46. ​​INSECURITIES AND PROMISES

/Max/

"Charles is completely unreadable.
He drags me to his room in the Ferrari Motorhome and I follow him docilely like a puppy, then once inside we remain silent. I wait for him to decide to tell me why he brought me here, he's probably waiting for me to decide to tell him what I wanted in the bathroom first.
In reality, neither of us knows what the hell he's doing, even if he seems to know. He seems to have his mind made up, so I'm waiting to see how he wants to handle it, because even if I did something he didn't agree with, he'd reject me and fuck that, I won't be rejected again.
When I really try, I'll be sure he won't send me away.
Until then he has something to prove to me.
He shows it by starting to undress silently looking at me, just as if he were doing it for me.
My heart starts pounding like before in the bathroom, in my throat, very fast. He unzips his suit and with an absolutely seductive look, he slips it from arms; he lets it hang and his hazel-green eyes still stare at me, direct and cheeky.
I can't breathe, all the blood and heat is now concentrated between my legs, my cock presses, pulsates and swells; the crotch of my suit, already open and hanging from before, now squeezes me.
Charles silently sits on the cot and takes off his lower part: shoes, pants. I sit in the chair without making a single gesture or saying anything. I let him do.
I have the feeling that between us, from now on, it will be like this for a while. I let him do trying to understand him. Because it's damned impossible.
Charles stands up and, still looking at me like that, as if he were sucking me into another dimension, he grabs the collar of the tight shirt underneath and tries to pull it over his head, but it's obvious he won't be able to take it off like that: he's too sweaty, he has to take it off from his arms first and then from his head.
As I imagined, he remains stuck inside He stands there, arms raised, waiting; he doesn't speak, he doesn't ask. Now what does he want from me, to read his mind as well as follow his orders?
Oh, fuck, how much this turns me on!
Without hesitation, I get up from the chair and grab the sweaty fabric from below lifting it up, taking it away from his arms. I free him in an instant and let it down, forgetting it immediately.
My excitement is sky-high, what the hell is he doing to me?
It's like I'm hypnotized by him. If he told me to lick him now, I'd lick him even if he's sweaty. I don't think I've ever wanted him so much. He has an incredible power of seduction.
I stand in front of him, a few inches apart, we look at each other closely but don't touch yet.
I don't do anything, I wait for him to do something and this time I ask him with my eyes, without speaking.
'Well?'
Are you not going to tell me anything? Are you going to wait there in front of me like this?
You let me undress you, do you want me to take off your boxers too? I can do it, ask me and I will.
It's madness. It's absolute madness.
I realize it with a small part of me, but I can't rationalize it or behave decently.
I'm hanging on him, on his lips, on his liquid, unreadable, sexy eyes. He's so beautiful, right now.
- I thought you weren't interested in me anymore. - he says. He finally deigns to speak, but it would have been better if he hadn't. I immediately light up like dynamite and something snaps, maybe I'm coming out of the erotic trance he'd thrown me into and all the blood goes to my brain instead of my dick.
- Huh? - now I want to headbutt him for saying something like that, how the hell dare he? The effort I put in not jumping on him was only to prevent him from doing something stupid again if he was too pressured, if I'd overdone it again. - What the fuck are you talking about?
With this I can no longer hold back and with a totally unreasonable rush, I grab him by the hips with a jerk. My fingers on the edge of the elastic of his boxers, I could slip them underneath and crawl behind, right where I already put them that night at the club.
I know you'd like it, maybe that's what you want, right?
If you want, I'll do it. 
Look at the way he stares at my mouth; he wants to kiss me but prefers me to do it. He always teases me, trying to get me to do everything, only to regret it later.
- You haven't come forward anymore, you respected me so much. I thought you weren't interested in me anymore, I didn't know what to think. - I bite my mouth, which he so desperately wants. I'd give it to him, I swear, but as I'm about to get closer, I remember that door swinging open between Charles and the typhoon and I stop, almost scared that he's not ready yet. Would I risk throwing him into another similar situation if I overdid it or if he wasn't ready?
I don't want him to hurt himself for remembering he's alive, or for regaining his damned control.
Forgive me, but I won't do it yet.
But damn, how much I wish that.
- You’re bipolar! You seemed crazy just because Pierre and I pressured you and now that we've left you alone, you're asking for it? - I finally say hoping to regain control of my mental and physical faculties.
Do I have to remind him about his fucking Pierre? Really?
Too bad that if I actually kissed him and grabbed his wonderful, tight, firm ass, he'd be the one to run away thinking about Pierre, who needs to settle things with him first.
Charles changes in an instant as soon as I say it. As if he understood, as if he realized.
