After the End Ch. 17

I didn't wait for him to finish whatever inane sentence that was going to be. "I have a history with Jade too, you know."

"Yeah. She told me." Probably she'd only told him how pitiful I'd been in comparison to him, but whatever.

"Yeah," I concluded with finality, like I'd just played the trump card. "You wanted to be with her. So go be with her, and leave me out of it."

I turned on my heel and walked away. Thankfully after that he gave up, so at least I didn't have to worry about him trying to interact with me, unless we had to for work. Of course, that left me more hollow in its own way.

He and Julian actually did stay friends, which I didn't really have an opinion about, as long as they didn't talk about me. Julian and I didn't really talk about Graham either, after those first few days. It was easiest that way: I didn't want to hear about whatever he and the captain did together, and my partner surely wouldn't want to hear that I was still a disaster zone inside. He'd been very understanding after it happened, but how long could he realistically be expected not to take it personally that I went to bed every night grieving over another man?

I kept waiting to feel different, but I didn't. Whatever had been ripped open when Graham left my life was not healing. When Julian had dumped me, we'd only been apart for a week, so I had no idea what the expiration date on something like this was supposed to be. It seemed completely unreasonable that a person I'd only met five months ago could have this kind of hold over me. No one else ever had, other than my husband.

But Graham wasn't like anyone else. There was far too much time to realize that, now -- every gory detail of where I'd gone wrong and why he'd meant so much to me. Julian would always be my first, my deepest, and my most permanent attachment. His unfailing presence and quiet affection were the foundation of my world. But Graham had brought something different: levity where Julian was grave; brightness where Julian could be dark; ease where Julian had to be perfect. My partner had always been able to make me feel that addictive combination of powerless and safe. The captain made me feel that too, but he was equally as fearless giving up power as taking it. Plus he could make Julian feel safe as well, which I didn't think I'd ever managed.

So the days went by and turned into weeks, and then a month. I slogged through my routine -- working on whatever I was supposed to work on, dealing with whatever crises I was supposed to deal with, and going to bed when I was finally allowed to. I slept more than I used to, if community conditions allowed. Being unconscious was the only real break I got from the aching wound in my chest, which no one could see and I couldn't talk about.

By the time December rolled around, the strain was starting to take a toll. We were entering the holiday season, and typically I enjoyed participating in the series of traditions leading up to the major celebration at the solstice. I'd still gone with Rowan and Lamont to help deck the main hall with evergreen garlands and holly, but I'd found no joy. If anything, going through the motions and not feeling anything was making me more unhappy. My friends could tell I was having a hard time, but they'd gotten nowhere trying to talk to me about it, so they supported me the best they could by just being there.

On the other hand, December had also been difficult for me ever since I lost my sister, since her birthday in the middle of the month always brought up the worst memories of the many desolate years that followed her death and my mother's. When things weren't going well, that sense of loss and loneliness tended to dominate the darkest point of the solar cycle. As for Julian, I could tell he was trying to be patient and trying to figure out how to help, but I'd grown so useless to him that he was starting to get frustrated.

When I got back to our quarters after decorating the hall, instead of letting me curl into a morose ball like he usually did, he lit one of my candles and invited me to lie closer to him. I stifled my sigh and went along with it, even though I had less than no interest in sex. I knew it wasn't fair to my partner that we'd barely had any since Graham's announcement, but that didn't make me any more desirous. Everything felt wrong: the candle, which only reminded me of the fun we'd had with Vik and my shattered hopes with Graham; the room, which in my mind was still an uninhabitable bombed-out shell; and my body, which was equally gutted of anything approaching virility.

Julian tried anyway, kissing me until I couldn't stand the sensation of his saliva on my lips and pushed him downward. He kissed more of me: my neck and hollow chest; my shredded gut and lifeless cock. His touch was more irritating than arousing, which I knew was all in my head, but that didn't change my lack of response. After a few minutes, I moved his mouth away.

"I'm sorry," I offered without feeling. "I'm just not in the mood, ok? I know it's been a while, so I can suck you off if you want. Or you can just...get yourself off. I could leave, if that's easier."

