Page 88 of Hollow Heart

“Shit, Felix, I lived through the eighties and the nineties. It’s going to take a lot more than a rough blowjob to scare me away.”

The faintest hint of a smile forms on his face, and melts my heart. He doesn’t look at me, instead jiggling his lip ring.

“Promise?” he whispers, his accent prominent as his facade dissolves. The vulnerability in his voice breaks me.

I turn him by his neck, forcing him to look up at me. I kiss him softly, whispering against his lips, “Promise.”

Felix breaks away, nodding. He looks up at me with soft, glassy blue eyes that remind me of the ocean at midnight. “I think... I think we should just take things slow for now. Keep this to ourselves, of course.”

Something about his words, the fragility in the way they are spoken makes my heart break for Felix.

I know it should go without saying, but I can also appreciate him putting himself out there, defining some sort of boundary. Plus,it’s probably a good idea to take things slow, if only for my sake, but a part of me wants to argue with him that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, because I understand he’s likely been hiding this part of himself for a long time. Not just from the public, but maybe even from himself.

At the same time, though, part of mewantsto shout the truth from the rooftops now that I’ve come to understand the truth about myself. This newly discovered puzzle piece that feels like it’s been missing and it’s finally home.

I’m bisexual.

The word is heavy, but it is also cathartic.

It’s taken me thirty years and a spoiled brat to realize it, but now that I know...

It’s startling to think I didn’t. That I’d been in such denial, I didn’t see it.

But all I can say is, “Okay,” and nod like an idiot.

Felix’s vulnerable expression is replaced by a devilish smirk as he channels the Felix everyone knows, tucking away the Felix only very few have seen, I’m sure.

Hiding away the Felix he really is.

“It’s showtime,” he says as he heads for the door, leaving me and my heart alone, ravaged once more.

After the interviews commence, the party begins.

I look at my watch, noting it’s nearing eleven thirty, and I’m not sure how much longer this engagement is supposed to go.

Felix doesn’t leave my side, and I notice he’s a bit skittish, but I’m not entirely sure it isn’t from what transpired between us earlier.

Then I catch his gaze as it falls on a waitress’s tray, on a glass of champagne.

“You want a drink.” I say the words solidly, not as a question, because if there is one thing I do know, it’s the signs of chemical dependency.

Because I’ve been through it, myself, not to mention with Issax.

“I don’t,” he denies, but there isn’t any weight to the words.

“You’ve been staring at the champagne glasses all evening,” I press, turning to raise an eyebrow.

“No, really I’m good.” His voice is a bit shaky, and I know he’s struggling.

“A week ago you were walking into rehearsal still drunk from the night before. What changed?” I eye Jinger and the other guys on tour as they all toast their glasses together, laughing and dancing.

Felix shrugs. “Some old man told me to get my shit together when I showed up drunk to work. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

I smirk, shaking my head.

Little shit.

“You don’t have to stay, you know. I’m sure they won’t give a shit if you leave,” he says.

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