Page 33 of Touch Me

I look over at her, and her eyes bounce from my face to her hands in her lap and back again. “Is that something you want to try?”

Locking my hands behind my head, I blow out a breath. “Logically, that would be the next step.”

“Well, how far have you gotten before... you know... you had to stop?”

I drop my head in my hands. “Well, I can hug my mom. And Jess. I have a couple of friends I can fist bump.” I shrug—it won’t be long now before she puts all the pieces together. “That’s about it. And that’s only because no one really knows. I have one friend I told. Not even Jess knows. But usually, I just go in for a quick hug and make sure to stay far enough away that nothing happens accidentally.” I force myself to sit straight and tall.Like a man?I don’t know. “It’s worse when I’m not prepared for it.”

“Oh god, Jace. And we’ve accidentally touched a couple of times.” She scoots forward, her eyes wide. “And the lotion? The pantry? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. It’s a hard thing to admit. I didn’t want you to judge me. A grown man who can’t even… ”

She cocks her head and looks at me. “Wait, so that means you’ve never... oh—oh!”

And...there it is.

“That. That right there, is why I didn’t tell you.” I stand to flee.

“No, wait.” She crawls halfway down the couch and reaches for my leg. Her eyes widen when I flinch, and she retreats slowly, raising her hands out in front of her like she’s backing away from a feral cat. “I’m not judging. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You were always so...”

“So what?”

“Popular, good looking, smart. I figured someone would’ve snatched you up in college.”

I pace the floor. “No, no snatching.”

“So why tell me now? Wouldn’t it be easier if I just left?”

“No. I don't want you to leave.” The thought of her leaving has me inching closer. “I’ve gotten better about the talking thing since you've been here.”

She folds her arms over her chest and looks up at me. “Jace, you just spent two days in your bedroom.”

“Okay, besides that. I feel like I can talk to you. Plus, you’re now the only person, besides my college roommate, who knows anything about this.”

She drops her defensive stance, looking at me through her lashes. “So, you want me to help you... with the touching?”

My face heats. I shove my hands in my pockets so she can’t see them flexing and pace back and forth. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Overexposure seems to have worked in the other situations.”

Overexposure? Touching her all the time? That was my plan, wasn’t it? To use her being here to slowly desensitize myself. It sounded a lot more feasible when she didn’t know about it. I could casually touch her in a normal, non-creepy way, and over time, it should get easier. Now that she knows everything, it will be a much bigger affair.

What is she going to do, congratulate me every time I successfully touch her without bolting from the room? I’m suddenly picturing streamers and a cake that readsCongratulations, you brushed against me in the elevator and didn’t die!No, thank you.

“Well, for one, the other issues don’t really cause me physical discomfort. It’s more of an anxious feeling. I get fidgety. And two, some of the other things have actually calmed me. Like surfing. Not only does riding waves help my physical coordination, it, uh,” I whisper, “allows me to feel.” Becoming suddenly embarrassed to admit I’ve had to find a workaround to achieve the physical touch my body craves but won’t allow.

“To feel?”

“My skin, the water. It’s the only thing I’ve found that allows me physical sensations without discomfort. I can feel the water lapping at my skin, and it doesn’t... hurt. Hurt is the wrong word, but you know what I mean.”

“I’m glad you’ve found that.”

I chance a look at her, and her eyes are cast down as she picks at the sleeve of her hoodie. When she looks up, my stomach drops. The moment I forgot I was waiting for. Pity written all over her face. I may not be good at reading expressions, but that’s one I’m all too familiar with.

“Don’t,” I hiss and turn away.

She climbs off the couch. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me with pity,” I spit through clenched teeth.

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