He seemed to know what he was doing, but maybe he didn't. Was he giving in to his deepest instincts? And what would have happened if I had let him do it?
Well, we'll never know, but something tells me he's not ready yet.
- I know, sorry. But I missed contact with you. You were very sweet to wait for my convenience. I didn't think you'd do that.
He's fucking gentle and delicate as he says it, his voice fading into sincere gratitude and changing drastically in an instant, for the umpteenth time.
It leaves me completely taken aback. He's constantly changing and making me dizzy and pissed off, but how can I be an asshole and leave him alone? How the fuck do I do it?
I can't let him go, I can't. His need for someone close to him is absurd; a need for help, maybe, something, I'm not sure. He doesn't know either, but he's certain that he doesn't find what he's looking for in Pierre.
You're really messed up, you know?
- You really are bipolar. - it comes out full of resignation and acceptance and I think my face, as always, speaks for itself.
Wasn't it just a fuck I wanted? Charles seems to understand that himself, as if he were thinking the same thing.
Weren't we just supposed to jump on each other and give ourselves a treat?
Since when have you been so patient?
- Sorry, - he says delicately, after scrutinizing me deeply and reading who knows how many secrets I don't even know about myself. Charles, you're truly a mystery. - But anyway thanks for the patience you don't have to have. These past few weeks you've really been... - he thinks about it, rolls his eyes trying to find the right word, and then successfully replies: - Sweet! 
At this I unexpectedly blaze. Me, sweet? What the fuck are you talking about, Charles?
I panic as soon as he identifies me with this adjective that no one has ever dared to pin on me and it's not one of his usual provocations, he really means it.
For a devastating moment, I remember Daniel and what he told me. He liked everything I was hiding, everything I didn't seem to have from the outside. That being much more than appearances.
I hide, of course I hide. All my weaknesses, my fragilities, my pathetic needs for warmth, love, tenderness. My father shaped me to be strong and his sense of strength is malice, power, aggression. My mother is there too, somewhere inside me. And she's the sweetest and most loving person I've ever known, but I always thought I took only after my father.
And in an instant, he looks at me and finds my mother, inside me, even though I've always been my father for everyone.
I quickly pull my hands away and start to walk away, but Charles reflexively grabs them and squeezes, preventing me from leaving.
I feel like a lost soul, shivers run through me, I feel so damn uncomfortable. It's like I'm the one naked now and I don't fucking like being that. Is that why I try to never undress under any circumstances, especially in front of others?
I'm ashamed of myself, of every part of me, from the inside out. I don't like anything about myself, because my father always insulted me and raised me with the habit of never being satisfied in order to seek the best. I was never good enough and now I'm not good enough even on my own.
So now he sees me sweet and holds my hands in this strong and fearless way, with such gratitude evident in his gaze, enough to make me desire that hug and that kiss we still have to give each other properly.
The lips I touched while you were sleeping drunk in Monza aren’t valid. You were there helpless and you don't know what I did, but they are a sweet memory.
- I'll take these months off to think carefully about what I want and what I feel. Why it's taking me so long to sort things out with Pierre and what your role is in my life.
Well, at least he's honest and direct, finally, since otherwise he's illegible and impossible to understand. I always thought I understood him, but then I constantly had the doubt that I hadn't got him right. Now he constantly confuses me, everything he does confuses me.
- Do what you have to. - I say nodding as he scrutinizes my sweetness, which is now like a raw nerve. Impossible to hide once he sees it, too bad I had no idea I had it.
I feel so fucking uncomfortable and pathetic. You fucking pathetic idiot. How do I reduce myself when I feel something?
Wasn't that just a fucking fuck? Shit!
I want to hug you.
- I didn't think you were this patient... - he wants to kiss me, but no one gets what they want. We just hold each other's hands tighter, his thumbs rub the backs of my hands and I return the squeeze; electric shocks are transmitted through both of us. When we both have what we want it will be fantastic, certainly nothing like anything else.
Assuming he chooses me in the end. Because if he doesn't leave Pierre, there's a reason, right? He's noticed it too.
For a moment, as I look at him, I think I might have misunderstood for the umpteenth time. My role, he says. Neither of us has clear ideas and if in the end I'm not enough for you, you'll never leave Pierre aside.
I don't know shit about myself either. I left Daniel to be free to try with Charles, from whom I only wanted a fuck. But was it ever really all there was to it?
I don't think so.
Just a fuck? I already knew it was going to be something else.
- Me neither... - I reply spontaneously, with a hint of irony to ease the tension. He seizes the opportunity and laughs briefly, then lets me slip my hands out of his.
