Page 74 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“I don’t really know where to begin,” he said. When Arthur looked disappointed he pressed on. “But… I don’t think I’ve been very fair to you. At all. I didn’t do it on purpose, I suppose I just thought it was the only way to survive. But it was unkind. I get very wrapped up in my own head, which… well, of course, you know that. But sometimes I forget to consider how other people are feeling, that they might see things from a different perspective. I thought when we stopped… when things ended… I assumed you would be relieved.”

“Right,” Arthur said, strained. “Because you were relieved. You thought I would be too. Got it.”

“That’s not… I mean, I was a bit relieved.”

“Great!” Arthur said, obviously upset now, getting to his feet. “Glad to hear it. Is that all?”

“No. Sorry. I’m doing this wrong. Please sit down.” Thankfully, he did, although he still looked wary. “I was relieved because I thought you must have been miserable with me, and I felt bad about that, and it was a… weight, lifted, to know I wasn’t the problem anymore. That you could go off and be happy and I wouldn’t be a… burden. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t be a good friend to anyone, let alone… anything more. I know I was a nightmare—still am a nightmare, ha—and it couldn’t have been much fun.”

“And I couldn’t possibly do anything,” said Arthur, “that wasn’t always absolutely and completely fun.”

This wasn’t going how Gabriel had hoped. “I’m not trying to insult you.”

“Mmm. I can really tell. Can I speak now?”

“Um…” Gabriel hesitated. “I’m not finished.”

Arthur was still sitting, but every part of him seemed to be moving, like he was trying to power a mill with the minute jitters of his body. “Go on then.”

“I was protecting you. From me. That’s what I’m trying to explain. It wasn’t—”

“Okay,” Arthur said, standing up. “I can’t listen to this and not— I know you were going through a horrible time, but it felt like youhatedme. You were so sick of me, you could barely stand to look at me. It was like… it was like you’d had some idea of me, and then I’d been such a disappointment, the reality of me, the risk of it all… I thought you’d decided it wasn’t worth it.”

Gabriel’s chest ached, a hollow pang. Arthur’s eyes were dark and shining, color high in his cheeks, like this conversation was maddening him into a fever. Gabriel wanted to sayBe careful, orSit down, but he had no right.

“I was so confused, at first, when I tried to come and see you and somehow you were always out, or couldn’t be disturbed,” Arthur said, quieter now. “I thought it was a mistake. I was so stupid, I’d tell Gwen, ‘He’s working so hard, we should make sure he actually leaves his rooms,’ and Gwen would say, ‘Oh, what? I had breakfast with him yesterday and then we went for a walk,’ and it still didn’t click.” He paused to take in a ragged breath. “I thought there was no way you’d do that to me, no matter how hard things were. I thought that if you were done with it, with us, you’d tell me. You wouldn’t just slowly disappear and leave me with no idea what the hell was going on.”

Gabriel’s throat had gone very dry. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It was cruel, Gabriel. It was… it wasn’t something you doto somebody if you care about them, if you’devercared about them. I knew you were struggling, of course I did, and that’s why I gave you so many chances, shrugged it offso manytimes. But that doesn’t mean you get free rein to… to…”

Arthur seemed to run out of steam, and Gabriel was surprised to discover that it wasn’t just hopelessness he was feeling now—he was fired up, ready to fight. “I know it was. That’s what I was trying to say. It was cruel. It was heartless. You have every right to be angry. That’s what I’m trying to apologize for.”

“And it only took you the best part of ayearto come to this conclusion,” Arthur shot back. “Well done.”

“Some people are slower than you, Arthur,” Gabriel exclaimed. “You… you know yourself better than I do, and I think that’s an incredible thing, but some of us are still lagging behind. I’ve always been this way. It takes me a long time to work out how I feel aboutanything. By the time I knew I was in love with you, I thought I’d already ruined everything, and the kindest thing was to let you go.”

Arthur’s breathing had gone a bit weird. Gabriel wondered if he was about to get shouted at again.

“You were in love with me?”

“Yes. I was, I am. That’s why it was so terrible, because I knew I wasn’t making you happy. It was selfish of me, really, that I even let it go on as long as it did… but in the end I realized I didn’t want to be the reason you were miserable, even if it hurt me to do it.”

Arthur’s fists were clenched at his sides. He was looking down at the long shadows thrown by the camp below when he said, “I was in love with you too.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said falteringly. “I’m sorry.”

Had he suspected as much? Yes. But he hadn’t reallyallowed himself to believe it. He knew Arthur was a terrible romantic, that he’d thrown himself into their strange courtship wholeheartedly, but had assumed it was just the thrill of courting that people talked about, the excitement of the chase that Gabriel had never understood. How could you be in love with somebody who was barely there? Who gave you nothing back?

But he realized now that he had rewritten things in his mind in retrospect—because there had been plenty of good, before it went bad. The trip to Tintagel after the Lancelot speech, which had felt like a life raft. Sneaking away to kiss quietly and hold each other in private rooms. Reading aloud to Arthur because it helped him sleep, their legs tangled on the bed, his head tucked into the crook of Gabriel’s shoulder. When he’d awoken from a nightmare of battle to find Arthur there, rubbing his back; when he’d awoken and Arthur wasn’t there, but had always been pleased to see Gabriel in his doorway, no matter the time of night.

He’d even told Arthur some of his fears, at first. Whispered, in soft moments. How scared he was. How much it mattered to him to get everything right. Before the fears became so big they eclipsed everything else, and speaking of them felt like it would bring about his ruination.

“I wish…” Arthur said quietly. “I wish you’d just told me. Any of this. Instead of slowly disappearing.”

“The thing is… I can’t even wish that, because it wouldn’t have happened. Not in this life. Not with me as I am. I would never have been ready to tell you any of this back then. Yes, I could have done things better, handled this… more kindly. But I couldn’t even admit to myself how bad things were getting. How could I ever have admitted it to you?”

“Right,” Arthur said despondently. “I suppose I can… understand that.”