Page 78 of Faithful

There’s a part of me that’s convinced all these people, all these strangers, are about to witness Kai holding my hand and know. Know what I am. Know my secret.

As if sensing my apprehension, Kai tightens his grasp.

Perhaps to reassure me it’s okay, and it is. I understand why, once my irrational panic of being outed subsides a little. The majority of the couples here are same-sex couples, men with men, women with women. So this is a gay club.

The first time Kai and I go out, and he brings me to a gay club.

Fear takes over anew, twisting my stomach, crawling under my skin.

You alright? Kai mouths at me, pulling me toward the bar.

“You said this is a safe place?” I shout in his ear, hoping he can hear me over the thundering beat of the track.

“Relax,” he shouts back. “Nothing that happens here leaves its walls.” He nods at a male figure dressed in a whole lot of spandex making out with another male by the bar and it hits me. I’ve seen that face before, online and on the covers of multiple magazines. The person in question has been called the sexiest man alive by numerous outlets several years in a row.

And the world thinks he’s straight.

So, it’s that kind of place then.

For people in the closet. For people like me.

“You don’t seriously think I’d bring you to a club where paparazzi would out you?” Kai asks when the song conveniently ends.

There’s a fraction of a second where the music is absent and hundreds of voices are filling the space. Weirdly enough, Kai’s voice is the only one I can pick out of the noise, and it does funny things to my body.

My heart rate is out of whack.

I’d never do that to you, he mouths at me, the blast of sound from the speakers somewhere above drowning out his words, but I can still read his lips… Read his expression. The blend of confusion and agitation there. The hint of delirium in his darkened eyes.

We reach the bar and join a cluster of people looking to get their orders in. I sense that something is going on with him, something is happening under that calm exterior, but he won’t tell me what it is, and I can only guess that it’s how he’s dealing with the aftermath of last night’s incident.

“What do you want?” Kai asks as we inch forward once the patron in front of us pays for his drinks and steps aside.

“Old Fashioned,” I blurt out over the grind of the deep house that’s taken over the place.

A glance to my left reveals two guys with elaborate makeup. I can’t tell whether they are a couple or not, but they are dressed in bright colors and look absolutely comfortable in their own skin. To my right, there’s an older dude (mid-thirties would be my guess) in leather pants and a fishnet top. He smiles at me when our gazes meet.

I smile back, my heart suddenly doing double time in my chest.

You don’t fit in, a voice in my head whispers.Your clothes aren’t right. Your hair isn’t done. You’re not wearing makeup. Or heels.

And it’s not that I’m underdressed. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt underneath my six-hundred-dollar leather jacket. The jacket is a leftover of my previous rich life, and it would be fine if I were walking the streets of Seattle, but here and now I feel too basic. Feel like I don’t belong with these people who are so actively trying to self-express while I’m trying to self-repress.

Kai has gotten our drinks and is pulling me away from the bar and up the metal flight of stairs leading to the balcony, where we’re instantly attacked by a crowd of Iodine fans who take their turn to shake his hand.

I’m an afterthought in this madness, minding my business and letting him do what he does best–being a fucking celebrity.

I watch him with fascination, my pulse continuing its wild drum in my ears. I’m jealous. Even here, he’s not entirely mine.

Eventually, we end up in front of a roped-off area with several tables lined up along the railing. The light show doesn’t quite reach here. The space is darker and a little less accessible than the rest of the floor and we’re stopped by a security guard when Kai tries to unceremoniously jump over the rope.

A familiar male silhouette darts out from behind the wall of guests crowding one of the tables. He flings his arms in the air (again, a gesture I’ve seen before), shouting something that reads likehe’s okayat the security guard.

As soon as he comes closer and into the stream of light falling down from the ceiling, I realize it’s Bash Spade.

The thoughts in my head trip over each other. Instantly, I’m wondering if Filthy Magic’s front man is gay too, but I don’t want to make any assumptions just yet.

He gives Kai a quick hug and then sweeps his gaze over to me.

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