Page 83 of Finding Gideon
“Take care of yourself, baby.”
“I will.”
Malcolm smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Then he kissed me once more—so deep, so thorough, that he almost snatched my breath—and stepped outside with his duffel over his shoulder.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And I was alone.
Forty-five minutes later, Dennis and I were at the clinic, me settling behind the front desk like I had a hundred times before. The difference was that Malcolm wasn’t in the back room if something went sideways. It was just me.
I couldn’t do the big stuff—no diagnosing, no prescriptions, no surgeries. But I could keep things moving. And I did. Phones answered. Appointments scheduled.
By the end of the work day, I closed out the register, swept up the exam room, and finished with a stock check—ticking through bottles and boxes, the rhythm itself a kind of grounding.
When I finally flipped the lights and locked the door, Dennis padded along at my side. My shoulders ached, my feet hurt, but underneath all that was something deeper, stronger: the knowledge that Malcolm had trusted me, and I hadn’t let him down.
When I got home, I sat on the couch and stared at nothing for a long time.
My brain wouldn’t shut up.
Not just about what Malcolm and I did last night. But aboutwhyit had felt so big. So—huge.
It wasn’t just the sex. It was Malcolm. It was the way he’d looked at me. The way I’dwantedto give that part of myself to him.
And the way I’d wanted to again, immediately after.
My laptop was on the table, still open from earlier. I pulled it closer, fingers hesitating over the keys.
I wasn’t sure what I was even searching for.
I typed:
Why didn’t I feel sexual attraction until I fell for someone?
Then:
Is it normal to not be into sex unless you’re in love?
And finally:
Types of sexual orientation.
It didn’t take long to find the word.
Demisexual.
I stared at it. Clicked on one link, then another. Article after article described people who didn’t feel sexual attraction unless they had a strong emotional connection first. Who could go years without crushing on anyone. Who didn’t care much about sex in theory, but in the right relationship, it could become somethingincredible.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
I wasn’t broken. Or weird. Or behind. I just…was.
All those years I thought I was missing something, watching people throw themselves into hookups and flirtations and situationships like it was the most natural thing in the world—I’d felt like I was on the outside of a joke I didn’t get.
But maybe I hadn’t been missing anything.
Maybe I was wired differently.
