Page 24 of Friendly Skies
“Sixteen.” Luis’ voice was more breath than sound, but Paul heard it just the same.
“I was twelve.”
Luis looked up, and the two of them held each other’s gaze, quietly comforting each other as the cleaning crew and catering people bustled around them. A passenger came back to the galley, interrupting the moment, but Paul shook his head and told him the galley was closed while they restocked. The passenger frowned, gave Luis a strange look, but Luis didn’t care. He wished Paul could give him a hug right now because he truly felt like he was hanging on to any semblance of composure by his fingernails.
Almost as soon as he thought it, Paul stood and pulled Luis into the corner of the galley away from the open hatch door and wrapped him in his arms. “You haven’t told Darius, have you?” he asked.
“No.” Luis let out a shaky breath. “It’s a long story, but he thinks I don’t remember anything from that night because that’s what I told him.”
“But you do.”
A shudder rippled through Luis. “I remember every goddamned thing.”
They were quiet for a moment, and then Paul suggested Luis go lie down in the crew loft until the passengers started boarding for the flight to Brussels.
Luis considered it, but it would mean being alone with his thoughts, and that wouldn’t do him any good. So, he did what he’d been doing every day since he was sixteen. He took a deep breath, shoved the shit Andrés had done to him to the back corner of his mind, and got on with his job.
They landed in Brussels at six in the morning the next day. Luis had gotten some sleep in the crew loft after they’d served dinner, but he was grateful to make it to the flight crew’s hotel, where he could shower and collapse into bed.
At Paul’s suggestion, they shared a room, and Luis was at once grateful and chagrined that, once again, he was the fragile one, the one who needed special handling lest he fall apart, the one people cared about because he was damaged. And he resented the part of himself that needed Paul’s attention and care right now because all of that was true. Hewasfragile, healwaysfelt like he was about to fall apart, and the damage was obvious even when he didn’t say a thing. People seemed to sense his hidden wounds, either to exploit like the assholes who flocked to him, knowing he’d lap up their attention like a kitten with a bowl of cream or, like Darius and Paul, because they were caretakers and knew he needed them.
I am not in a good space, Luis thought as he stood under the shower spray and let the grit of a seventeen-hour flightwash down the drain. He wished he could let the shame and humiliation wash away just as easily because the truth was hehadhad a crush on Andrés back then. When Gabriella introduced this model-gorgeous blond to the family, Luis had had a moment of clarity, a sudden recognition that he was attracted to guys.
Fear of his family’s reaction kept him pretending to be straight, even to his best friend. His crush died as soon as he got to know Andrés, but his feelings for Darius shifted in confusing ways as he tried to work out how to tell him how he felt without jeopardizing their friendship. The night of Marissa’s quinceañera, the Molly had caused him to finally act, and he’d kissed Darius before he could stop himself. The effect of that kiss had been a mind-blowing, life-altering explosion. Even now, Luis had no idea how he had failed to recognize that what he felt for Darius was love, but that kiss had shown him the truth. When they’d fallen asleep that night, his thoughts filled with what it would be like to be Darius’ boyfriend. Then he’d woken up needing to piss, and Andrés had followed him to the bathroom, pinned him against the wall, and…
A sob escaped Luis’ mouth, and then another, and another. ¡Santo Dios! What was wrong with him? Why, after all this time, was this…thing…threatening to overwhelm him? He could almost feel himself being physically taken back into his parents’ bathroom, where Andrés’ hands touched him like he’d dreamed Darius would. The Molly, combined with his newly exposed feelings, had confused him, and he hadn’t pushed Andrés away like he should have, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t fought back. Just took it like the fragile, weak creature he was.
“Fuck!” This time, Luis shouted and slapped his hand against the shower stall, the sting of it helping stem the tide of memories that threatened to overwhelm him.
A soft knock on the door brought Luis out of his spiral. “Are you okay?” Paul asked, and Luis blessed his protective instincts while he called back that he’d be right out.
Luis finished up in the shower, slipped into a pair of shorts and a tank top, and stepped back into the room. Paul had pulled the curtains shut to make the room as dark as possible and was lying on his bed, watching TV. He offered to turn it off, but Luis told him not to worry about it. Between the night at the club, the blowup with his mom, and the twenty-plus hours since he’d woken at five in LA, he was exhausted. It crossed his mind to warn Paul that he might have nightmares, but he was asleep before he got the words out of his mouth.
The room was empty when Luis woke several hours later. Paul had left a note on the nightstand telling Luis he’d gone down to the hotel café about five, which, when Luis checked his phone, was only about an hour ago. Luis also noticed that he had several texts from Darius. They were all of the general “good morning, hope you had a good flight” variety, and Luis texted back that the flight had been fine and he was about to head out for dinner. Then he texted Paul that he was on his way to join him downstairs.
Paul had promised not to push or ask questions, and he stayed true to his word as they wandered the streets of the Saint-Jacque district in search of a place to eat. It was a beautiful and peaceful evening, and Paul looped his arm through Luis’ as they walked and sighed as he nodded at a couple of attractive young men.
“No offense to my present company,” he said, “but someday I hope to find a man who will travel with me to all the places I’ve only passed through and explore them with me.”
“Any current prospects?” Luis asked.
“Alas, no. I have not been lucky like young Gregory and his gallant, silver-haired lover.”
Luis laughed, “Yeah. I know what you mean. We barely see him anymore.”
“At least you have the love of your life,” Paul looked at him. “Don’t deny it. Anyone with eyes knows the two of you are going to end up together once you get your heads out of your asses.”
It was on the tip of Luis’ tongue to protest, to give the standard response that he and Darius were just friends, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.
“It’s not that simple,” Luis said.
“Honey, it is that simple,” Paul responded, but he let the matter drop.
They turned down a cobbled alley and wandered through to another main road, where they found a little café and took a table on the sidewalk. The evening was beautiful, and the Saint-Jacque district was the perfect place to be with plenty of queer-friendly restaurants and shops. The people-watching was wonderful, the food was delicious, and Luis felt himself relax for the first time since Andrés knocked on his door.
The waiter brought them a second glass of wine, and Luis took a sip as he stared at a couple of guys walking arm in arm, then focused on a man and a woman holding hands as they stopped to window-shop. He put his glass on the table, still watching the couples.
“I think the worst part of it,” he said, “is that I feel like I did something wrong, and I don’t trust myself not to do it again.”
