That's it. That's all he gives me. I don't know what kind of promise he made to Lily, but I'm not his problem anymore. He made that abundantly clear.
"You're not supposed to be here. Visitation hours are over," I say, in a pathetic attempt at getting him to leave.
As if I've summoned her, the charge nurse pops her head back in. "Are you family? Visiting hours are over."
"I'm family. He's my fiancé," Trey replies, and my eyes widen. The nurse looks at me for confirmation but I have no idea what he's doing. I don't want him here, but apparently he's decided he's staying.
Whatever the nurse sees on my face must be enough for her, though, because she shuts the door again, leaving me trapped in my worst nightmare.
The tears break free again, and in a smaller voice I ask, "What are you doing here?"
"Attempting to have an adult conversation," he replies, frowning.
"What does that mean?" I whisper.
He comes and sits on the corner of my bed, carefully away from my leg.
"I'd like to get some things off of my chest, and I'd like you to listen."
I nod. What else can I do? I can't exactly walk out of here.
"I've never been in a relationship. I've never dated. Never wanted to. I lost my virginity to a sex worker, who made me feel safe and seen. It's what inspired me to go into this line of work. But beyond a few crushes in high school, I've never felt the desire to be with someone outside of a professional relationship. Then my high school bully shows up and wants to hire me. At first, I'm not completely convinced he's changed. But the more time I spent with him and his kids, the more I fell for him, and started wanting things I'd never wanted before."
The tears are a waterfall at this point, because I don't know if the rest of the story is that he hates me, or if it has a happy ending.
My chin quivers, and I'm not too proud to cry in front of him. I love him. But all I can do is sit here and take it.
"But the problem with this client is that he's not ready to come out of the closet. And I'm afraid that if I stay with him and be his secret boyfriend, he'll never have to get out of the closet. And if he never comes out of the closet, he'll never know how to be authentically, genuinely, happily himself."
Frustration rolls through me like a hurricane.
"Fuck the closet!" I shout, the volume surprising even myself. "I don't give a shit about the closet. Tell the entire fucking world, I'm gay. I'm in love with you, Trey. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?!"
I swipe angrily at my tears, and I swear a corner of his mouth ticks up which only encourages my anger.
"Scoot over."
I'm still angry and confused and in pain, but when he stands and brings my hand to the handle, and gently shifts my hips to the side, I don't fight him on it. The hospital bed isn't big enough for the two of us, but when he lays on his side and gathers me into his arms, I break.
Years of pain, hurt, frustration, anger, embarrassment, shame, and guilt pour out of me onto his shirt and he holds me through it, stroking my back slowly and holding me to his chest with his hand on the back of my head, playing with my hair.
I don't know if it's the pain meds or the emotional release, but I wake up a few hours later, still in his arms.
He wouldn't have held me like this if it was really over, would he? What did he mean by an adult conversation? I still don't know where that leaves us. But he's here. And I feel safe,wrapped in his thick arms, his scent overpowering the antiseptic of the hospital.
A nurse comes in to check on me. The lights are dim so it must be the middle of the night.
"How is your pain level?" she asks, checking my monitor and IV, which is mostly empty.
"Good. Manageable." I know I struggle with addiction so I'm very wary of taking any narcotic pain killers. My leg aches, but it's not unbearable.
"He should really be in his own bed," she admonishes, but she'll have to fight me if she wants to take him from me.
"Try telling him that," I whisper, in case he's still sleeping. But when his arms tighten around me, I know he's not as asleep as he's pretending to be.
The nurse grumbles something under her breath but leaves us alone. When I peer up at him, his eyes are open, looking down on me.
"I can sleep on the couch, if you're uncomfortable?"