We look at each other for a moment and I still feel naked. He's seen so many things about me that if it's not worth it, if these things he saw against my will disgust him, I don't think I'll want anyone else in my life, not even in free practice.
I don't know, he just devastated me. He's destroying me and usually they do that to rebuild later, but I'm afraid he'll destroy and then ultimately not rebuild. And I'll be left broken.
When I leave I give him one last look, wondering when I'll see him again and what we'll be like; he's standing there, still half naked, so beautiful, so unforgettable.
I hope he doesn't forget me, Charles.”

/Charles/

“I certainly wouldn't have spoken to him quickly in Abu Dhabi or on the way home.
Deciding you want to do it is one thing, doing it is another, but in this case it's not because I've said it so many times and never done it.
It's just that since I want to do it seriously, I know I have to do it properly.
Leaving someone who wasn't even really with you requires sensitivity, you have to do it the right way, especially because I don't want to cut ties with him. He'll surely react badly, feel like shit and ask me for time to accept it and be ready to be friends again, because it's something we both care about and want.
I already know how it's going to go and how hard it will be, so I have to do it in a way that allows him to cry and be consoled.
It’ll also take time later, until he starts to feel better and accept it, when we no longer have that kind of contact, when he can do without it.
We'll be friends again, even if it’ll never be the same again. But I certainly can't jump on Max right away. Pierre would understand immediately and think I left him for Max and I don't want him to think that.
I do it regardless of him, even if he gave me a good push, I admit.
Especially today, with what he showed me.
I'm still shocked by his sweet side and embarrassed by the compliment I paid him. I want to see the rest of what he's hiding. I didn't even realize he was hiding something, but that's because I'm self-centered and maybe even narcissistic.
I never saw anything about anyone else, nor how much Pierre loved me, nor what Max was really like. I only saw the surface, what they showed, what was easier to see.
I saw Max as an asshole, direct and light, and Pierre as affectionate, cheerful and friendly, and I thought that was all there.
Then it turned out that Pierre not only liked me, but also he loved me and there's no need to tell me now, since it's obvious.
And It also turned out that Max is sweet and maybe even sensitive, who knows.
Maybe he's fragile. Maybe he's who knows how many things.
And I want to find out.
But I can't leave Pierre abruptly and immediately throw myself at Max.
Pierre would suffer too much and doesn't deserve it, I'd lose him and I don't want to; and in any case, I'm not leaving him for Max. 
As soon as we had sex, I immediately realized that it wasn't our thing, that I was looking for that kind of warmth and connection from someone like him, but not from him specifically. From someone I could trust, who I could be happy with, who I liked and who could make me lose my mind.
A guy like Max. But Pierre was easier, right?
More positive and cheerful on the surface, more sensitive and sweet.
More within my reach.
With him it didn't take much and it went exactly how I wanted, too bad I didn't really want him.
I'm a stupid, selfish asshole and now it's right that I suffer and go crazy trying to get what I really want, because that's what I deserve.
It's called karma, right?
You get what you deserve.
Now I'll wait before I get to Max, I'll wait until Pierre is ready to leave me and that he's okay, and only after a while, when has gotten over it and it's all okay between us, then I'll go to Max. I'll take as long as it takes, but I can't do otherwise, after what I did to Pierre out of pure selfishness.
I wanted to try it with a guy and he was there: good, wonderful idea. Now you pay.
Too bad maybe two people who weren't involved will pay too.
Maybe after all the time Max has to wait, he won't want me anymore. I wouldn't wait that long, especially since it was supposed to be just an itch to scratch, a couple of good fucks and stop.
Even if... well, you don't wait that long for a couple of good fucks and you don't have all the patience and sensitivity Max has. Sensitivity he's never shown to anyone, except Daniel, obviously. And that's why they were together.
But Daniel had something that Max needed: cheerfulness and happiness. Daniel is a bright and positive person, while I'm gloomy, problematic, depressed and bipolar. What the hell can I offer him?
He doesn't need anything I have.
Maybe we're not meant to be together at all. Maybe I'm doing it all wrong for the umpteenth time.
Well, I'll take this time to understand better and clarify my thoughts. As much time as I need. This time I can't make mistakes, I can't rush and think with raging hormones and a dull head.
This time I can't screw up.

Pierre's eyes are exactly as I've imagined them every time.
I tell him exactly what I've been thinking so carefully these past few days, and he does exactly what I'd visualized.
He cries.
Why does it come so easily to him?
Maybe I've always been attracted to this, so I clung to him and tried to absorb.
His ability to experience and express emotions, both the positive ones and the devastating ones.
The joy, the lightheartedness, that truly brilliant and total smile, the absolute happiness as well as the sadness, the tears, the desperation and then the anger, the screams and the madness.
