I appreciate Eric letting me be here for him tonight.

I’d considered that what was weighing on his mind had to do with meeting my parents, but I’d also considered, since his therapy appointment is tomorrow, it might have something to do with that. It wasn’t until meeting my parents was out of the way and had gone so well, but his apprehension remained, that I decided to push…to see if he would open up to me about what he was really irritated with.

I’m so glad he did, especially after seeing him complete what was so clearly a very difficult process for him.

We lie in bed together until he finally passes out beside me. As much as I held him after he finished the exercise and broke down in my arms, I could tell he needed his space tonight…and I wanted to give it to him.

I would have preferred to have him in my arms. As I lie next to him now, I want to pull him into my chest…because even the inches that separate us are too much, every ripple in the sheet an affront to what we share.

On top of being pissed at the distance between us, I’m still rattled, shaken from watching him break down.

Not only because of that moment, but because it reminds me of another—when we were camping and he had that severe episode right before my eyes. Watching the man I love crumble—when he’s normally so full of pride and strength—isn’t something I revel in.

Not because I don’t want to be here for him when he’s vulnerable, but because I know how much he doesn’t want me to see him like that…for anyone to see him like that.

But to see him there, fighting to face that demon that’s been haunting him for so long…for that, I’m so goddamn proud of him…in a way I’m not sure he can ever really understand. That doesn’t still the rage that swells within me, though, toward that motherfucker who did this to him.

How could his uncle be so cruel and selfish? What kind of monster would be so reckless, so thoughtless toward another person? Did his uncle have a clue he would have this effect on Eric…here, forty-three years old, dealing with the trauma of an event that happened to him when he was sixteen?

It’s hard for me to remember so many things that happened to me at that age, and I’m only twenty-three. But I never had an experience like that. Nothing that could cripple me the way Eric is so obviously crippled.

I had shit, but nothing comparable, so I can’t know what it’s like for him.

I hate myself for that.

Because I want to help him.

But there’s this feeling of helplessness in all this.

I can read all the crap I want, sit in on therapy sessions, try to help him through exercises, but at the end of the day, I’m a kid again, at the mercy of forces outside myself. Back then it was being pushed from foster home to foster home, and now I’m at the mercy of this thing that terrorizes the man I’m in love with.

At one point in the night, Eric starts to stir, his face shifting about. He grunts as beads of sweat form on his forehead.

He’s having a nightmare.

I’ve seen this happen a few times since we’ve been together, since I’ve slept in bed with him.

At first, when I would notice it, I thought it was just the sort of night terrors most people experience. Hell, even Whitney would stir and shake over some that she had, but these days, after the research I’ve done, I can’t help but feel that these are linked to his trauma. I wonder what it’s of… Is it that event…or something else?

I can’t watch him struggle, not tonight, not when I fear he might be reliving that experience all over again in his dreams.

I gently nudge him, and his eyes pop open. He sits up, his arms coming up at either side as I move back quickly, giving him the space I’m sure he needs.

He breathes intensely as he glances around the room in a panic, like he’s trying to orient himself.

As his breathing steadies and he seems to recognize me, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Having a nightmare.” He takes another breath, blinking deliberately, seemingly more at ease than before, and then lies back on his pillow.

So many questions I want to ask him, but I’m worried about pushing him too hard, and as his gaze meets mine, he says, “Quid pro quo.” He forces a smirk, and I’m relieved that he’s said that because I’m certain it’s because he can sense my confusion right now.

“Ask away,” I say.

He takes a moment, as though he’s trying to be careful about his question. “Your biological parents…what do you think about them?”

That wasn’t what I was expecting…at all, but I try for the best answer I can manage because I’d like the same from him when it’s my turn. “I wish I could say I’m a big enough person to have gotten over it…that they made their decision and maybe they had very good reasons. I’ve told myself story after story of very valid reasons why they might not have wanted to know me. There’s one where my mother couldn’t afford to keep me…or her parents wouldn’t let her. My father’s dead in one scenario, a bastard in a couple hundred. There’s one where my mom’s a drug addict and realized it would be better for me not to know her. No matter what story I tell, it doesn’t make me feel any better or any less upset.”

“That’s understandable, and I’m sorry you have to live with that. You know about my situation with my father. He hardly wanted to be that. I still wonder what I did. I, a kid, did something to piss him off that made him not give a shit, that I was so unworthy of his affection. I think some part of me always wondered if it was because I was gay. He could sense it, and that disappointed him in some way. Has to be a reason he never came looking for me after I ran.”

It’s a pain I share with him. This feeling of not being loved or wanted.

“I’m sorry, Eric.”

