48. THE RIGHT REASON

/Charles/

“I kept my eyes closed almost the entire time in a total, unprecedented abandonment.
If I had to remember the last time I felt so good, I don't remember. I can't even say when I ever let myself go like this.
There was always a part of me trying to avoid, hold back, manage, but at a certain point, when his hand ended up under my pants and his cock rubbed against mine through my clothes, it was like pulling a plug. I couldn't fight anymore, I couldn't take it and I didn't want to anyway.
- It's different to feel physical sensations and pleasure. I feel those. I've fucked Pierre and it's always been beautiful, I certainly can't say otherwise. I'm talking about emotions.
I've just completely erased everything that happened and was said after my 'I fake emotions' and his 'It's not true, you feel pleasure and desire.'
I pretend he didn't say anything, after that. For me, talking about my problem with emotions is more easier than talking about Pierre.
Because every time I somehow get to him, whoever I am with and in any context, I always end up avoiding, deflecting, evading.
Max's eyes widen in surprise at my reaction. On the one hand, he's interested in what I'm saying, but on the other he knows that's not what he asked me, that's not the answer I should have given.
- As soon as I mentioned Pierre, your eyes were genuinely shocked. You weren't faking it. - he replies immediately, decisively, fearlessly focusing the spotlight on what he wants to talk about.
You can't force me to do this, Max.
I pull my hands away from his chest for the first time since I came in and he catches them on the fly, as if to stop me from getting up.
I try to pull them away again, but he squeezes mine tightly and I give up.
It actually feels good, like before, when those same fingers were inside me in that forceful, beautiful way. God, so good.
I turn my head to avoid his gaze and he moves to look at me. Why are you so insistent? You're a bulldog; when you set your sights on your prey, you don't let go. Your fangs just won't let go. Never.
I don't know why I keep looking for you. Maybe it's true that you're the only one who makes me feel something and I look for you for that. I'm convinced that only you make me feel alive.
And Pierre then? Isn't it true that it's always been nice to fuck with him?
- What did Pierre tell you? - he insists as if I hadn't said anything.
I sigh and finally, realizing that not only wouldn't he let me go, but he wouldn't even give up on the questions, I satisfy him.
- What I imagined. - which isn't a real answer. He raises his eyebrows impatiently, urging me to elaborate, and I see them out of the corner of my eye.
I'll just say something to keep him happy.
- He reacted badly, angrily; he exploded, told me I'm a selfish coward who fakes emotions and then he apologized and said he doesn't really think so, he's the cowardly, selfish one because he realized something was wrong with me and was afraid of it. And he loves me now. He's taken too much and is in too much pain. He asked me to stay with him until he accepts the thing and gets better. And to be friends. To make sure we stay friends no matter what. That all the time it took me to drop the mask, now I'll have to wait and support him.
- He’s dreaming it! - he blurts out before making me realize how much I've actually said, even if I thought I didn't even want to. A few things in brief, I told myself. I'll tell him little to nothing, just to keep him quiet. Instead, every detail. Almost the precise dialogue. I'm losing control again and it's Max's fault.
- I promised him. - I reply abruptly still not looking at him, my eyes on his living room which I can't really focus on. I don't even know what his house looks like, even though I'm inside it.
- What have you done? - he asks tense, incredulous.
- I promised it. I want us to stay friends too, I don't want to lose him! - I reply looking at him again, forcing myself. And it takes a lot to look at him now after what I've said.
- Why? He told you you fake emotions! I'm sure he knows how much this hurts you, how afraid you are of it! He knows everything about you! He even knows what to say to hurt you! What do you owe him? Why would you want to be his friend anyway? He said you fake emotions, Charles! It's serious!
Max is getting angry and now the hands he's holding me hurt, like dynamite that explodes over and over again; I'm here in front of him, watching him, dumbfounded, absorbed, struck, almost in love with the way he lets it all out, whatever he thinks, whatever he feels, it doesn't matter what it is. He's not afraid of it. He lets it all out and it's so beautiful, in a way.
So beautiful.
And I envy him, I wish I were like that. To have the strength to be like that.
Will I ever be?
Maybe if I spent a lot of time with him I would eventually be, but that wouldn't be the right reason to stay with him, just like the fact that he makes me feel sensations that make me feel alive. It's not the right way to overcome this problem of mine and it's not right for him either. It's not the right reason to be with someone.
