Content warning: very strong/blasphemous language

November 2018
Boston, MA, USA

If only I could read Sylvia's mind, maybe I'd know exactly what to do.

Maybe I could fix this, finally, once and for all. Maybe she would enter my life, accept my affection—flaws and all—and not run away! Does she understand how much I care about her? How much I've always loved her?

Does she see? If so, why does she always run away?

Fuck!

Slipping down against the wall in my office, I sink to the floor. Grip my hair in my hands. And groan. It's the closest I ever get to shouting at the top of my lungs.

How close I came to saying, I don't give a flying fuck what the Church says! I don't care if it's a goddamn sin. Or if it goes against everything I should stand for as a self-respecting conservative Republican.

I want you. I need you.

Fly your ass to Boston and let me show you how much you mean to me!

Because clearly my words aren't cutting it.

Damn it to hell! I hate words. I hate emotions. I hate not being able to express exactly what I mean, exactly how I mean it so that it doesn't come across as creepy or weird or whatever the hell she thought that made her slam down her screen. Block me out. Shut herself away once more.

You went too far, too fast. This is all your fault!

It's taken me years to perfect this neutral expression, one that hides my true thoughts and feelings. Women tend to appreciate a mysterious and aloof enigma who stirs their curiosity.

They don't want the raw truth. Don't ask me why.

With Sylvia, I can't maintain the pretense. More importantly, I don't want to. She melts the mask whenever she's near me, exposing the raw emotions burbling underneath. The ones that usually never see the light of day.

When it goes right? It's freeing. Like someone has lifted an unbearably heavy backpack off your shoulders and tossed it off a cliff.

When it goes wrong? You feel exposed. Like you're teetering on the edge of a precipice about to fall to your death. And you end up wishing you'd kept a lifeline nearby, one that allows you to sink back into old habits.

When we were young, I could show my true self to Sylvia.

Now I'm not so sure.

For one beautiful instant, the past had melted away. It felt like we were twenty years old again, on the cusp of starting a life together, and sharing a beautiful moment in which we expressed the depth of our affection.

And boom! She threw a bucket of ice water over my head.

What did I do wrong this time?

My computer pings me to let me know that Ariana's waiting for me.

Maybe she can shed some light on this disaster.

Exhaling a deep breath, I comb my hair back into place. Readjust my tie. Smooth my jacket. And sit behind my desk, hands clasped on the surface.

"Greetings, Ariana."

"Hello to you too, Professor." She grins. "How may I be of assistance?"

She's teasing me. Poking fun at my mask in a vain effort to get me to remove it. But only two women are allowed to see the real me, and as much as I respect her insight, Ariana's not one of them.

"I assume you've heard what happened from Sylvia?"

"Yeah, but not your side of the story," she says, leaning back in her office chair. "So, out with it. The fuck happened?"

"If only I knew..."

While I relate what took place from my point of view, Ariana listens to me, rapt with attention. Interjecting pertinent questions here and there. Nodding occasionally. Of course, I leave out the part of the conversation where I tried to tell Sylvia the truth about myself. My peculiar brand of sexuality.

A truth I don't yet fully comprehend.

So how the hell can I explain it to others?

Ariana exhales a heavy sigh. "It ain't you, bud. You did nothing wrong. At all. Sylvia fucking loves you and your passion, I can guaran-fucking-tee it."

"Then what happened?" I ask, confused. "And more importantly, how do I fix it? Or change whatever's wrong so that I can make her happy?"

"Women aren't robots, dude."

"Neither are men."

She wobbles her head a bit as if to say, Are you sure about that?

That makes me want to jump through the screen, look at her square in the eye, and tell her that if she knew the depth of my feelings for Sylvia, she wouldn't act so flippantly. But I hide my annoyance behind the mask.

Stay silent. Focus on what's important.

"You can't just take out a screwdriver and fix us," says Ariana. "Sylvia was raised a strict Catholic, you know. I'm talking about a nineteenth century, pre-Vatican II, Holy Latin Mass Batman kind of Catholic."

Ariana's got one thing going for her: She can churn out a turn of phrase.

"Not only that, but she had a crappy-ass childhood." Ariana sighs. "There's a reason why her grandma raised her and Vee sought refuge in religion."

