Page 62 of Seal the Deal
“Princess, yes.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” Except that Andrew doesn’t. Not anymore. Maybe hedid, but somewhere between that horrible first meeting and losing his shit in a rage room to being rescued from the paparazzi, something changed. Something is changing.
“Saying it doesn’t make it true,” Nicki asserts, his acute observations at such odds with the careless playboy image the media paints of him. Andrew can’t help but wonder if that’s a willful oversight by the media and fans, or if that’s how Nicki wants people to think about him—-as nothing more than a handsome face and powerful hands.
“Look, we can’t do this,” Andrew sighs, not at all ready to admit he doesn’t hate Nicki anymore, not when he doesn’t understand what his feelings towards the other man are. “I don’t want to be selfish.”
“Why?”
“It’s rude.”
“That’s a bullshit fucking answer. Tell me the truth.”
Instantly, Andrew’s heart rate speeds up. “No.”
“Yes,” Nicki challenges.
“No.”
Suddenly the memory of being fifteen and nearly drowning jumps to the forefront of Andrew’s mind. The taste of salt water and bile coming back up his throat, the sound of crashing waves and Charlie’s anguished sobs echoing in his ears while an unfamiliar lifeguard hovers above him. The awareness of his own body had been uncomfortable, just like now.
So often over the years, he’s felt like an alien, his own self-awareness coupled with intense interoception means that he sometimes feels like an intruder in his own body. His breathing is too loud. Each heart beat is too strong. Existing in his own body feelswrong.
“Tell me,” Nicki pushes.
This is the time Andrew would normally retreat, even from Charlie. He would find somewhere private to isolate until he could pull his mask back on, but there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
“No,” Andrew tries again, digging his nails into his palms.
“What are you so scared of?” Nicki questions. It would be easier to hear Nicki’s harsh accent grunting at him or even to hear him bark out the demand. Instead, there’s nothing in his tone but curiosity and an unexpected gentleness that has the truth spilling out without his permission.
“People won’t like me,” Andrew yells, once again snapping in front of Nicki. “My friends, my brothers, my parents. I’m who they need.”
It’s not until he’s stopped talking that Andrew realizes he was shouting, that his chest is heaving and his hands ache from clenching them. It’s the rage room all over again, but there’s nothing else to blame this meltdown on except himselfand the way Nicki makes him feel raw and exposed because he challenges the lies Andrew tells, even the ones he tells himself.
The day Andrew realized the scope of his neurodiversity he felt affirmed. There was a deep sense of relief in being able to understand his own brain and how he interacted with the world around him. What he hadn’t realized at the time, what he didn’t realize until very recently, is that the day he self-diagnosed his mask started to break. The cracks were small at first, but the more time goes by, the harder Andrew finds it to keep his mask up the way he used to.
“And what about whatyouneed?” Nicki’s tone isn’t sharp anymore. It would be easier if it were. It’s curious, gentle, and that hurts more somehow.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.”
“Nicki.”
“Princess.”
Andrew’s shoulders sag. Whatever energy he would normally use to argue has been swept away by the tide and the truth. This is why he isolates when he feels this way. It’s easier to hide than to feel like this.
“Let’s go back to the house. You can shower and change into, what the fuck did you call them—house clothes?”
“I don’t have house clothes here,” Andrew sighs.
“You’ll wear my clothes,” Nicki says in a tone that leaves no room for arguing, which is good because Andrew has nothing left in him to fight right now. Every ounce of him istired.