In the end I return his hands' grip, trying to calm him down; this seems to work. He lowers his furious gaze and looks at them as if he's only now noticing them.
He sighs and stops rant.
At this point, once again in control and ready to face the next bend in this troubled track, clear-headed and focused, I look at him waiting for him to reciprocate. When Max, with difficulty, but still frowning and expressive, makes up his mind, it makes me smile almost with relief, somehow. It makes me feel good in a way I don't understand and he doesn't really realize it either.
- Pierre is important to me. Regardless of who we are, I don't want to end things with him. But I'm convinced that our dimension is friendship. I won't give up on him. - I clarify calmly and peacefully.
Max pouted in annoyance; I think he's jealous and I'm pleased.
- I also need to understand myself better. I have sensations, obviously. If you touch me like you did before, I'll come and want to fuck you because I'm attracted to you and my body calls for you, but I'm confused about myself, you know? Sometimes I feel like I'm not alive, like I'm not myself and I'm looking for... I don't know, a burst of life to wake me up. Only I'm looking for it in the wrong way.
- This has nothing to do with being incapable of feeling and showing emotions. - he clarifies annoyed, trying not to be fooled by my understanding, calm gaze and my hands still holding him.
- No. - I say indulgently. - But it's something important about me that I wanted you to know. You've seen me in certain situations and anyway, tonight, I ended up here like a madman. - I say blushing and embarrassed.
I hate losing control like that. Seeing what I did, I realize I was absurd. It's not like me to behave like that. But maybe I'm the one who doesn't know what's really like me.
- You don’t fake emotions, Charles. - he replies pressing on that point, knowing it's what drove me crazy, that really matters.
- I don't know, Max. But I'll figure it out in the coming months. I'll take all the time I need to figure it out. First, I'll focus on helping Pierre because I owe it to him. Then, I'll isolate myself and take a journey within myself to truly understand who I am and how to get out of this mess I'm in.
I'm telling him this clearly so he understands that, regardless of the Pierre issue, I'll disappear for a while and not be in touch.
- So I won't see or hear you? - he asks bluntly, decidedly disagreeing with this. I smile at his frankness and how, as always, he shows what he thinks; I nod still squeezing his hands between mine.
- For a while. I need to understand myself. I need it. I can't risk making another mess like I did with Pierre. I don't want to.
It's clear in what sense. If I threw myself at Max because he made me hard and then ended up having a crush on me and I didn’t, I would realize too late and at his expense that I'm the problem, not the others. That I'm the one who doesn't know how to love or feel anything. I can't risk making him suffer too.
- You don't have to atone for Pierre. - he grumbles again, holding me between his fingers still entangled in mine.
I smile sweetly, but I don't know if I really am or if I think I have to be because I think he's sweet. And I don't know if I'm even remotely sweet. How do I look?
- It's not that. It's just that if I did to you what I did to him, I wouldn't forgive myself, you understand? I need a while. I'm not asking you anything, don't wait for me, live your life, do what you feel. But I wanted to explain what I'm going to do.
Because it's not a proposal or a request. This is exactly how it will go and what I'll do.
I don't want to risk ruining this thing between us, whatever it turns out to be. Whether it's just sex or a real relationship, I'll have to be sure when it starts. I don't want to change my mind halfway and make him suffer. I don't want things to start off badly. I don't want something beautiful to turn into a nightmare.
Everything has to be perfect and right.
What a shitty character I have. I couldn't be more perfectionist and precise, right?
Max fully understands what I mean, even with the words I don't say, but I've been clear enough and he can't complain about a lack of honesty.
Finally, he sighs and nods bowing his head, unable to meet my eyes any longer. Maybe his own are burning. Maybe he's ashamed to show that he's upset, that he was hoping for a different outcome. But he gives up and I think it's the first time he's done it.
I just hope he doesn't do it between us at all. I don't want him to give up completely, just to let me go for a while.
The usual selfish guy. But who would want to be with me once they find out who I really am?
Why would he?
I kiss his forehead while sincerely hoping it's just a postponed conversation between u, and not cut short on the beginning. 
We can't know, even if, judging by the way he leans against my lips, he hopes the same thing, but we can only trust in the uncertainty of this future that opens up before us. A new hairpin bend, another curve, an unknown stretch of track looms. Will we be able to handle it?