My heart clenches. It aches for her because I remember every late-night confession as she lay in my arms. Her every painful moment, seared onto my memory. Though I'm not a violent man, and I rarely feel any sort of wrath, the red mist that flared in my mind? It took all my self-control to convert it into empathy for her instead.

It's one of the reasons why we bonded so well. Shared interests? Check. Similar values? Check. Intellect? Check. Childhood trauma? Check.

We love each other because we understand each other.

"I realize that," I say in a firm tone. "That's why I'm trying to put her mind at ease and do the right thing. Please, Ariana! Shed some light on this."

"It's like her body, her brain, and her heart wants you so much." She makes this dramatic gesture like a bomb exploding and then imploding. "But her faith keeps it all squeezed in a pressure cooker. She keeps fighting with herself until either one side or the other wins."

Yes, I'm well aware.

One of Sylvia's most beautiful traits is her commitment to her values, many of which very much align with my own conservatism and unusual sexuality. It's so rare to find someone who prizes both rationality and morals while showing such a raw exuberance for life.

It's one of the things I love most about her.

When we were together in college, Sylvia revealed her secret side—a unique blend of cerebral sensuality—that she didn't show anyone else. And that made me love her all the more. But now she's hiding from me.

Why? Is it truly her faith?

Any faith that refuses a woman the right to show a man how much she needs him is no fucking faith at all. It's a cage. A cage she broke free of when we were younger. What made her scurry back inside of it?

Was she worried that she might disappoint me? Or God? Or herself?

"So that's why she keeps vacillating?"

"Yeah, dude. Like most horny, conservative people."

Ariana casts me a knowing glance, like I'm every bit as much at fault as Sylvia. And perhaps I am. But only because I don't want to pressure the woman I love.

What Ariana doesn't know is that we're both struggling with something else as well. At least, I am. Maybe I'm just projecting. But I'm pretty sure we're both on similar pages when it comes to our unusual brand of sexuality.

Deeply sexual in our fantasy.

Deeply loving in our hearts.

Deeply oblivious of our bodies.

That's bound to confuse anyone, even a woman as clever as Sylvia. Add religion to the mix, and it's no wonder she's struggling.

"My advice?" Ariana says. "Be patient. Vee's just come out of a really shitty relationship. You aren't anything like that asshole, but she still needs to process it. It might help to do things that—hell, I don't know—"

"Take away the pressure?"

"Yeah!" Her eyes brighten. "Yeah, that's it. Like, think of all the fun shit you guys used to do together in college. I know you can't freaking hike, or read together in bed, or snuggle up with a movie, but crap like that, ya know?"

"I have no problem with platonic activities," I say with conviction. "Helena and I do that all the time now. We also used to do it whenever it wasn't date night as well."

"Wait—used to?"

I draw myself up straight. "Didn't Helena tell you?"

"She said something about dating some chick?" she says flippantly. "Nothing that definitive though."

"Ever since Sylvia got separated, we canceled our relationship agreement." I pause, debating how many personal details I can reveal. "And you're right. Helena's hit it off with a fellow lawyer."

Ariana raises her eyebrows. "Really?" She grins. "Damn, you better get a move on, bud, or ya gonna be left in the dust, paying the full rent."

I knew she'd react that way. So predictable.

"Thank you for your optimism and empathy," I retort. "It's always greatly appreciated."

"Hey, what are friends for?" she asks, extending both arms.

Why am I friends with this woman?

Right, because of Sylvia.

And because, despite her annoying tendency to over-dramatize every insignificant detail and swear like a sailor, I admire her unbridled honesty.

"She loves you, Ian." Ariana gets so close to the camera, I can see the lighter flecks in her dark-brown eyes. "She loves the absolute fuck outta you. The real you. Not this bullshit persona you show the world."

Busted...

"If she loves me so much, why did she leave?"

"Eight years ago or two weeks ago?"

"Yes!"

"Ian, Sylvia was never gonna be whole until she found herself in Europe," she says. "You were dating a shadow of a person. At twelve, almost died in the hospital from depression and PTSD, didya know that?"

Closing my eyes, I give her a solemn nod.

"Leaving the States allowed her to put all that behind her," she continues. "Start fresh. Redefine herself in a place where no one knew anything about her. It wasn't about leaving you. It was about healing and finding herself."

I exhale a deep breath. God, I needed to hear that!

Ariana gets this warm glow that's unusual for her. "She never stopped loving you, you know..."

"Why did she marry him?"

