As the day wears on, I can see Eric’s becoming more and more relaxed. He hasn’t totally returned to his usual self, but it’s clear he’s not as disturbed as he was last night.

Neither of us really slept, but how the fuck can I sleep after what happened?

He said he was going to catch up on some work, so he’s in his office. I assume he’s really trying to recover.

While he’s occupied, I get on my laptop at the dining room table and perform various internet searches, typing in key words like “rape survivor” and “male rape victim.”

I feel guilty about doing this at his place, but whatever he’s going through, I want to be here for him.

No, I don’t know the level of what happened, but I assume it was some sort of assault…some serious violation. I’ve felt that since that encounter in the shower, but now I’m fucking certain of it.

I want to be able to give him what he needs, and even though whatever happened to him that caused him to react that way must be god-awful, in a way I’m relieved that now I understand the discomfort Eric was experiencing when I first touched his ass wasn’t just some phobia. It’s a deep wound, and now that I know, I hope there’s something I can do to help him.

Rape…it’s something I’ve certainly heard plenty about throughout the course of my life, and I feel like I have the same limited education as the majority of the population. I’ve seen the mentions in the news…on and on…to the point where terms like sexual assault at times just seem like the norm for daily news.

I’ve always assumed I’ve known someone who was a rape victim, but no one has ever confessed anything like that to me. And well, still, no one has.

In my research, I find out a lot of facts about rape survivors…things I wouldn’t have necessarily thought about. Statistics I’d never learned before.

While there are far more rapes perpetuated against women, there is a staggering number of men who suffer as well. Certainly I knew it was an issue for men, but not to the degree it clearly is. I read on, then watch a few YouTube videos about triggers, a term I’ve heard used in conversations about rape, but I’m now considering in relation to what happened with me and Eric.

From my brief perusal, it’s clear people’s experience with assault varies so much. Some people avoid sex after to minimize triggers, some become hypersexual as an attempt to reclaim their power, and some have specific triggers during sex. The number of ways people have of responding to assault are as varied as the number of people who have been victims.

Eric definitely hasn’t avoided sex, but it’s clear there are aspects he’s avoided because of whatever happened to him...whatever was done to him.

That had to have been why he reacted the way he had to me rimming him. He typically avoids anyone messing around with his ass, and when I did, I activated some sort of flashback or something that pulled him back to feeling like he was trapped in that experience all over again.

I discover a lot of information about post-traumatic stress disorder in rape victims.

As I continue investigating, I find myself wondering about the extent of Eric’s wounds. There are a lot of people who don’t experience this once, but are repeat victims, sometimes at the hands of more than one perpetrator, often someone they know.

The more I research, the angrier I become.

How old was he? A child? In high school? College? Was it that bastard father of his?

Who hurt you, Eric? What did they do? Why didn’t they care that you were in pain?

Whoever it was, I want to kill them for what they so selfishly did to this incredible, sensitive, compassionate man I’ve come to know.

How can people be so fucking selfish? How can people be so cruel?

As angry as I am about what’s happened and as disappointed as I am that what was supposed to be such a romantic weekend turned into something dark and twisted, I’m glad Eric didn’t ask me to go. Not just didn’t ask me to leave—he stopped me.

If he wanted space, I was willing to give it to him, but I was so worried that whatever I ignited last night would be too much for him to handle, that he would associate me with that negative experience, not want to talk to me or open up about whatever it was, that he would need to push me away. Because it’s obviously something he doesn’t want to face.

However, from what he said to me, I feel like there’s a part of him that does want to talk about it. That he’s carried this for too long and the strain of living under that weight alone has been too much.

I continue perusing different sites and videos when I stumble upon one from a survivor. She discusses the most important thing a person can offer a victim of sexual assault: listening. She keeps iterating the point.

Listen. Just listen. It’s not my job to fix anything or force him to do anything.

It’s such a simple piece of advice, but it makes sense.

As she explains, there’s nothing I can do to change what happened to him in his past, so my work is to simply let him know that I’m here for him if he needs me.

Who knows who he’s spoken to about this. Maybe his therapist. Regardless, especially considering his guarded personality, I know it’s something he doesn’t share with a lot of people.

The woman in the video explains he might not be ready and that pushing isn’t a good idea.

I don’t want him to feel obligated to share something with me that he’s not ready to.