- Do you want to sleep here? - he asks softly while my lips are still on his forehead and I don't know if it's him warming from this contact or me.
I shake my head slowly, with difficulty.
- It’s better not. - I say bending into a slight, melancholic smile, without leaving his forehead.
- I’ll steal your bathroom and then go home. - I add remaining still as I am. Our hands still intertwined, my mouth still on him. Max nods without adding anything.
It’s such a strange situation. I'm the one in charge and driving right now, but I was convinced it would be him, that he would do everything to drive. The fact that he abandons himself to me catches me off guard.

When I go to the bathroom, I pass in front of his room and my gaze quickly passes over it without noticing. I go and as I do what I have to, my brain registers a detail I saw in passing.
Something I somehow know and that concerns me.
What was it?
My mind is activated, a memory ready to unlock.
I freshen my face and smell his perfume again, which I still have intact at home. I smell it every now and then, but I don't put it on.
When I go out I purposely stop in front of his room; from the outside it probably looks like I'm just snooping around a pseudo-normal version of a 22-year-old.
My eyes swipe more carefully over every detail of his room, almost as messy as mine. In this we are the same. I smile in amusement as I realize it feels like a pleasant, familiar battlefield. If we ever lived together, we would die under our mess.
It's hard to notice anything in particular. I don't know what my brain thought it saw first, but I'm about to move when my gaze finally notices it.
A can of white beer with the red Stella Artois logo. The Belgian beer we haven't really drunk in Belgium this year.
Without thinking, and in an extremely nosy and intrusive way, I walk in and, as if hypnotized, with memories hitting me like a train in full swing, I pick it up and shake it.
It's empty and open and it's exactly that one. I don't know how I can say it, but I'm certain of it.
The one I picked up while I was in one of my psychopathic moments. When perhaps we first truly got close.
The flashes of the two of us on the terrace at night assail me, our serious, somehow delicate conversation. It wasn't intrusive, I didn't really confide, but it was the first time between us where we not only tolerated each other, but also discovered each other, I think.
I'm not sure, but if I had to say when everything changed between us, I'd say that night.
I bring the can closer, I look at it carefully here in the darkness of his room, which I entered without even permission.
I put my mouth here after he drank, and I did it like a madman in one of those moments. I needed to kiss him, but I didn't have the courage. I needed to hug him, but I couldn't. I needed his warmth, but then I ran away and took refuge in Pierre, continuing to build my castle of mistakes. A castle that will be painful to tear down now, but that I have to.
I put the can down again and sigh melancholically, while a smile appears on my lips with surprise and warmth.
He kept this can, he didn't throw it away in the end.
For him, too, everything changed that night. For him, too, all this means something.
Max must be very romantic, as well as extremely sensitive. And perhaps even fragile.
This realization comes to me as I turn and see him standing in the doorway of his room, me still immersed in the dim light inside. The light behind him doesn't allow me to see his expression, but the way he stands completely silent and still, watching me, makes me realize that it's exactly as I just thought.
Fragile.
Beautifully fragile.
I approach him slowly. Max doesn't move, he just stands there as if blocking my path, keeping me here with him. For a moment I contemplate staying there, but we both know that if I did, it wouldn't be a small thing. We wouldn't even sleep. And I have too much to fix before I do that.
I take his chin between two fingers and smile apologetically.
You're afraid to show yourself for who you really are, I understand that, and I might not have the heart to not hurt you. So first I better take a good look at myself and get my shit together.
- Thanks for tonight. And for the other times.
I don't tell him anything else, I don't ask him to wait, nor do I make any promises. We've already said everything, I've already spoken.
He doesn't respond, I struggle to pull my hand away and walk past him on my way out of his house.
I'm so terribly flawed.”

/Max/

"Broken, that's how I feel as soon as he leaves.
Dumped and rejected for the umpteenth time.
I don't know why the hell I opened this fucking door for him; but how the hell did he get there?
How did he know where I lived and even the name at my door?
When I saw his face through the peephole, I thought I'd fallen asleep; my heart stopped after it suddenly rose in my throat and my brain completely shut down.
When we broke up in Abu Dhabi, I thought enough, I'd see for myself without expecting anything. I wouldn't insist or pursue anymore; if one day he made up his mind and I was still in favor, fine, otherwise, goodbye.