"Because she enjoyed the independence and freedom of her new life, I think?" Ariana cups her chin. "Vee mistook that joy for love because Marcus had manipulated her every step of the way."

"And I reminded her of the past," I say with weary defeat. "All the pain."

"No! You helped free her."

"I did?"

She nods. "Vee was isolated most of her life, and it didn't do her any favors. She was naive and trusted a bad man." She pauses. "Or at least a man who was bad for her."

"I didn't know how to help."

"Not sure you could have fixed it." She scoffs. "Hell, I tried my damnedest to make her see she didn't have to give up the good bits of her new life when she gave up the bad bits. But for her, staying Germany meant freedom from the past. And she loved that more than anything."

"Doesn't she understand I would support her?" I rake my hand through my hair. "Hell, if she needs Europe to feel healthy and whole, maybe I should try to move there myself. Surely one of the Max Planck Institutes would accept me. It'd be a drastic paycut, but who cares?"

"Dude, you've wanted tenure your whole life!" exclaims Ariana. "You shouldn't have to give up your dreams any more than Vee! Nah, man. There's gotta be another way forward. She can do her job from anywhere in the world. Besides, her university job is a dead-end. Not yours."

"So I'm not being selfish?"

"Don't be a fool! You're the most selfless person I know."

"Where do we go from here?"

"Like I said," she says. "Regular dates. Low pressure. Shared interests. Make her happy just by being you until she realizes she can have that freedom with you. Ditch the Raymond Holt act."

I raise a quizzical brow.

"Exactly that act!" She points at the screen. "Dumbass! Did you forget Vee and I roomed together? I saw how you could be around her."

My cheeks flush crimson as a thousand memories hit me at once.

"Next time, take the initiative and turn on your fuckin' camera!" she says in a firm tone. "People take a lot of cues from body language."

"Very well...if you think it'll help."

"Oh, and one last thing." She clears her throat. "Religion might be bullshit a lotta the time, but St. Paul did get it right. Once and only once."

I quirk a brow. "Oh, do tell?"

"Love is patient," she begins, quoting the official scripture before ad-libbing the rest in perfect rhythm. "Love is kind. It doesn't say I'm more awesome than you. It isn't like fuck you, I'm right all the time. Or fuck off 'cause you farted under the covers. It doesn't go haha, you suck! Or serve me 'cause I matter more. Instead, it builds trust. And hope. And lasts for fuckin' ever. When the time is right, ya fuckin' know it, so grab it with both hands."

Despite her coarse language, her words warm my heart. Ariana is a lot smarter than she likes to appear.

Maybe that's part of the reason why we're friends.

A laugh slips past my lips. "Quoting the official version of the First Letter to the Corinthians?"

"Damn straight." She grins. "More people would listen if Paul used normal language."

"In this instance, his views align perfectly with mine...minus the colorful metaphors."

"It's the perfect recipe for a relationship. Works for me and my hubby, anyway." She pauses and casts a knowing smile. "Hey, can you keep a secret?"

Of course I can. A promise is a promise. A secret is a secret.

Secrets are sacred to me, unlike to most other people.

Including her, I'm sorry to say.

"Always."

"Sylvia's scared to reach out," she whispers, coming closer to the camera. "But she keeps wondering—keeps asking me—when you will. If you will."

My heart thuds, filled with hope. "Truly?"

"Yeah." She laughs. "She's got it bad."

Could Sylvia be thinking about me as much as I think about her?

Dare I hope that much?

"Sleep on it," says Ariana. "If you think it's the right course of action, go for it."

A genuine smile sweeps across my features. "Thank you, Ariana. Truly."

"You're welcome, bud." She pauses. "But if you hurt her, I swear to God I will hunt you. I will find you. And I will kill you in your sleep."

Even though her tone and expression indicate that she's clearly kidding, there's a glint that makes me think there's a hint of real truth.

"Understood."

She grins and the serial killer vibe melts away. "Gotta play the big sister 'cause I'm the only family she's got."

"Take care, my friend." I hold up my palm. "Your sister's safe with me."

"Go get 'er, tiger."

Once our conference call ends, a relieved chuckle burbles up from the bottom of my heart. Sylvia does love me, doesn't she?

Possibly as much as I love her.

And I can wait eight more years for her to open up to me completely, as long as we're together.

___

Word count: 2,488
Total word count: 26,200/40,000