Page 25 of The Embrace of Evergreen

“Where are you findingthe people you’ve tried dating…or sleeping with?”

“Ummm…online mostly. Apps. Bars once in a while.”

“So…you want romance and sex, and you keep looking for them even though things never work out, but the only person you’ve ever really felt anything for, you were friends with first?”

His exhale is a shuddering sigh, and it sounds like he’s doing his best not to cry. “Yes.”

“Ethan…” I continue with a smile, hoping that what I’m going to say might help him to feel a bit better about himself. “Have you ever considered that you might be demisexual? Maybe even demiromantic too.”

His eyes finally lift from the small hole his fingers have picked into the arm of the chair, and his eyes find mine in confusion.

“I don’t…I don’t know what that is.”

“It means that you want…and can have…romantic or sexual feelings for someone; you may even crave those things, but you only feel them once you’ve developed an emotional relationship with someone. A demisexual person wouldn’t be turned on by a hot guy they meet at the bar, but they might easily develop sexual or romantic feelings for that same hot guy if they met somewhere else and developed a friendship first.”

He blinks a few times, his eyes losing focus and staring past my shoulder into the treetops at the edge of the balcony.

“So I…falling in love with Jordyn…never finding…”

When his eyes snap back to mine, they’re wide with wonder, and the corners of his lips twitch up as a small smile starts to form.

“That’s a real thing…demisexual?”

I grin at him, possibly a bit wider than I should, as my heart soars over the way he’s suddenly shifting. His back straightens as his body uncurls from itself, and I can almost see the moment he begins to realize that even though he may not work the way most people do, he’s anything but broken.

“It’s definitely a real thing.”

Ethan

Demisexual.

I struggle to think, to speak, to engage, to feel, to do…anything while we finish our coffee on the deck, and I think Blue understands. Once I’ve fallen silent, too lost in my own head trying to sort through the idea that I might not actually be broken to respond to conversation, he downs his coffee quickly before leaning across the table to press a feather-light kiss to the top of my head. That’s not something I’m capable of processing in this moment. No one has offered me such a tender gesture in so long that my chest aches with the sweetness of it.

“Seems like you might need a minute, so I’m going to go shower, okay?”

I nod, silently fighting tears as I watch him disappear back into the darkness of our hotel room.

As soon as I hear the water start, I rush inside to grab my phone, curling up on the bed with my kneestucked into my chin as I lean back against the headboard to search.

I search and search and search, grateful that Blue seems to be taking his time in the shower.

Ace, greysexual, demisexual, demiromantic.

How have I never known these identities exist? I mean, okay, it’s not like I spend a lot of time googling sexual identities. It’s not like I even spend enough time watching porn that I may have accidentally stumbled onto a video titled “Demisexual man decides to sexually experiment with his long-time friend.” Until today that is because, somehow, that’s something I find before I realize that I should probably stick to articles rather than video clips for this search.

I've spent my entire adult life dating man after man, trying to force myself to feel sparks that have never appeared. Suffering through bad conversations and, even worse, through awkward and painful and just plain awful sex while completely avoiding any other personal relationships or connections. I've steered clear of friendships while desperately looking for love, only to find out at thirty-two years old that maybe I can only fall in love with friends. It’s a real thing. Maybe I’m not defective after all. I’ve just spent the past fourteen years unintentionally avoiding the one thing that could have allowed me to find the type of love I've always craved so desperately.

Demisexual. Demiromantic. Everything I read seems to fit so perfectly. It makes sense in a life-changing, world-altering way. I want sex. I always enjoy my body on my own, and I’d give almost anything to enjoy it the same way with someone else. I want romance too, and I’ve spent countless hours lost in romance novels imagining that I might one day magically feel the things described on those pages. But I’ve never been instantly drawn to anyone the way other people seem to be, and every time I’ve given in and gone on dates and spent the night with someone, it’s just been…wrong. What I felt for Jordyn was different, but he was my best friend for years before I woke up one morning and realized that what I felt for him had changed somehow. What does that mean for my future? Do I stop dating and start trying to make friends in the hope that one day I’ll miraculously fall in love with one of them the way I fell for Jordyn? How is that going to happen if I continue to travel around for work? Does that mean that the strange, soft, comfortable haze that seemed to surround Blue and me last night was something more? Could the stolen moments I find myself thinking about his tattoos and his piercings and the way he looks when he laughs mean that I’m enjoying his company more than I would that of a friend? I haven’t had a friend in so long that I don’t really remember how that feels. What about Gabriel? He’s my friend too. Maybe I should start considering him a potential romantic partner?

I’m so immersed in thought, so caught up in the amazing and terrifying concept that perhaps I’m not broken and that one day I really might be able to fall inlove again that I don’t hear the shower turn off or the bathroom door open. I don’t notice Blue has entered the room until the bed dips and his hand comes to rest lightly on my knee.

“You okay?” His voice is soft and concerned, his touch light and gentle.

“Ya, I’m…” I lose my train of thought when I glance up to see blue-grey eyes peering into my soul. He’s close enough for me to feel the residual heat from the shower rolling off his skin, and he’s naked save for the towel slung around his waist. One knee is bent and resting on the bed, and I can’t help but notice that his tattoos cover his legs as well.

“Your legs have tattoos too.”

His laugh is so loud that it startles me, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s because I’ve said that out loud.

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