When I’ve watched too many videos and read too many articles—to the point where my speculation is becoming counterproductive—I find myself too angry and frustrated and confused to look much more.

I start cooking dinner. I’m not a great cook, but I need something to distract me.

Hell, Eric probably doesn’t even want to eat, but I need to do something to calm the fuck down. I sure as fuck won’t be able to be here for him if I’m all worked up.

I just hope he can at the very least appreciate that I’m trying.

I put together a stir fry, and when it’s ready, I approach his office and knock.

“You can come in,” he says.

Even with the door between us, I can hear a lightness in his tone that wasn’t present earlier. I open the door, and he’s sitting at his desk, his swivel chair turned to me.

His expression is stoic, and I struggle to read it. I desperately want to know what he’s thinking.

He rises from his chair.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“A lot better. Thank you.”

“I made some dinner if you want to come out and eat. If not, that’s fine too.”

He smirks. “I really appreciate that.”

I guide him out into the living area, to the dining table.

“You already made my plate?” he asks, eyeing it as if he’s confused.

“I was trying to make it easier.”

“I’m not weak,” he practically barks.

Suddenly I feel like I did something wrong, but just as quickly, his expression twists as if he’s shaken himself out of some state. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“No, it’s fine.”

We sit across from one another.

He picks up his fork and pushes his food around the plate like he’s not all that hungry. I start eating to keep things from getting awkward so he doesn’t feel like he has to do anything or say anything.

Really, I’m happy just being here with him.

“I am feeling a lot better, Jesse.”

“I’m glad. You seem like you’re feeling a lot better. What happened last night and today…you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to say. Shit. I mean, not that there is anything you need to say, but if there was, I understand, and I’m not…”

His lips curl into a slight smile. “It’s really cute that you’re getting all tongue-tied. I’m sorry if I’ve come across as a bit of an asshole.”

“I haven’t interpreted it as being an asshole.”

“Well, I appreciate you not pressing on this subject, and I would appreciate leaving it like this.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, worried that he’s suggesting something more than just what he has from his past.

“Nothing about us. I’m very happy with us. The reason I wanted you to stay is because I don’t want you to be confused about that or where we are. I feel the exact same way about you as I did yesterday when we talked about telling Ty, which I still think we need to do when he gets back from Chicago.”

“I’m really glad to hear that because I don’t feel any different either.”

Eric thinks for a moment before adding, “I do want to make sure that we are on the same page with this if we’re going forward. I want to please you and make you happy, and I know that you want to do some things that clearly I’m not capable of giving you.”

I start to say something, but he puts his hand up. “Please give me a moment to say this, Jesse.”

I remind myself that it’s my job to listen. I press my lips together despite my desire to reassure him.

“I’ve noticed by the way you are that topping is something that really excites you, something you’re very eager to do and…”

He seems to be fighting to find the next words without directly approaching the subject—what he surely must realize I already know.

“I can’t give you that. It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t. I thought I could, but I was wrong. I know it isn’t fair because that’s not what you signed up for, so if you want out, I will more than understand.”

He doesn’t make eye contact for that last part. I reach my hand across the table and take his gently. I don’t want to do anything wrong, but at the same time, I want to make sure he knows where I stand.

His gaze shifts, and finally he’s looking at me again.

“I might not have signed up for this,” I tell him, “but I’m signing up for it now.”

I hope he understands my meaning…and just how much I mean it.

His face trembles like he’s about to cry again. I don’t know if I can handle that. I don’t like seeing him weak. In my mind, he’s this strong, intense man, but this side of him that’s so different than what I’m used to seeing has me concerned. I feel so protective. I push to my feet.

“Come here,” I tell him.

He rises and meets me halfway beside the table so that we’re face-to-face. I put my hand on his cheek. It was instinctual, and I immediately think this might not be a good idea, so I pull my hand away.

He seizes my wrist. “No, please,” he says. “That was fine.”

I put my hand back, and he relaxes his face against it.

“What are you doing to me, Jesse?” he asks, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be anything close to what you’re doing to me.”

His eyes open once again, his gaze darting to my lips, which he quickly takes with his own. As he cups the back of my head, I feel like his strength is returning, and that tension, that uneasiness, dissolves.

