Page 84 of The Idiot

Getting up from the couch, I approach cautiously. I’m blushing already, thinking of the words—they’re not something I ever thought I’d ask my best friend.

“Do you… want to fuckme? Is that the problem?”

He scoffs. Scoffs!

“No.”

Does he think I’ll be bad at it? Or is he babying me since I’m the newbie here?

“I can if you want. I’m sorry I never offered before, it’s just kind of intimidating, and you seemed to enjoy what we’ve been doing so, I didn’t really think about it after that. I didn’t know you weren’t happy with the way things were. We can try changing things up, though.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

Gripping his head, he finally stops pacing. I didn’t realize he’s basically been running away from me in slow motionuntil he pivots back around and looks at me. Tight-lipped, his nostrils flare, and he shakes his head like whatever he sees on my face doesn’t meet his approval. “No. Of course, you don’t.” Spinning back around, he mutters, “I’m so fucking stupid. I never should have touched you.”

It’s laced with such disgust that my throat goes dry on a wave of nausea. He regrets touching me?

I trusted him with my body, to do things with my body I’ve never done before, and his reaction is disgust? Does he think I’m selfish and only capable of plowing him like some horny college guy? He could have said something sooner! And, excuse me, but why the derision when I offer to switch roles? Is the thought of fucking me repulsive?

“What? Because I don’t have experience?” I counter. “Come on. That’s not fair. Just show me what to do like you always do, and I can try. It won’t be boring. I swear. I mean, maybe I’ll be bad at it at first, but—”

“Jesus, Jesse,” he grumbles, pressing his hands to his ears. “Would you just shut up?”

“Shut up?I offer to let you fuck me, and you tell me to shut up? I’m the one who should be pissy right now, not you.”

“You‘offered?’” He laughs sourly, shaking his head.

Does he have short-term memory loss now on top of jumping to irrational conclusions? Seriously, I’m going to start dropping gingkobalboain his coffee in the mornings.

“Um, yes! Hello, that’s what I just said.”

Whirling around, he grips the sides of my face so fast it startles me.

“Damn it, Jesse! I don’t want tofuckyou. I want to fuckingloveyou!”

The volume and content of his words hit my face like an explosion’s concussion effect. More stupefying than that riddle are the tears in his eyes and the tremor in his voice.

“I always have,” he chokes. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

“O-okay...”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

Man, maybe he needs hormones to go along with thebalboa. Did he think I stopped appreciating him because we have sex so often?

“What am I supposed to say?” I try to hold back my disbelieving laugh. Clearly, he’s in the throes of some emotional crises. “I… I love you, too.”

“Don’t,” he warns, dropping his hold on me and pointing his index finger. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t fucking make a joke about it.”

“I’m not! You’re my best friend. I love you, too.”

What the fuck? He’s face-grabbing me again.

“Loveme? Does the thought of taking me out to a bar or anywhere in public and holding my hand seem like itwouldn’tbe ‘weird’at all? Do you dream about us growing old together? Living a life together?”

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