Chapter Eleven
Daniel
This is the first night of the new school year that I’ve really felt autumn coming.
Thank God for that. My heart is pounding and my face is hot, and I need that hint of cool in the air. I walk fast across the quad, not even sure where I’m going, but knowing I need to get away from Tamsin.
What the hell did I just do?
It was that damn class. That damn radical honesty thing. It pulled all those words out of me onstage, and I felt naked afterward. And then, still naked, I met Tamsin outside the theater door.
Shit, shit, shit.
Here’s some advice. If you’re into a girl but you shouldn’t be a couple, don’t take an acting class with her. Because it’ll leave you raw, with nothing between you and how much you want her, and you’ll do something stupid like ask her out on a date.
That stupid fucking scene. The stupid fucking things I said. I mean yeah, they were true, but they ripped open a wound so rotten and festering I was terrified everyone in that theater had seen it.
Tamsin had.
Do you know someone who was raped?
No, I said. Not raped.
Talk about half truths. Talk about lying by omission.
So much for radical honesty.
But I thank God for that, too. I thank God I didn’t blurt out the truth to the girl I have a crush on.
It was me. But I wasn’t raped. I was only molested.
I’ve crossed the quad now, and the library is in front of me. There’s a little garden around back that no one ever goes into, and that’s where I head.
I come to the iron fence and the brick path leading into the garden. The path winds around a little and then circles a big maple tree.
There’s a stone bench on the far side. I sit down, the trunk at my back and the tree branches above my head.
The garden is lit by the glow of the library windows. This is one of the oldest buildings on campus and the windows are tall and arched, kind of gothic looking. Light spills through them onto the ivy and trees and bushes out here.
Inside that building are hundreds of students reading, writing, and studying. Normal people doing normal things.
I’ve never felt less like one of them.
I’ve never told anyone about what my neighbor did to me eight years ago. I never will. I didn’t even tell Father Warren, because he’d want me to tell my mother.
The last thing she needs is to feel guilty because she didn’t protect me or help me or whatever. It’s just her, my little sister, and me, and that’s enough of a burden for a single mom.
It’s been eight years since it happened, and I don’t think about it much anymore. Sometimes weeks will go by and I don’t think about it once. That’s one of the advantages of not dating, to be honest. Because as much as I love kissing and fooling around, what happened when I was twelve years old screwed me up when it comes to sex.
Which makes it pretty damn hard to have a normal relationship.
It took me a while to even be able to masturbate. I felt disconnected from my own body for a long time. I do plenty of that now, at least. But no girl has ever made me come.
I fantasize about it. There was a stretch freshman year when I fantasized about Tamsin every damn night. But when I’m actually with a girl, even if I’m totally into things, I freeze up if she tries to go down on me or even touch me.
I’ve figured out ways to avoid that happening. The secret is being so good at making a girl come that she’s perfectly happy to stick with that.
It helps that I love going down on girls. And a good kissing session can go on for hours.
I don’t have any issues with our bodies touching—the grinding that happens when you’re making out. It’s just when a girl goes to unzip my pants that I get messed up.
I always figured I’d get over it someday. I hope I do. But it’s not going to happen with Tamsin.
Tamsin is totally comfortable with her body, with sex, with herself. There’s no way she’d be happy just to kiss a guy she’s dating, or even just to let him go down on her. And how would I explain not wanting to go further?
I can’t lie and say it’s about religion, because it isn’t. Some people in my church want to wait until they’re married, and that’s fine—but I don’t have a problem with premarital sex.
It’s not that I don’t want to do it. It’s that I can’t do it. And there is no way, absolutely no fucking way, that I’m going to let Tamsin Shay see exactly how screwed up I am. I’ve lusted after this girl since the first time I saw her, and I couldn’t stand for her to find out that part of me is broken.
Maybe it’s old-fashioned. Maybe it’s bullshit. But if you’re going to be with a girl like Tamsin, a girl who’s smart and funny and challenging and sexy, I think you should be whole. I think you should have something to offer her.
I slide down on the bench a little, resting on my tailbone. The cool breeze feels good and my heart rate has settled down. It’s time to stop freaking out and put things in perspective.
Okay, so I’m not whole. And if we were talking about a relationship, then yeah, I wouldn’t have much to offer Tamsin.
But I didn’t say anything about a relationship. I didn’t ask her to be my girlfriend. I didn’t even admit I’m into her, although she probably figured that much out.
What I did was ask her on a date. And whatever part of my brain is in charge of self-preservation kicked in, because I told her I just want to show her what a date should be like. How a real man should treat her.
As opposed to, say, an asshole like Oscar.
So, fine. I can stick with that. No kissing, I said. No fooling around. Just a good old-fashioned date. All during freshman year I saw Tamsin do little things for Oscar—bake cookies for him and get coffee for him and rub his shoulders and help him study for tests—while he hardly ever did anything for her.
That’s fucked up. And if I can stay focused on that—on treating Tamsin the way she deserves to be treated—then I’ll be okay.
It’s just one night, after all. One date. And after that, things will go back to normal between Tamsin and me. We’ll have zero in common, spar in class, and disagree about pretty much everything.
But maybe Tamsin’s next relationship will be with the kind of guy she deserves. And if I can show her what that looks like, then the torture of a romantic night with a girl I’ll never be with will be worth it.