His other hand slides to the small of my back. Then he shoves me against the wall, pressing close to me. He pulls away for a moment and says, “I felt this urge to run, this impulse after last night, and I wanted to go, or for you to go, but there’s this other part of me… I’ve never felt like this about anyone else before, Jesse. You get me in a way no one else ever has. You make me feel safe, and I’m sorry if anything I’ve done has made you think otherwise.”

He kisses me again and between kisses adds, “Jesse…don’t underestimate what you’re doing to me.”

His kiss brings me some peace of mind.

We don’t jump right back into anything. I can tell he’s not ready for that yet, which I’m fine with. We spend the night in bed together, holding one another close, his face buried in my chest, his arms around me. In the way he holds me, I feel like there’s a kid in him begging for me to help him.

I’m here, Eric. I’m here for you.

Feels strange that after a revelation like that, we still have to jump back into our lives. That it can’t just be the two of us, figuring this out together.

Monday morning I’m back at my job, texting Eric about how his day is. We’re going about, pretending like this weekend didn’t happen, making plans for Wednesday when Ty returns home. Eric’s set up a time for him to come by his place.

The next day passes with us keeping this secret between ourselves. I can’t tell if it’s uneasy because of Ty or because of what Eric knows he can’t tell me. I guess it has to be both.

Before we know it, though, it’s Wednesday evening, and we’re sitting together side by side on Eric’s couch, separated by nearly a foot of space. This is the most distance we’ve shared in some time, but this situation is so fucked up.

Who would’ve thought that when I first set eyes on Eric, when I found myself so attracted to him, that it would come to this point where we worked so hard, spent so much time together to get to know one another, and how could I have possibly known that the person I was getting to know would be so incredible, someone I would want to know so much more about. After what I’ve learned about him most recently—the pain, the hurt—all I want to do is find a way to help him with that, even as he keeps me at arm’s length.

He rubs his right hand up and down his thigh uneasily.

I check my phone once again.

It’s five minutes past seven, the time when Ty was supposed to get here so that we could break the news to him. So that we can finally be free of this secret.

Neither of us is expecting it to go well. How can it? If I were in Ty’s position, I sure as fuck wouldn’t be excited that my friend and the father I’d been estranged from are getting it on behind my back.

It has to be done, though. It’s the only thing that’s right. We’ve come too far and I want Eric too much to let it be a secret anymore, to let it haunt me the way it’s been haunting me.

I snatch Eric’s right hand, stilling it, squeezing gently, and he turns to me. His tension relaxes ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. I know it’s not appropriate for me to apologize when we both got ourselves into this, but I hate knowing I could be the reason why Eric’s relationship with Ty worsens.

As I curl my fingers under his, he squeezes gently back.

Despite the distance I’ve felt from him, I want to believe we can get back to the fun and frisky relationship we were building. I want to believe we can get back to Eric being the wonderful man I know he is.

“We got in this together,” he says. “But I appreciate how much you care.”

I can feel the sincerity in his words, which brings me some relief.

We wait a little longer in unbearable silence, suspense.

I’m replaying the potential showdown over and over again in my mind, wondering how Ty will respond to the news, how hurt he’ll be. As hard as it will be to deal with the consequences of our actions, I know it’ll feel a lot better when it’s out in the open.

A knock at the door.

It’s him. The time has come.

Eric releases my hand and hops up, heading for the door, seemingly not even second-guessing if he should open it or if he should give us another moment, another second, to enjoy this.

He stops right before the door and turns to me. I nod to encourage him. I feel like we need to reassure one another that what we’re doing is right. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, seemingly for strength, and then opens the door.

Ty looks at him, smiles, and says, “Hey, man, how’s it going?” There’s an innocence in his expression, a lightness about him.

It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him and his father get together, and I can see in Ty’s eyes what I know Eric can’t see. It’s that desire to break through the tensions that still exist between them, that desire to know his father better. In that moment, I regret so much being here because I know I am going to stand in the way of that. I wish I could disappear, but I can’t tell if it’s just selfish because I don’t want to deal with the awkwardness of this conversation, or if it’s genuinely because I want what’s best for Ty and Eric’s relationship, because I know how much that matters to both of them.

It’s too late, though.

Ty starts in, pushing past Eric. “So where do you want to go for dinner? I’m starving.” His eyes settle on me, his head tilting slightly. “Jesse,” he says, smiling like he’s happy to see his friend. He looks between us like there might be some surprise behind it all, as if we’re going to reveal that he has some special birthday present from us. “That’s weird. Is this an intervention?” He chuckles as his eyes continue to shift between us.