There was a strained silence before he replied. "I don't want you to leave, Avery. I don't need to get off. I'm your husband; I want to be with you."

"Sorry," was my lame answer.

"I've been giving you space, quite a lot of space, but I think we should...talk about this." He was propped on an elbow next to me, trapping me under his gaze.

"About what?" I came close to snapping.

"About the fact that it's been more than a month and you're still heartbroken, over someone who never made a commitment to you."

I sat up and withdrew to my side of the bed. "There's nothing to talk about. It won't change anything."

He sat up too. "It might. It might help you -- and us -- deal with this better."

Stress was rising along with his insistence on digging up this most painful subject, betraying our tacit agreement to ignore it. "No it wouldn't. And it's not your problem to deal with."

"It's become my problem, given the extent to which it's disrupted our relationship. How long do you expect me to go on like this, with a partner who barely speaks to me and never wants to be intimate?"

That sent a spike of alarm racing from brain to gut. Had I pushed it too far? Was he thinking about leaving me?

"Julian, what do you want me to do? I can't make myself want sex. It's physiological."

"Well I can't make myself ignore the fact that you seem much more interested in Graham than in me."

The name and the accusation sliced like a knife. It took a moment for oxygen to reinflate my lungs. "You're the one who always says that emotions are involuntary."

Julian's voice was colder and harder than I'd heard it in a long time. "They are, but how you choose to deal with them is completely voluntary."

"I'm dealing with them the best I can," I told him, angry now. "Do you think I want to be like this?"

"How would I know, when you won't ever talk to me?" he retorted.

I couldn't stay in this stifling room with the criticism and the choking memories. I climbed off the bed and threw on some clothes.

"Where are you going? It's after eleven."

"I need some air." I shoved my feet into my boots and grabbed my jacket from its peg above the bench. "Don't follow me."

I shut the door with extra force and strode off at a rapid pace, not having any idea where I was headed, as long as it was away. I glanced behind me several times to make sure he wasn't disobeying my order. Even though technically it was still autumn, the nights were nearly as long as they could get, and temperatures had been falling into the forties before sunrise. I pulled on my jacket out of habit, but the chilled air was a relief.

Without thinking about it, I found myself outside the main gate on the path toward the creek. I came out here sometimes when I got claustrophobic; there was something comforting about watching water flow by endlessly, never running out. Billions of stars sprinkled the gaps between towering columns of trees, and a mostly-round moon was riding high.

I must have been ranting to myself louder than I thought, because suddenly a voice called, "Avery?"

"Who's there?" I asked, looking around, but I didn't see anyone.

"It's Gavin and Vik," came the answer. "Over here on the bench."

I followed the sound to one of the simple plank seats that had been built along the bank where people often liked to relax on warmer evenings. By the silver moonlight, I saw that my doctor friend and his partner were sitting in cozy proximity, with a quilt warding the chill from their legs. They both offered me a smile.

"Sorry. Didn't know anyone was out here," I told them, not sure whether I was annoyed that my rant had been interrupted.

"We were just doing a little impromptu galaxy-gazing," Vik said, giving Gavin an adoring look that I normally would have found sweet, but right now rose bile in my stomach. "But what about you? Is something wrong?"

I could have lied, but Vik's calm, compassionate tone was already making me not want to. "I don't want to interrupt your night," I shrugged.

Vik glanced at Gavin again and appeared satisfied with the response. "It's no trouble. We can look at the stars anytime." He held out a welcoming hand. "Why don't you come sit with us?"

I took his suggestion and was immediately grateful both for the warmth of the blanket and for the companionship from someone who knew me well but had no expectations of me.

"Is Julian alright?" the doctor asked in his characteristic nonjudgmental way. Collecting data on my symptoms was the only way for him to diagnose my malady.

My lungs expelled a little too forcefully. "He's at home. We were...arguing. I needed to get out."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Vik said, sounding sincere, then turned to his partner again. "Honey, would you mind if I stayed and talked with Avery for a while?"

"Not at all," Gavin replied, and they shared a brief saccharine kiss. "I'll see you back at the house."

