by Elle Thorpe
He groaned. “Stop, Reese, I can’t.” He moved back, panting, both of us trying to catch our breath. Then he pulled my hands away from where I’d been exploring his chest. “Really. Stop. I can’t.”
His words froze me in place. He was rejecting me again? I was a bloody idiot. I untangled myself from him and slid off his lap, scooting back in the darkness. I scrambled to my feet and turned for the gate.
“Reese, wait.” He appeared beside me and grabbed my arm, and I spun around to face him.
“What are we doing? I’ve made it more than clear I want this. Do you? Because one minute you’re hot, the next you’re telling me we can’t. You’re my boss. Is that what it is? Or is it that you only fuck random strangers from the bar?” I couldn’t stop the hurt that crept into my voice.
“NO! I like you Reese, a lot. We’re friends.” He grimaced, as if he knew he’d said the wrong thing and wished he could take it back. Tough luck, he couldn’t.
“Friends. Right. Of course. Do you kiss all your friends like that? Do you pull them all onto your lap and grind into them? Do you take them all to meet your horse and tell them all about your family secrets?” My hurt and humiliation was rapidly turning into anger. I fought to dial it back.
He ran his hand through his hair and let out a frustrated groan. “I like you. A lot. Yes, we’re friends, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. I do. You don’t understand how bad. But I can’t.”
“Why not?” I spat the words. “Do you have a girlfriend or a wife no one knows about? I know you’ve been with men. Is that it? Are you gay?”
He shook his head. “Gender doesn’t matter to me. I’m attracted to whoever I’m attracted to. I definitely don’t have a wife or any sort of steady partner.”
“Then what? I’ve made a fool out of myself, how many times now? I sure as hell don’t plan on doing it again.” Hot, disappointed tears threatened to spill over. I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand to distract myself so I wouldn’t cry.
“It’s not you, it’s my problem. I swear it.”
“Whatever, Low, I’m done.” I twisted out of his grip and ran for the gate.
He let out that frustrated groan again. “Reese, stop! I have HIV.”
The words exploded from his lips like a cannon blast, halting me in my tracks. The silence was deafening as I slowly turned around.
“What?” I honestly wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
He shook his head, one hand gripping the back of his neck. He took a step towards me. “There’s a chance I have HIV. A good chance. I’ve had direct exposure and I’m being tested for it.”
My hand flew to my mouth as my heart skipped a beat. HIV? As in AIDS?
He grimaced, his features twisting, his hurt clearly evident on his face. “And that’s why I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want to see that look of disgust. Especially not from you.”
I dropped my hand, shame creeping over me. I wasn’t disgusted, but shock rolled through me like a wave, making my movements sluggish. How was I supposed to react?
“Don’t worry, you can’t catch it from kissing, or from anything else we’ve done. You’re safe.” All the heat and passion between us had disappeared, and where moments before his voice had been sweet, he now sounded sharp and sarcastic. He shook his head and jogged over to Lijah.
My feet were rooted to the spot. I wasn’t responding the right way. I didn’t need his body language to confirm that. But my brain seemed to be disconnected from my body. I had no idea how to make it move, or make it talk. No idea how to make it do anything that would salvage this situation, so we could go back to making out. I touched my fingertips to my lips. Making out was okay, he’d said so, but I already knew that much anyway.
I watched him lead Lijah over to the fence and use it to climb on her back. His face was blank when he turned back to face me.
“You see now why we had to stop? I told you it had nothing to do with you. Do you believe me now? I couldn’t stay away from you. So maybe you could do me a favour and stay away from me.”
He clicked his tongue and dug his heels into Lijah’s belly, urging her into a trot. I stood there for a long time after they disappeared into the dark, with no idea what to say or what to do.
12
Reese
The kettle was taking forever. I tapped a metal spoon against the bench top and willed the water to boil faster. I needed coffee. The biggest mug I owned sat waiting on the bench top, the words ‘Live. Love. Ride.’ printed in bold letters on the smooth white ceramic. I sighed. Even my coffee mug made me think of Low.
I’d lain in bed last night, tossing and turning, while I replayed the moment of Low’s confession in my mind. I had so many questions, but by morning, I had no answers and no sleep.
I liked him. I knew that much. He was smart and funny, and so hot I could cry. But beyond that, I could talk to him in a way I’d never been able to talk to anyone else. He made me want to open up to him. He’d listened as I’d confessed my sins and he’d shared some of his own demons. Low and his friendship were the best things in my life right now.
But HIV? God, that was huge. Every question I’d lain awake thinking about rushed back. Could we even have any sort of romantic relationship? How would people react when they found out? How long would it be before he got sick? I was terrified of Low lying frail and in pain in some hospital bed, like my sister had. And then there was one overwhelming thought that overrode all the rest, one that made me feel like shit, but I couldn’t block out, no matter how hard I tried. Did I still want him?
Stomach churning with guilt, I added milk to my coffee and took a sip. It scalded my tongue but warmed my chest, calming my nerves. Jesus Christ. I was a horrible person. Was I really that shallow, that I’d call things off between us before we’d even really begun? More than anything else, right now he needed a friend. Hadn’t he been there for me when I’d needed one? We might not have known each other long, but there was something between us. Something I wanted the chance to explore.