He has everything and I have nothing. I keep it locked inside me and maybe it's not that I'm blocking it, it's just that I don't have it.
I'm not human.
- It's not easy to say and now you understand why I dragged it out for so long. I didn't want it to be this way, I wanted to wait for it to change and become what I wanted. But things haven't turned out the way I hoped, the way I wanted. I'm sorry, Pierre. But the feelings I have for you are different from the ones you feel, the ones you deserve and the ones I'd like them to be. I have very deep feelings for you, but they are not love and I can't be your boyfriend. But I'd like with all my heart to be just your friend.
I told him everything.
- I don't want to lose you. - I add.
But I know he didn't hear anything other than the general sense.
I'm leaving you, I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore, even though we never defined ourselves as such and I blocked any conversation about it specifically for that reason.
- I knew it. - he says suddenly, staring into space in shock as he hears me speak. His voice is dreamy; he doesn't even seem awake.
I wait patiently, attentively.
- That’s why you never wanted to talk about it. But I know you, I knew it was because of that and that you didn't know how to tell me. That's why I wanted us to talk about it. Because moving on would have been worse. But not you. You didn't want to talk about it and now I have to accept something that's unthinkable to me. And I should be fine with it, right? Your comfort! Your time, right?
Pierre explodes as I imagined, but he does it with tears simultaneously flowing from his transparent, beautiful eyes.
He's so emotional. So splendid.
Why am I not so alive and normal?
Why?
I remain seated, calm, composed, patient. I don't do anything, I don't react, I don't defend myself because he's completely right and there's nothing I could say to make him feel better. Everything would be worse.
- I’m sorry, Pierre. - I whisper then bowing my head, my hands clasped between my thighs. He stands in front of me and walks through the living room of his house, where I joined him before we each left for our own vacations.
I immediately told him ‘At home let's talk for a moment, before we go away and do anything.’
He knew what it was about, so he didn't say a word. The fact that we had to talk about it like that, in someone's house, was a clear bad sign.
This obviously didn't help him take it better.
He couldn't take it any other way.
- Are you sorry? - Pierre asks short and tense, turning sharply toward me as if I were a jack-in-the-box. His gaze is fierce, he's never looked at me like that.
It's one of the worst things I've ever had to do, but I don't think carrying my father's coffin and Jules's was much better.
- If you were sorry you would have told me right away, as soon as you had any doubts! You knew something was wrong, why didn't you say so right away? You let me get hurt, and you knew I would get hurt! How could you, Charles? Are you such a damned coward? Or is it just selfishness?
Pierre thunders bending down in front of me, looking at me, gesticulating as if he were Italian too. Has he lived in Italy long enough to have absorbed the typical manners?
I get lost in insignificant details, my brain disconnecting even though I hear what he's saying and he's right. I just don't know what to say to him.
I purse my lips in regret.
- Cowardly and selfish, definitely both. But until I was sure I didn't want to hurt you.
- So, is it okay to do it now? - he then asks nonsensically. I look at him, confused.
- If I was wrong, I would have hurt you for nothing... - I patiently justify myself, trying to be as sweet as possible. But I feel out of tune and maybe I really am. Pierre stops and straightens up frowning at me shocked, as if he were seeing something for the first time. Something he normally wouldn't tell me because he's sensitive and understanding, but now he's so filled with pain that he can't think straight and reacts as he feels, completely spontaneously.
- You're faking emotions!
When he says that, it's like a dagger is piercing my chest. He just stabbed me, but maybe he found a clear path because he doesn't say anything I didn't already think of myself.
But hearing him say, it hurts me in a way I didn't expect.
In a moment I feel so shitty I don't even know what to say and even if I my rational side tells me I shouldn't weigh his words now because he's too bad to be my Pierre, another tells me that's what he thinks anyway.
It's true, though. Maybe I fake it like psychopaths, because they're incapable of feeling emotions, so they fake them. But in reality, they don't feel anything.
I press my lips together and widen my eyes swallowing hard but remaining frozen, planted on his couch. Pierre then, realizing he's hurt me—I don't know how he does it, since I don't think I forced any emotion, on the contrary—shakes his head and it's as if he's regaining himself, as if he's coming to his senses by reinserting a plug.
- Sorry, - he says. - I don't know what I'm saying. - he rubs his face and turns around trying to regain clarity, but he remains like this, on his back, standing rigid, with his hands on his face. He holds his breath until he's shaking.
Everything is suspended, everything stops. Silence falls suddenly. He doesn't scream, he doesn't act crazy, he doesn't kick chairs, tables, or armchairs.