Between Vik's history with me and Julian, Gavin's history with Julian before we got together, and the fact that Julian and I had set the two of them up, we had a tighter bond than most couples. Gavin was well aware of the details of Vik's past involvement with us, and that at one point Vik had cared for me romantically. Both he and Julian understood that there was nothing between Vik and me now except friendship, and they didn't mind our occasional intimate chats. Not that I really cared what Julian thought, at this particular moment.

"What's going on?" Vik invited when his partner was out of earshot.

I let out another breath, this time slower. Vik was better informed than any of my circle about Graham's role in my life; he was the first person I'd told when things started in July. It would have seemed weird, for him not to know I was hooking up with someone new. He was also my closest male friend who was into men, plus a great listener. Sometimes it was nice to have an outside person who could offer an informed perspective on my relationships.

I asked a question instead of answering. "When you were sleeping with me and Julian, and you...wanted more with me, but then you started seeing Gavin... How long did it take for you to...feel better about me?"

He gave me what was probably a sympathetic look, but I didn't take my gaze from the faint glimmer of moonlight on water. "For me it was about a month. But Avery, every person and situation is different." There was only the rustle of forest for a few seconds before his gentle voice resumed. "You still missing Graham?"

After all these weeks, finally I found the courage to admit the truth, though I didn't manage much volume. "So much. Every day. Why isn't it...getting easier by now? I haven't even been around him."

Vik shifted closer to put an arm across my back, and I shrank gratefully into the reassuring contact. "You lost a relationship with someone you really cared about. Sometimes it just takes time. Sometimes it takes being able to accept that it wasn't meant to be."

My wounded chest didn't like that answer. If it wasn't meant to be, I'd have to survive without Graham's smoky kisses and sunny affection, forever. Vik was right. Deep down, I hadn't truly accepted that.

"Is Julian upset that you still care for Graham?" the doctor asked.

"He's upset that I haven't...wanted to be with him, lately. For sex or...anything else."

"I'd have thought you'd have needed his support now more than ever."

When he put it that way, I understood for the first time the actual reason I'd been pushing Julian away. "It doesn't seem like I can tell him. How I really feel. I don't want him to be...hurt."

Vik hugged my shoulders empathetically for a moment. "He loves you very deeply, Avery. As a person, not just as his spouse. And I know how much you love him. I would imagine the odds are pretty high that he's more hurt by your lack of communication than by anything you might say. There's nothing the two of you can't figure out, if you're honest about what you need."

I breathed the crisp night air for a minute and let that sink in. It was the only thing that had made sense in too long. Probably should have come to Vik about this sooner. It was lucky I ran into him.

"Thank you," I told him. "That actually helps."

"I'm glad." He released my shoulders but stayed at my side. "May I ask -- does Graham know how you feel?"

"I don't think so. Unless he figured it out when I stopped speaking to him."

"Have you thought about telling him?"

I shook my head. "You've seen him with Jade. They're happy together. He doesn't --" I braced myself and forced out the words despite how sharply they cut. "He doesn't want to be with me. Otherwise he would be. He's the one who left."

"It's possible that he doesn't know you're available, isn't it? You weren't when I was involved."

"He's not exactly shy. If he wanted it, he would have brought it up, like you did. I'm not going to humiliate myself by telling him I'm still hung up on him, just based on the extremely remote chance that he'd suddenly want to break up with his girlfriend and rejoin my marriage."

"I see," Vik conceded. There was another short silence while the creek made its slow journey toward the distant coast.

"By the way, if what you went through with me was anything like this, then I'm really sorry. It fucking sucks."

His reply was generous, as always. "I don't think my case was as severe as yours, and you certainly weren't at fault. But that's sweet of you to say." He paused briefly before offering more advice. "Try not to put too much pressure on yourself, ok? Whatever is supposed to happen will happen. And let your husband take care of you. It's what he's there for."

"Even if what's wrong is that I'm broken up about another guy?"

"Especially then, if you want your marriage to last."

"Of course I do," I answered automatically.

"Julian probably needs to hear that from you," Vik suggested. "Think about how you would feel, if he were behaving the way you have been."

I did think about it. Shit. Hastily I undocked from his shoulder. "I should get back."