Shame heating my cheeks, I dialled Bianca’s number and told her I had a cold. Low would be hurt when I didn’t show up for work, and I felt bad for lying to Bianca, but I couldn’t face him. Not yet. I needed time to make a game plan.
I put my phone down and dragged my laptop across the kitchen bench, knowing I couldn’t stick my head in the sand forever. I hit the power button, watching as the screen flickered to life. My leg twitched under me, nervous energy expending itself. I’d avoided Google all night, terrified that the basics I knew from high school health class were only the tip of the iceberg. But it was time to get answers.
Grabbing my stack of Post-its and a pen, I got ready to become a HIV guru. My fingers hovered over the keys while I waited for the Google home page to load. When it appeared, I took a deep breath to settle the churning in my belly, typed in HIV, and clicked on the first website the search brought up.
Hours later, I sat back in my chair and smiled. I had a whole kitchen bench worth of Post-it notes with HIV facts scrawled across them. I had notes on transmission, testing, and the End HIV campaign. But only one had the words I’d most wanted to read. With daily medication, a person with HIV has a similar life expectancy to non-HIV sufferers. Relief flooded me as soon as I’d realised he wasn’t facing a death sentence any more than I was. The tension in my muscles eased one by one the more I read. He’d need a lifestyle change if his tests were positive, but he could still live a full life no matter what.
I clicked my pen a few times and eyed the last tab on the website—HIV and Sex. I’d avoided it so far, but now that I knew he’d be okay, all I could think of was the two of us as a couple. Or whatever the hell we were. Low had said everything we’d done was safe, and I believed him, but I couldn’t just rely on him to learn this stuff. We had to be a team. Every time we were together, the physical attraction between us was electric. It would be impossible to ignore forever. If we kept going the way we’d been, at some point, we were
going to get carried away. I needed to know what was safe and what wasn’t. It wasn’t just about protecting myself, but protecting him. He was already so worried about hurting me, I wanted to take some of that pressure from him.
I carefully read through the Dos and Don’ts of a sexual relationship with an HIV-positive partner, each line more encouraging than the line before. My warring emotions came to an abrupt halt, as my fears evaporated, one by one. We could have a sexual relationship. With medication and a few precautions, there would be no risk to me. There were HIV-positive patients with husbands, wives, and kids. My knee-jerk reaction to Low’s confession was ignorant, and my stomach rolled when I thought of the way I’d let him leave. I’d royally fucked this whole thing up.
Pushing away my now cold coffee, I shut the lid of my laptop, folded my arms, and laid my head down on top. My mind whirled with a new set of questions that no one but Low could answer. How long ago had he been exposed? Where was he in the testing procedure? There was so much I wanted to know, but overriding my curiosity was a desire to apologise. My lack of knowledge on the situation had led me to jump to conclusions. Conclusions based on a Hollywood movie made twenty years ago and a few paragraphs of text in an out-of-date, high school biology textbook. My reaction had hurt him, and when I thought about it, that was what had really kept me up all night. I’d hurt him, and I hated myself for it.
My stomach rumbled, and I glanced over at the clock on my oven. Already 1:00 p.m. I’d been sitting here researching for hours, and Low was about to go on his lunch break. I picked up my phone and tapped it on the bench, debating whether to call him. It seemed more like a conversation that had to happen in person, though. I decided to text him instead.
Can you come over tonight? After your shift?
I pottered around the kitchen, wiping down the already crumb-free bench tops while I waited for him to reply. When he hadn’t replied after ten minutes I looked at the clock again. He was definitely on his lunch break. I shot off a second message.
Please, Low. I want to talk about this.
This time he messaged back almost immediately.
Okay.
I sighed. It wasn’t an encouraging response, but I’d take it. I just needed him to come. I could worry about getting him talking once he got here.
13
Reese
Knowing Low’s shift didn’t finish until six, I sat cross-legged on my lounge and tried to distract myself with a book. I’d been hooked by the story last week, but tonight, after reading the same line five times and still having no idea what it said, I gave up. Instead, I nibbled on a thumbnail and stared at the door with unseeing eyes. When a knock echoed through the apartment, I was up and out of my chair, flinging the door open before he could even lower his hand. Or change his mind.
“Hey,” I said tightly, trying to rein in my nervous energy and keep myself from word-vomiting everything I wanted to say.
“Hey.”
When he didn’t move to come inside, I realised I was blocking the doorway.
“I’m sorry, come in.” I moved aside, while scanning his body and face for a sign of how he was feeling or what he was thinking. My stomach was a mess of butterflies, and I clamped my teeth together, reminding myself to be patient and not make things worse by speaking before thinking. That hadn’t worked out so well for me yesterday.
He nodded and strode past me into the apartment, still refusing to make eye contact. I closed the door and took a deep, steadying breath before I faced him. My hands trembled, so I tucked them inside the pockets of my jeans.
Low hovered around the maze of Post-it covered boxes, looking unsure of himself.
