He dropped to the floor gracefully, not making a sound as the music changed tempo. He turned his back to the audience and threw the blindfold to the side as the pole lifted, leaving the entire stage free for him.
The lights made him almost glow, his skin illuminated beneath the sheer material of his shirt. My eyes moved to his legs, hypnotised by the way they flexed and moved as he leapt and flipped in front of us.
A feeling hummed under my skin, like a million wings were fluttering just out of sight, setting the hairs on my arms on end. My head tingled, and my stomach churned like my body was aware of something my brain had yet to comprehend.
The dancer turned, so his face was in profile, stretching out his arm to reach an invisible partner, then pulling back as if he’d been burned. The scars on the man’s side caught my eye first, halting the air in my lungs. Then he dropped his head slightly towards his enthralled audience, giving us a partial look at his face. His familiar face.
When he turned completely, as if he’d been teasing us with only part of himself and now offering himself to us as a reward for our adoration, my stomach lurched and my heart hammered so loudly I couldn’t hear the music anymore. My hand flattened over it in an attempt to slow it down, while the other curled on my knee, my fingernails squeezing into my palm; the pain slicing through me a reminder that this was real and not a dream like I was starting to wonder.
“Jasper?” my mum whispered, the worry clear in her tone, even though there was no way I was moving my eyes from the man on the stage.
Finn.
He looked so different: his usually styled hair, soft and tousled, almost reaching his long, dark lashes. His cheeks were pink with exertion, his lips parted as he inhaled long breaths. He was graceful, moving like it was effortless, contorting his body into positions that made him look like a work of art and nothing like my sassy PA.
The song ended, and the crowd went wild, rising from their seats to give him the standing ovation he deserved. I, however, could not move. Frozen solid in my seat, unsure what was happening. I watched him take a bow, basking in the adoration from the crowd, and I felt… almost jealous. Feeling like he was mine.
I huffed at how ridiculous that was.
I was vaguely aware of Mum standing and making her way to meet someone who was standing to the side of the stage, while Jackson took her seat.
“I’m so glad you could come. God, are you okay? You look white as a sheet.”
I tilted my head, looking at my friend, wondering if I was in fact, having some kind of out of body experience because I felt like I was watching this whole thing from the outside… seeing in slow motion as my life, which had felt off-kilter and strange since I was fifteen, slowly start to fall into place. Like pieces of a Tetris Game, it twisted and turned until they all fit perfectly. I leant my head against Jax’s shoulder, inhaling the scent—a mixture of his shower gel and aftershave. It must have changed over the years, but it felt familiar. Safe. My oldest friend placed his arm around my shoulder and said one simple sentence. “I love you, man.”
I sat up suddenly. His lips continued to move, but I didn’t hear anymore because it was impossible to listen to anything other than the sound of my entire life crumbling around me. Everything I thought I knew about myself obliterated in an instant, and I was left with one thing.
One undeniable truth.
One fundamental fact about myself that I’d denied for the last twenty-one years.
I pushed myself up to stand, clamping my hand over my mouth as bile burned my throat. I fought my way through the now busy venue as everyone moved from their seats to dinner, until I reached the front door.
The world spun, and I pushed my hands out in front of me to open the door as fast as possible, needing air as badly as if my tank had run out on a dive.
I barely made it into the alley next to the building before I vomited violently as memories I’d kept suppressed for over two decades assaulted me so violently that I was sure they’d leave scars.
SIXTEEN
JASPER
I waitedfor the videocall to connect, sitting on the sofa in my hotel room, my laptop balanced on my knee. I’d messaged my therapist an SOS text on the way back and she’d agreed to speak to me, despite the late hour.
“Jasper,” she asked. “Is everything okay?” She pushed her glasses up her nose as she waited for me to reply.
I sucked in a breath and let the words free again.
“I’m gay. I think I’m gay.”
Her thin lips curled into a smile, and she tucked some grey hair that had broken free from her bun behind her ear. “Okay.”
“Okay? Okay? You don’t seem shocked. Why aren’t you shocked?”
She coughed as if she was hiding her laughter. “I mean, I’ve had my suspicions for a while.”
My mouth fell open, anger bubbling inside me. “If you ‘had your suspicions’—I did air quotes to emphasise my point—“why didn’t you tell me?”
Tilting her head, she gave me a look. “We’ve discussed this. It’s not my job to tell you how you feel. It’s my job to help you explore your feelings and come to your own conclusions. How would it have felt if I’d said that I thought your friendship with Jackson was, in fact, a gay awakening, and his leaving left you feeling vulnerable and confused? That you blamed yourself for his loss from your life; as if your feelings drove him away. That even now, years later, when you know he left because he had a cancer his dad didn’t want anyone to know about, you still blame yourself. Would you have liked it if I pointed out that your inability to form friendships is from a deep-seated fear that someone else important in your life will discover your secret and leave you too?”