Page 17 of Shadows in Bloom

The blanket slips as I stand, exposing much of my backside, but between holding my clothes and keeping the blanket in place, I leave it as I rush into the bathroom, feeling Fiona’s heavy gaze on me the entire way.

When the door is shut between us, I drop onto the toilet with a sigh. My eyes prick with the tears I assumed would be coming the moment I was alone. But I don’t let them fall, even as my insides burn with shame. I lean my head back and blink them away, determined to keep my shit together. Because this is a good thing—even if I’m confused and battered with questions. About who I am and what I like. If my fucking anxiety and awkwardness has done more harm than good—and it’s looking like it has.

By the time I’m dressed, I don’t feel one iota better, but it’s easier to ignore as I walk into Fiona’s small kitchen and see her standing at the stove. The smell of bacon wafts in the air, and my stomach grumbles, surprising me. Fiona must’ve heard my footsteps because when I’m drawn to her eyes, I find her already looking at me, beaming with a smile that knocks me back a step.

But just as quickly, I’m reminded of the position I put her in last night, and I frown. “I’m so sorry, Fiona.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Jamie.” Her tone is as icy as I’ve ever heard it. She clearly doesn’t want to hear this, but I have to say it.

“I do. I took advantage of you last night and, well… That was fucked up. I know you already know this, but I’m gonna say it again anyway, okay?” I wait for her nod before I continue. “I’m gay, and I’ve always known, but I’ve never—” Fuck, this is hard to admit out loud. “I’ve never been able to be gay. I’ve only ever slept with men—which was few and far between—and each experience was quite literally a disaster.”

My fingers clamp around the edge of the counter at my back, and I use it to steady myself as I push through. “Even after I got away from my family and their ridiculously fucking homophobic beliefs, it took me years to reach the point of being able to admit to myself who I am and what I want… Something I can honestly say I never expected to feel. Pride. But with that comes shame—not because I’m attracted to women. Not because I want to be with you.” I force my eyes to meet hers with a brief flash to know she heard me. “But because I lack confidence. And experience. And it’s fucking embarrassing to want, to need, and to not fucking know how.”

I swallow the lump pressing into the back of my throat, and my fingers tremble, even flexed and strained. But even feeling sick and uncertain, the smile that stretches across my face is instinctual as I recall the moment I saw Fiona for the first time. “I remember the evening I walked into Gin River with Rhett and saw you standing there in your daisy dukes and ribbed tank, dark curls piled high on your head.”

Fiona curls her lips inward but remains silent to let me finish what I need to say, and I’m so fucking grateful for it. “Not to get off track, but fuck, you were stunning—are. Are stunning,” I correct, which makes her laugh. I wave my hand. “Whatever, you know what I mean. But I remember being in a shit mood, needing a drink so fucking bad, and Rhett wasn’t better off. When you slid those beers across the bar top with that fucking dimple etched in your cheek, I couldn’t fucking breathe. You quite literally made me stupid. I felt like I’d never spoken a word before in my life.”

“Still do, I think,” Fiona quips as she leans back against the opposite wall, crossing her arms over her chest as she waits for the food to need to be flipped.

“That’s an understatement,” I mutter as I draw my hair over my shoulder. “But I felt myself drawn back to the bar. I’ve never been a heavy drinker, but I needed to see you, and it was the perfect excuse. Bar, bartender, conversation. Conversations that turned into more, grew more serious.

“You became important to me, Fiona.” I take a deep breath to steel myself. “You were the first person I’d ever met—apart from Rhett—that didn’t make me feel ashamed, even after I told you my story. But that never mattered to you, did it?” I ask softly.

“No, Jamie. While your past has influenced so much of you—as it has with everyone, myself included—all that matters to me is who you are now.”

My socked feet shift on the linoleum floor, eyes shamefully downcast. “Fiona…” The silence is sharp between us, ready to shatter at the briefest pressure. “You deserve someone who isn’t riddled with shame and confusion. Who can give you what you want, be who you need.”

“But you are, Jamie.”

I swallow sharply. Feel the breath rush through my nose, the relief in my lungs as they fill. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she answers quickly, so fucking sure of herself. Of what she wants. “I don’t want—or need—an out,” she says sharply.

“But how do you know?” I ask hesitantly.

“How do you?” she counters, tilting her head as she flips an egg. A strand of purple hair slides over her shoulder, dangling, so I reach for it and brush it back, tucking it behind her ear. Then, I graze my thumb over the shell of skin and cartilage. Over the piercings and her stretched ear lobes.

“I concede to your point,” I answer eventually. She’s right. Sometimes you just… you know. And maybe it’s high-time I fucking trust myself, even if I’m not certain of everything.

I can’t live in fear forever.

It’s quiet but comfortable as we eat on the couch together, the T.V. turned to some detective show. Fiona watches, and I watch her. Rapt on the rotation of her jaw as she chews, the way her throat rolls with every swallow. The way her tattooed fingers hold her fork. I inhale the scent of her cinnamon coffee wafting through the air as she takes a drink.

The entry of a commercial drags me out of my trance. I blink a few times, my body growing warmer the bigger Fiona’s smile gets. Eventually, she turns toward me, her perfectly shaped brow arched once again. “You’re not subtle,” she quips as she bites a piece of bacon in half, white teeth flashing like fangs in the night.

“I’m not trying to be,” I respond, distracted by the way her eyes sparkle in the light of the lamp. “Can I have your number?” I blurt, then nearly choke.

Fiona’s lips curl inward like she’s trying to hold back her laugh. I stare up at the ceiling as I blow out a long breath. She’s a fucking saint because I’m a goddamn mess.

“Finally asking me yourself, hm?” Our eyes meet. “I’d say that’s progress.”

“Yes, well, considering how I behaved last night, the least I can do is take you out.” My nails score across the back of my neck. Jesus Christ, this is the exact opposite of smooth, Jamie, you dumb bitch.

Fiona’s face lights up, and my heart skips. “Oh, so you’re asking me out now?”

I shake my head. “No. Definitely not. Because if I were, it would be a lot…” I click my tongue. “Better. Than… this.” I wince.

Fiona giggles, and it’s such a sweet sound, I feel sick as its vibration enters my bloodstream. She reaches for my phone on the table and hands it to me. I ignore the notifications lining the screen as I unlock it before handing it over to her.

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