He stays still and doesn't make a single sound until he sobs and the sobs turn into tears again.
- I know you're not faking it, you're not a psychopathic robot. I know you're not like that. It's just that I'm so hurt. You destroyed me, Charles.
He recovered immediately; it was enough for him to see me like this... like this, how? Was I really hurt? Did I show what I felt in that moment?
So, am I human?
But I sigh, returning my focus to him, while a selfish relief overtakes me at knowing he doesn't really think I'm faking it. I get up and slowly place my hands on his shoulders. I gently place my lips on the back of his neck, leaving him turned away. As soon as I touch him and kiss him, he shakes and melts and the suppressed sob explodes and pours out.
He immediately turns and clings to me in a desperate embrace, burying his face in my neck, and cries. He cries profusely.
- I love you, Charles. I'm sorry, I didn't want it to go this way. With you telling me you want me as a friend and me acting like a pathetic, insane piece of shit. I wanted us to share this together, this I love you, saying to pursue a real relationship. I wanted... I wanted everything to be different... but I felt inside me that you were running away because you were afraid. And I knew, because I know you, but I didn't want to see because I'm a coward. I'm the selfish coward, not you. You were just trying to please me, but you're too honest and sincere, you care too much to make fun of me. I feel bad, Charlie.
The rest is lost in the crying and the broken voice that becomes incomprehensible in my neck, gripped by inevitable shivers. Shivers because it's an area where you shouldn't talk or cry.
I hug him and hold him close without moving. I hold him with patience and tenderness, showing all the understanding I can.
Because I knew it would be this way. I knew it well.
I lead him to the couch and have him sit down. I sit next to him and continue to hold him close as I lean back and he leans against me, crying desperately experiencing all his emotions to the fullest, every one of them.
As I let him vent and despair as much as he needs, without reservation, I think back to that brief moment.
When he said I faked emotions, embodying my deepest and most terrible fears.
I'm terrified of not being truly capable of feeling anything, that I'm just pretending and often I fake it badly.
I have this terrible fear.
That I'm unloving or a psychopath or whatever the fuck.
In that moment, when he, the person who knows me best, said I was faking it, I felt such pain it ripped me apart. I think back to that pain and the urge to cry that assailed me and that I swallowed.
Pierre came to his senses when he saw my pain, so not only did I actually feel it and not imagine it, but it was also visible.
For once in my life, I was normal.
It was brief, but clear and intense.
Not that I want to feel so shitty to prove to myself that I'm human, but knowing that I am, or rather, MAYBE that I am, almost gave me relief.
It's contradictory, I realize, but maybe I have hope.
Pierre cries for a long time and when I think he's fallen asleep because he's breathing regularly, I caress the back of his neck and try to see if he's asleep. But there he is, whispering softly and hoarsely in a voice from beyond the grave.
- Promise me that now you'll be the one waiting for me. - he says without surprising or shocking me. I was expecting this too.
I nod.
- I promise.
- That all the time you waited to talk to me, now you'll be waiting for me to accept it and recover and be able to just be your friend again.
I nod again.
- I promise.
- And that we will never drift apart, no matter what happens to us, no matter who we're with, no matter how we'll be. We'll always be friends. We'll never drift apart. Do you promise, Charles?
I nod again, knowing that these would be his requests. Requests on which I am partly relieved and partly I realize they'll only hurt him more, but that's how it's going to be anyway, because I could never let go of him unless he wanted it.
- I promise, Pierre.
And here, finally, he lets out his first sigh, no longer one of pain or anger. It's almost relief and hope. But he stays here on me, and of course, I can't let him go.
For as long as you need, Pierre. I swear. Because it's the least I can do for you, after what I did to you. Because when I fucked you that night, I knew it would end like this, but I did it anyway because I desperately needed it and was too cowardly to go to the one I truly wanted deep down. Too much of a coward. And now I'm paying for it like this.”

NOTES: I have a peculiar idea of ​​Charles, as you can see by now. He's very complex and difficult to understand, but he has a certain coherence (or at least I've tried to give it to him). He's someone who plans everything, a great thinker, but then things don't necessarily go the way he decides; on the contrary, they often turn out differently, especially when desires and feelings are involved.
Max, on the other hand, has such a huge world inside himself that we are only just beginning to see something. This insecurity and sweetness of his, which he's ashamed of because he has a distorted idea of ​​strength, is just the beginning.
This chapter is painful and bitter in many ways, but it's finally here. The die is cast and there's no turning back.
Charles and Pierre's way of breaking up is actually very common. This promise to remain friends and then force someone to get help is unfortunately very wrong, but very common.
See you next time. Kisses, Akane