But then I saw him right back here and here I am, falling apart like a pear tree. Sure, he's the one who looked for me and he was in front of my door, what was I supposed to do? Not open the door for him? I'll see him again at the races next year, damn it.
But what happened next is the problem; how I threw myself into his arms, how I opened mine, how I consoled him and tried to help him.
How I made him come, how I came in boxers, how I tried to kiss him again.
I'm pathetic and that's it.
He rejected me again. He took the pleasure, he thanked me, he showed his splendid fragility and his sexy psychopathy, and then he dumped me again.
I take the chin between my fingers, right where he touched me a moment ago, I look into the darkness of my room where I remain, in front of the door from which he slipped away like a ghost.
He made no promises or requests, he was sincere. What can I complain about?
He came here to ask me a fucking question he could have asked on cell phone, he expected me to come forward again because he needed a warm human touch, but not just any human touch, mine.
The only sincere person who has known him since he was little? Yes, maybe that's true, but a part of him hoped I'd touch him and make him feel alive again. Because it's clear that only I can erect and warm him. But then?
Then when I'm the one needing warmth, no, he's not in it.
It doesn't work like that, I'm sorry.
But I'm left standing here like an idiot. I look at the can he noticed and took in his hands, the can that marked the turning point in our relationship. When everything changed. The can I didn't want to part with.
How pathetic.
Now that he's seen me so well, he's dumped me.
He doesn't want me, I'm not enough for him right now.
He left Pierre with an absurd promise, but that didn't include chastity, it doesn't stop him from building a life, while he consoles and cares for him.
He has personal problems he needs to resolve, he wants to understand if he's the problem in relationships or if it's a people issue. He was clear. That's just how it is.
I can't complain about anything. Absolutely nothing.
He's afraid of not being able to feel emotions and feelings, only sensations, which would end up making me suffer like he's making Pierre suffer now.
Well, dear Charles, guess what?
You're already making me suffer. I feel like shit like I haven't felt in a long time and I'm afraid you're right, actually.
That you're incapable of loving. I don't know if it's me or in general, but the outcome for me wouldn't change.
I'm afraid that if I insisted further and we slept together, it would be nice, but that would be it and then when I wanted something else, if I ever wanted it, you wouldn't be able to give it to me.
The fact that he's right to think about it now and act this way makes me even more furious.
I put the can on the shelf and kick the chair with all the clothes that have piled up. The clothes spill, the chair makes a clatter and I continue to angrily kick everything that's spilled, I spread it further while my room is already a battlefield in itself, now it's even more so. But I don't feel any better, it doesn't bring me relief, I can't relax my nerves. I look at my hands, which are tense and shaking. I shake my head, roll my eyes and stamp my foot, cursing with a string of "fuck, fuck, fuck."
Then my eyes burn and I squeeze them shut.
We'll never stop. Me trying and hoping, and him rejecting me. Because maybe that's how it is. He can't love me back. He can't do it. Maybe it's like he says, he's flawed, he's insensitive, I don't know, or maybe I'm the problem. Me and that's it. All he could get from me is my ass and a night of multiple orgasms. But it'll never be more than that.
And where did that thing I proudly blurted out to Lando go?
Of course I just want to fuck him, that's all I want!
Wasn't that it?
When did it become something else?
After destroying the room, I turn around and leave; I need to feel better, I feel like I'm going crazy.
My head throbs and my nerves are shaking, my neck feels completely tense, I feel like I'm splitting in two.
I need something to calm me down, something, I need something. It doesn't matter what, if I don't find it now, I'll explode and die right away.
And so, without knowing what to do, I leave the house barely bothering to take my keys. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, but I absolutely have to.
I. Have. To.”

NOTES: Melancholy galore, inevitable angst, endless sadness. And we're only at the beginning of this painful part. Everyone goes through those dark times in their lives, Charles's is there and is obviously closely connected to Max's. Truth be told, what Charles does isn't strange: after making Pierre suffer because he was unsure of his feelings for him, he's afraid of doing the same thing to Max and doesn't want to hurt him or ruin a potentially beautiful relationship. However, even if Max understands, because Charles explained himself very well and was honest, it doesn't make him feel any less bad. Until next time. Kisses, Akane.