Eric steps into the room, his head hanging low, clearly ashamed.

Ty seems to pick up on what’s going on by the change in his expression from playful to wildly uncomfortable, his gaze shifting about, no longer looking at either of us.

“Is everyone going to keep quiet, or is someone going to tell me what’s actually going on?”

I push to my feet, if only because there’s so much adrenaline racing through me that I can’t help it.

“Ty, we have something to tell you,” Eric says. “I’m sorry it’s awkward like this, with both of us here, but we did talk about how we would tell you. We didn’t want you to feel ganged up on, but we also both wanted to be here.”

“You mean you tricked me into coming over here?” Ty asks, not looking at either of us. “You said you would tell me something, and now you’re both going to stand here, beating around the bush?”

“I’ve been seeing Eric. We’ve been seeing each other,” I finally force out.

Ty makes eye contact with me, and it’s painful. I see his hurt, betrayal, and he’s not wrong for feeling it. “You’ve been fucking my dad?” Tears stir in his eyes.

I can tell he asked the question so crudely because he’s lashing out. “Eric and I have been seeing each other since Puerto Vallarta.”

Ty turns his attention to Eric. “I mean, I knew you had the hots for my friend the moment I introduced him to you, but I didn’t realize he even had these sorts of feelings for guys.” He looks to me. “Considering how long we’ve been friends, I would’ve thought if you would’ve shared that with anyone, it would’ve been me.”

“Ty, I didn’t know what I was feeling. I’ve always had those feelings, but not like this.”

“So you’re gay?”

“I’m bi.”

“And of all the guys you could’ve experimented with, that you could have tried out these things with, it had to be my father?”

“Ty,” Eric says, like he’s trying to step in to my defense.

“Oh no, you’ll get your turn,” Ty says. “Why don’t you give me a second, because I think it’s only fair that I get to say something about this. Clearly, in all the time this has been going on, I haven’t been on either of your minds.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “We didn’t want this to happen. We weren’t trying to make it happen. It just did. We both knew it wasn’t a good idea.”

“But what? You couldn’t keep your hands off each other? I would say I’m upset because this evening I lost my father and my best friend, but the truth is, I never had my father. You were never there for me, Eric. I thought it would be so great to meet you and that we’d have some sort of magical connection. That we could just pick up on all those things I missed out on as a kid. But I was wrong. God knows, I didn’t know how wrong. That not only would my father not give a shit about me now, but he would take my best friend in the world from me, which you were, Jesse. You were what I thought was an amazing friend. But like with my father, I guess I was wrong about that too. I never really had a best friend, because a best friend wouldn’t have done this to me. Wouldn’t have done this to us. So fuck you, Jesse, and fuck you, Eric.”

“Ty, listen to me,” Eric says. “I do love you, and I care about you. I know this is a shit situation right now, and I am so sorry this happened.”

“You’re not sorry, because if you were sorry, you would stop fucking my friend. You would’ve never started fucking him to begin with.”

“Ty, please stop talking about it like that.”

“Isn’t that what it is?”

“No. It is so much more than that, Ty. We wouldn’t be here talking about it if it wasn’t.”

Silence. Ty’s defensiveness, his anger, his aggression seem to have stilled because of Eric’s serious response. It’s like Ty is taking in the weight of everything between the two of us, things he’s missed out on, the things we’ve been doing behind his back, the things that are the reason for all the pain he’s in right now.

“I hope you two are happy together, then,” he says with a smirk as a tear escapes the corner of his eye. He turns and heads for the door, and Eric tries to get in his way, but Ty pushes right past him, walking out.

“Ty, please,” Eric says, heading after him.

Ty whirls around in the doorway and raises his hand in the air. “No, please stop. I don’t want either of you to call me or talk to me ever again. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both dead to me.” He looks Eric right in the eyes, clearly not wanting himself misunderstood. I’m waiting for Eric to continue fighting or try to, but he’s silent, and Ty walks off, leaving the door open.

We stand perfectly still. In some ways, it’s not as bad as the worst version I had imagined, but the part that’s hardest isn’t what Ty did to me, because as much as that hurts, it’s even worse seeing what it’s done to Eric and how wounded he is.