“I made us dinner,” I announced, trying to fill the silence. But my enthusiastic, too loud voice seemed out of place, and I snapped my mouth shut.
His gaze travelled around the apartment, before coming to rest on my face. “I can’t stay long.”
My heart sank.
“Oh, okay, that’s fine too.” God, this was so awkward. I didn’t know where to look and I was fighting the urge to fidget. Motioning to the lounge I’d vacated a minute earlier, I asked, “Do you want to sit down? The lounge looks ugly, but I swear it’s comfy.”
He nodded and sat down on the edge of a seat cushion, resting his forearms on his thighs, his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. My apartment was so small, I had few seating options. Either sit on the coffee table, facing him, or on the lounge, next to him. Neither seemed like a great choice. I went with sitting next to him, perching on the other end of the lounge, giving him as much space as possible. The silence dragged out between us, uncomfortable as hell. I didn’t know how to begin.
“Look, I’m—”
“Low, I—” We said at the same time. He shifted his body to face me. The sadness in his eyes tore at my heart.
“You go first,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out. “I reacted without thinking. I just didn’t expect you to say anything even close to...that. I knew I’d said the wrong thing, but I couldn’t help it, and then you were gone and...and I made you feel like shit and there’s no excuse, and I suck.” I bit my bottom lip. It wasn’t an elegant apology, and it wasn’t at all how I’d practised it, but it was an apology, nonetheless.
Low shook his head. “No, you don’t need to apologise. I would have reacted the same, if not worse, if our roles were reversed. Storming off like that was childish—I didn’t even give you a chance to take in what I’d said. You needed time to process it all.”
I sat back, sagging against the cushions of the lounge. “So you don’t hate me?”
He smiled a little. “No, Reese, I don’t hate you…I’m angry at myself, not you.”
“Okay.” I nodded, though I didn’t like that he was beating himself up. The silence drew out between us.
“Can we talk about it now?” I held my breath, hoping I wasn’t pushing him too much.
“What’s to talk about? I’m an idiot, and I might have HIV. There’s not much else to it.” He scrubbed at his face with his hands, then looked away.
My fingers itched to reach out and touch him, but I held back. I didn’t think he’d welcome it at the moment. “You’re not an idiot.”
“I am, though. I did this to myself. I was the idiot who slept with someone I didn’t know and didn’t use a condom. We were drunk and got carried away in the moment. It didn’t even cross my mind until we were already in the middle of it.”
“It takes two to tango, though, and if this girl...or guy…?”
“Guy,” Low supplied.
“Well, if this guy knew he had HIV, then he had a responsibility to take care of you, one-night stand or not.”
He shook his head. “I’m as at fault as he is. I confronted him...” He shrugged. “I’m sure his neighbours now know all our business. But in the end, what’s done is done. Nothing he says or does is going to change what happened.”
I studied him for a moment, impressed with his maturity. If I were in his shoes, I didn’t think I would have been as forgiving. “Is this why you flipped out on me about having one-night stands?”
He shrugged. “Mostly. But if I’m being honest, it was also because I didn’t like hearing about the other men you’ve been with. I’m male, and I’m into you, and sometimes I’d rather just pretend there was no one else before me.” He gave me a wry smile. “It’s a dumb guy thing, I know. Sorry.”
The tension between us eased and I smacked him on the arm with the back of my hand. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
He looked boyish and happy, and the knowledge I had some part in that made me warm all over. I liked seeing him like this. Was it time to lay everything on the table? There’d already been far too much confusion and too many misunderstandings between us. Now seemed the ideal opportunity to let my mouth run free. I swallowed back the fear of rejection and rested my hand above his knee, testing to see if he’d push it away. He didn’t. “Low?”
“Y
eah?”
I let the words tumble.
“I don’t want to just be your friend anymore. There’s something more here. We both know that...don’t we?”
His smile faltered, his eyes dropping to stare at my hand on his knee before he pushed to his feet. I snatched my hand back as he paced the small area in front of the coffee table.
“What’s the point, Reese? I probably have HIV, so it doesn’t matter if I like you. We can’t be together. I can’t be with anyone right now.” The muscles in his shoulders bunched and tensed.
“Why? I did so much research today, there’s no reason we can’t still date and—”
“I won’t put you at risk,” he interrupted. “And I won’t ask you to wait for me. It’ll be months before I get a final diagnosis. That’s not fair to you.”
I stood up and put myself in his path, trying to stop the situation from spiralling. “Stop. Please. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Start at the beginning.” I placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him a little push towards the lounge.
He sank back into it with a sigh of defeat, and I sat next to him, a lot closer this time. Our legs brushed as he moved around restlessly.
“You remember the night we hooked up?” he asked.
I cringed, wishing I didn’t. I tried to stop the flow of memories—some made me hot, some made me angry, and I didn’t want to be either right now.
“Yes.”
“You remember I got a text message when we were…well, you remember?”
I was hardly about to forget the most humiliating moment of my life so far, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Yes.”
“It was from him. His name is Mason. I met him at the track, the day you started.” His gaze lowered, a blush creeping up his cheeks.