“Regardless of why that was, it reminds me I could have been a lot better with Ty. I spent so much time regretting rather than appreciating what we had. I see that now that I feel as though he’s not constantly trying to chase me out of his life. Now that, after I fucked up royally, he’s listening and understanding. It’s bizarre to think it took this to get me to a place where I actually believe my son wants me in his life.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not going to count that as my quid pro quo,” he assures me. “That would be cheating since I was bouncing off what you said, and probably not anything you didn’t know already.”

“Not going to take advantage of the subject change?” I tease him, and I earn a smile, one I deeply appreciate.

He sits up and turns onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

“No, you deserve better than subject changes, Jesse. What do you really want to ask me right now? What was on your mind after you woke me up?”

“The nightmare you were having…I’ve seen you struggling in your sleep before. Was it about your uncle?”

He winces. “They’ve never been about that instance necessarily, but to say they aren’t about him at all would be a lie.”

He doesn’t sound like he wants to share more than that, but I feel compelled to open up to him. This is quid pro quo, after all. “After the Morgans adopted me, I started having these nightmares. I still have them occasionally. I’m always younger, in high school, and for whatever reason…any number of reasons…Judy, that woman at the shelter, shows up and tells me that the Morgans don’t want me anymore. In some of them, Stan and Charlotte actually tell me to my face. That they don’t love me. They don’t want me. Then I’m taken back to the shelter, and I’m on my own all over again.”

He rests his hand on my arm. “Jesse, I’m so sorry.”

I shrug. “I can’t complain about it. They’ve never left me, but it hasn’t kept me from being afraid, on some level, of being abandoned…alone all over again.”

“Oh, my Jesse. My beautiful Jesse.”

“Even with how amazing they’ve been, some days I do feel like I could find out that they’re the dream…all this is a dream, and I wake up…by myself.” I can’t believe I said that much. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this a downer. I just…when I see you having a nightmare, I worry and think if it feels nearly as real as the ones I have, you shouldn’t have to experience it.”

“I really appreciate that,” he says. “Mine have played a very similar role in my own life. It feels kind of the same, but different. I’m being chased by this creature. Something out of a horror movie…almost like that movie Martyrs. It’s not exactly a monster, though. It’s this faceless dark creature that’s hunting me down. It can be through the woods, a dark alley, an office building…anywhere I can run. And I know, the way you sometimes know things in dreams, that when it reaches me, it’s not going to kill me. No, much worse. It’s going to torture me in the worst possible way, and it’s going to make me watch as it forces me to endure this agony.

“I’ve had this dream—or some variation of it—so many times. Sometimes the creature takes on different forms, but it’s always that feeling of overwhelming helplessness…like there’s nothing I can do to stop it. In some of my dreams, I do turn around and kill it. Slay it like some kind of hero in a movie. But more often than not, I’m running, terrified, a fucking coward. And I despise myself for running. I’ve always hated the feeling that rises within me because it makes me feel weak…like a failure. And these dreams, which I’ve had since that experience with my uncle, they’ve been something that’s always been playing on my thoughts through every career goal, every obstacle I faced. They’ve inspired me to find that control in my own life and make it the way I want it to be. To have success, to be someone worth something.”

“You’ve always been someone worth something, Eric. And you’ve earned everything you’ve ever achieved.” I’m trying to be honest with him, to reflect back what I see when I look at him.

He nods, but his expression doesn’t suggest he believes my words. “Yes, but I realize, here I am, forty-three years old…and even I’m impressed with the stuff I have, but I’m still a sixteen-year-old kid, running from the darkness, the phantom. That’s never the guy I wanted to be.”

“You’re not running anymore, Eric. You were. You had every reason to. But like with Ty, this isn’t over yet. And there’s still time to turn around and face this thing…like you did tonight.”

His eyes widen, and he studies me before his expression twists up again. He reaches out and runs the back of his hand down my cheek. I don’t really know why, but I lean into it, wanting him to know I’m here. “I’m not a big believer in reincarnation, Jesse, but you make me believe in karma…because whatever I did to deserve you, I sure as fuck didn’t do it in this life.”

I feel his tension’s waned and he’s more at ease than when he first woke up…and especially since we shared that moment in the office together, when he faced that demon despite all the pain it brought him. He allowed me to see what he doesn’t allow most others to see—that vulnerable side of him, that side he’d rather not share, the side most of us would rather hide from the world.

He sets his hand on the back of my head and reels me in to him, not taking much effort since I go so willingly. He offers a firm kiss, rolling on top of me, and his weight feels so good against me. I want to be here for him. I want to give him the ease he seeks in this moment.

“I need…you…Eric,” I whisper between kisses.

“I need you more,” Eric replies as I feel his dick hardening against my hip.