sweet, playful self.
“Edward, stop it.”
He has been watching me during the whole dinner. Following the movement of my fork from the plate to my mouth, his eyes lingering on my lips and then my neck when I swallowed. Only he could make me feel uncomfortable while eating.
“I like watching you eat. It’s just kind of fascinating to me.”
I didn’t know if I should roll my eyes at him or stand up and kiss him. He smiled teasingly at me and added: “I’ve always wanted to try one thing.” He bent towards me, staring at my lips. I started to lean back on my chair when he whispered, “You should stay very still. Don’t move.”
I saw his tongue peeking out of his mouth, slowly wetting his lips and coming closer to me. I closed my eyes and my breathing picked up, already reacting to his nearness. And then I felt his wet tongue tracing a line from my chin to my bottom lip.
“Hmmm. Jazz’s ice-cream.”
Someone knocked at the door, cutting the sweetness of the moment. He stood up and went to open the door. A deliveryman was behind it, an envelope in his hand.
“Edward Masen?”
“Yes.”
“Please sign here.”
He signed and took the envelope. It was from his Dad.
“How does he know you live here?”
Keeping his eyes on the letter, he replied: “It was my reply address on the letter.”
Chewing his lips, he opened it. It was a cheque from his Dad, covering all the expenses for his college.
A yellow post-it fell from the envelope, swirling lightly in the air before reaching the floor.
Four words were written on it: “Now, we are even.”
--"Again"- Archive -- "Here with Me" - Dido -- "Feel"- Robbie Williams -- "Walk On" - U2
AN:
A special and loving THANK YOU to Darkira, who took time to beta this chapter.
Once again, all my love and thanks to my pre-reading/beta Dream Team: OCDJen and Mrs. Agget. Their support, love and patience gave me the strength I needed to write this chapter. Love you Girls!
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
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