chapter 7: that night you called, and I answered
I loved someone who didn't know what love was.
And slowly forgot how to love myself.
⸻
I started seeing a therapist after too many nights of not sleeping.
Not because of Gawin.
But because I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
A 29-year-old man with a stable job, enough money, and plenty of friends —
yet slowly drained
by someone who didn't even know they were doing it.
⸻
"Who do you love?" the therapist asked.
I said,
"His name is Gawin.
Beautiful, smart, magnetic.
And he's never loved me back."
"Then why are you still here?"
I didn't know.
I used to think I stayed because I was patient.
Now I think I stayed because I had nowhere else to go
if I didn't have him.
⸻
Kevin knew I was in therapy.
He wasn't surprised.
He just said,
"He's not worth loving that hard, Joss."
I laughed.
"Maybe.
But once you're already in love,
'worth it' stops being the point."
⸻
One afternoon, Kevin asked,
"What if he gets back with his ex?"
I went quiet.
Then he said,
"Would you finally leave?"
I closed my eyes.
Took a deep breath.
And for the first time, I nodded.
"Yeah."
⸻
That night, I turned off my phone.
Switched to airplane mode.
Slept early.
The first night I didn't wait for a text from him.
⸻
But at 1:37 a.m.,
the landline rang.
Gawin.
⸻
I picked up.
"I can't sleep."
His voice, thin as breath caught in his throat.
"I thought you hated me."
"I tried.
Couldn't."
I didn't say anything.
He stayed quiet.
Then:
"Do you hate me?"
"No."
"Then... can I come over?"
I sighed.
"The door's unlocked."
⸻
He arrived at 2 a.m.
Hair still wet.
Eyes red.
Hands cold.
He didn't hug me.
Just walked straight into the bathroom.
I sat outside, lights off,
listening to the water.
Five minutes.
Ten.
When it finally stopped,
I stood up.
⸻
The bathroom door was left ajar.
He stood with his back to me,
a white towel slung low on his hips.
His hair still dripping down his bare shoulders.
I turned,
about to give him space.
Then I saw it.
A mark.
Not mine.
⸻
I froze.
My eyes locked on the faint bruise on his shoulder —
the kind I hadn't left.
The kind that wasn't from last night.
My heart pounded.
Not with anger.
With something worse.
A kind of pain that numbs you.
Cold, even in a warm room.
⸻
Gawin turned and saw me.
"What are you looking at?"
I didn't answer.
Stepped forward.
Pushed the door open.
"Joss—"
I kissed him.
No question.
No warning.
Just kissed.
Hard.
Deep.
⸻
I pressed him against the glass wall of the shower.
His skin was still warm from the water,
like holding fire.
He startled slightly,
but didn't pull away.
I pulled off his towel,
tossed it aside.
Not rushed.
But not gentle, either.
I leaned down and kissed the old mark —
the one that didn't belong to me.
I bit.
Soft.
He flinched.
"What are you doing?"
I didn't answer.
Just lowered my head
and left a new one beside it.
Deeper.
Darker.
Clearer.
"So you'll remember," I whispered.
⸻
My hands slid down his waist.
I lifted him onto the bathroom counter.
Cold tile against his thighs.
He gasped quietly —
but still didn't stop me.
I parted his legs,
hands firm at his knees.
My eyes fixed between his thighs
like I was trying to find something I'd lost.
Something I thought was mine.
But maybe I was only the first to touch —
not the one who gets to stay.
"Gawin," I said.
First time I'd said his name tonight.
He looked up.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't tease.
Just... silent.
I gripped his thighs gently.
"Can I come in?"
He nodded.
Barely.
I undid my belt,
pulled him to the edge of the sink,
and entered him.
⸻
No slow teasing.
Just a soft gasp
echoing off cold ceramic walls.
I held his hips,
moved slowly, steadily.
I wasn't angry.
Wasn't trying to hurt him.
I just needed to prove
that I still had a place here.
On this body.
In this night.
No script.
No words.
We knew each other too well for that.
I knew how he clenched when he was close.
Where he broke when touched right.
But tonight felt different.
I went harder.
Each thrust felt like clawing through my own pride.
I didn't want to bruise him.
But I wanted to leave myself behind.
On him.
In him.
If tomorrow he gave himself to someone else —
I wanted something left
that couldn't be erased.
⸻
Gawin tilted his head back.
Wet hair sticking to the mirror.
Eyes shut, lips parted, breath catching.
I kissed his collarbone.
Licked it.
Then bit.
Not hard enough to bruise.
But enough that he'd have to wear something with a collar tomorrow.
⸻
"Are you jealous?" he asked, lips barely moving.
I didn't answer.
I turned him, pressed his back to the mirror,
my fingers tracing down his spine.
"I don't have the right," I murmured.
"But you're jealous anyway."
I kissed him again.
Harder.
"You're still gentle."
I looked at him.
Eyes red.
Chest rising.
"Because I don't want to be the one who hurts you."
"Even though you're tearing me apart."
⸻
He breathed fast.
His hands on my shoulders —
not gripping.
Just holding.
I wrapped my arms around him,
our chests flush,
and felt his heartbeat —
chaotic, uneven, cracking.
"You still want to stay?" he whispered.
I didn't know.
I just knew —
if I didn't hold him right now,
I might disappear.
⸻
He leaned in, arms around my neck.
First time he reached for me tonight.
I pushed deeper.
He gasped.
Arched.
Bit my shoulder on instinct.
I grabbed his waist.
Thrust harder.
Faster.
The sound of skin against skin echoed across the bathroom.
Broken moans.
Dripping water.
Breaths that felt like drowning.
⸻
I felt him tighten just before he came.
I whispered:
"You're mine tonight, aren't you?"
Gawin didn't answer.
But he bit my shoulder again —
his answer.
And I fell with him.
⸻
I held him from behind.
His wet hair soaked into my chest.
I kissed the back of his neck.
"I'm tired," I murmured.
He turned to me.
Didn't speak.
Just held me tighter.
⸻
We didn't say anything after that.
I rested my forehead on his shoulder.
Still inside.
Still breathless.
I pulled out slowly.
Watched it drip down his thighs.
I cleaned him with a towel —
gently, like I was afraid he'd vanish.
Gawin didn't move.
Just sat there.
When I finished, I knelt before him.
Looked up.
"You okay?"
He nodded.
"Mm. Thank you."
I shook my head.
"Don't thank me.
Just... don't erase the marks I left.
That's all."
⸻
I helped him out of the bathroom.
He wore my shirt.
Said nothing.
I got in bed first.
He slipped in after.
Rested his head on my chest.
I stroked his hair.
For a long time.
Until he fell asleep.
For the first time,
I thought:
Maybe... he doesn't love me.
But he's letting me love him,
in the gentlest way I know how.
⸻
I know he doesn't love me.
I know there's someone else.
I know I should leave.
But I also know —
if I lose that look in his eyes,
if I'm no longer the one he calls at 1 a.m.,
then I don't know who I am anymore.
⸻
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