Page 79 of The Heart We Guard
He takes a breath. “There’s not one hard and fast reason. It’s not like being with Ember’s mom was fucking awful and I don’t want to do it again. But…I guess I tried it, and it didn’t work out, so I went and…did something else.”
He looks away from me with a wry smile on his face.
“Should I ask what the something else was?”
Butcher puts his fork down and sighs. “I feel like I need to be careful what I say. Like this thing between us is fragile and I might say the wrong thing and snap it. But I also want to be real fucking honest with you. I don’t want to dance around answers, even if I think it will hurt less. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to snap us either.”
I steal another meatball from the tray. “I’m sure we’ve both got things to say that might affect the other person in some way. But I don’t want a life where I know I can’t trust the other parent of my child. So, I’ll take honesty every day of the week.”
Butcher leans back in his chair and reaches for his beer bottle. “I can’t imagine for a millisecond there is something you could say that might break us.”
“I’m asexual.” The words are blurted. I’m not even sure that I had actually decided I wanted to say them before the letters were tripping out of my mouth.
Butcher’s face wrinkles in confusion. “You’re what?”
“Asexual. At least, I’ve always thought that’s what I was. Sex has never featured in my list of priorities. I’ve always sought all the other parts of an important relationship. Like healthy communication, emotional support, kissing and cuddling. But sex, not so much. I never look at someone random on the street and think I’d like to jump their bones.”
Butcher hasn’t moved and is still staring at me. When he finally speaks, he says, “But we had sex. Fuck, I didn’t force that on you, did I?”
I shake my head. “No. It wasn’t that at all.”
“But you don’t like sex?”
“It’s not a yes or no thing. Some asexuals are sex-repulsed, but I’m not. At least, not…with you…anyway.”
Butcher grins. “You didn’t like sex, and I converted you?”
I laugh at his bravado. “It’s not that.”
“I don’t want to assume I understand what this means for you. Are you okay if I just ask?”
I reach for his hand and thread our fingers together. “I’d rather you did. What do you want to know?”
He shrugs, like he’s not sure how to put it into words. “What does it feel like? Or not feel like, I guess. What’s different about it, from your side?”
I love that he’s trying. “It’s not that Idon’tfeel things. It’s not binary. It’s nuanced and layered. I’m starting to think I just didn’t have the right connection with the people I’ve been with before. I mean, if you asked me what I want to do after dinner, it would probably be something that’s intimate in a different kind of way. Talk. Watch a movie. Cuddle up on the sofa. But I like when you initiate sex. And I like having it with you. So, I guess that’s my thing that could make you think about me differently. I’m asexual. Or gray-ace. Or demi-sexual. I don’t know. I’m still questioning it myself, but asexual is an umbrella term, so we can go with that.”
Butcher’s shoulders drop in relief. “So, it’s not about me doing something wrong?” He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Definitely not. It’s just how I’m wired. But you’ve never made it feel wrong. Quite the opposite.”
“Okay, so first, we were talking about things that could break us. Asexual, or whatever those other ones were, aren’t deal breakers, because I like who we’ve been, assuming you’re not having sex with me because you think you have to.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, that’s not it at all. Enjoying it like I have has been a surprise to me. I even find myself thinking about it, occasionally. Like the connection between us was enough to trigger it or something.”
Butcher nods. “Good. Then, we carry on as we are.” He looks back to his food and scoops some spaghetti onto his plate.
“How often do you have sex, Nolan?”
He coughs and splutters and nearly chokes on his pasta. “What?” he says, mumbling through watering eyes.
“The fact you’re choking suggests you know exactly what I’m asking.”
He holds up a finger for me to wait, while he swallows down some beer. “You want to know how often I have sex?” he repeats.
“I do. You said you tried a relationship when you were much younger…and now you do something else.”
“You want the honest truth? I like sex. No, scratch that—I love it. I have sex most days.”