He smiled and gathered up the quilt. "I'll walk with you."

* * * * *

Julian:

Avery was gone long enough that I'd cycled through pacing, staring at the door, and pretending I might be able to sleep. All I'd actually accomplished was replaying the awful evening over and over, switching to slow motion for my harshest moments. I was debating whether I should get up and go look for him despite his prohibition, just to make sure he wasn't injured and stranded somewhere, when I finally heard the door unlatch.

I figured he would bundle silently under the covers the way he had been lately, and I would have to settle for knowing he was alive and in the same room. But to my extreme relief he came to me, prompting my arm to wind around him and laying his head at my shoulder. His bare skin against mine was the balm my adrenaline-struck system had been desperately craving.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could properly detail my contrition, he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Julian. For not talking to you." His words were barely loud enough to hear, too fragile to be shared further than my ears, and for once stripped of the defensive anger that had marked our interactions these past weeks. "This has just been...really hard for me. A lot harder than I realized was possible, and I...haven't known how to handle it. I thought if I kept it to myself, it would go away eventually. But it's not."

I caressed his arm with careful tenderness, as if it were his cracked and battered heart under my hand. Because in a sense, it was.

"I hate seeing you suffer, Avery," I confessed quietly in my turn. "I didn't mean to push you. It's just --" Terrifying sounded in my brain, but I modulated. "Worrying, that you seem to need someone else more than you need me."

Avery's head shook against my shoulder. "I don't. I get why it would look like that, and I'm really sorry. I was trying not to put this on you. I didn't want you to know...how bad it was. And I think...I didn't want to accept how bad it was, either." His palm rested atop my own overworked heart, as if he could communicate to it directly, and his tone grew even more intimate. "But I need you. Always. Nothing has changed that. No one else ever will change that. Please don't worry."

I couldn't speak for a moment, overwhelmed by the release of the black fear that had haunted more heavily with each day of silence: That Avery's attachment to me had merely been a bridge to a better match, with someone more whole and less inhibited. That I would lose my husband to a man I couldn't even fault for it.

"I don't want you to feel you have to hide anything from me," I whispered. "No matter what it is. I only want you to be happy, and I don't know how to provide support when you shut me out."

It was quiet for the space of a breath, then at last Avery confided what he'd been trying to shelter us both from. "I don't understand why it feels like this, when I love you so much and you're so good to me. It's not like I was missing anything, before." He took another minute to find the final words, and the depth of raw pain infusing them left an ache in my chest. "I'm just...so sad. And I don't know when it's going to stop."

Now that I was sure of where we stood, his confession didn't make me afraid, or jealous, or bitter. I only felt intense compassion for this precious boy and the innocent, tender emotions he shared with me and didn't know how to recover from Graham.

I hugged Avery a little closer and caressed his curls. "It's ok that you're sad, babe. If there's anything I can do to help, I will. And if nothing helps, that's still ok. I'll just be here with you."

He kept a long breath captive in his lungs, and then I heard the telltale muted gasps that suggested he was fighting tears.

"You want me to read to you?" I offered gently. He usually found that to be a comforting activity -- a way to be close to me and occupy his mind, without needing to do anything except rest and listen.

His voice was thicker when he answered. "If you read to me, I'll just cry."

"That's alright." My palm made soothing strokes across his shoulder blades. "Maybe you'll feel better if you cry."

His hand moved to cover his face, and now he was definitely choking on tears. "I haven't so far."

There was nothing I could really do except hold him and lend my reassurance. "We'll get through this, love," I murmured into his hair. "I promise."

He wept against my chest for a while -- not the violent, tempestuous sobs from October, but a quieter, more pure form of grief. Reflections from the time we'd spent with Graham drifted across the lens of my memory. I recalled how instinctively he'd nurtured Avery's emotional security, and mine. How explosive the sexual chemistry had been. How right it had felt to fall asleep with him in our bed, the captain guarding the left flank as I guarded the right: a third anchor point to create the strongest of all shapes. A glimpse of something uniquely durable and harmonious that Avery and I would never be able to achieve with just the two of us. Or, most likely, with anyone else.