Page 78 of Stag

“Oh shit, I just slept with a serial killer.”

His head shot up, and the knife he held, with a slice of apple still on it, froze in his hand.

“Huh?”

“Only serial killers eat apple from the knife blade like that. It’s a well-known fact,” I said as I padded across the heated wooden floor. It felt amazing on my feet, because we all know how shocking a cold floor is to bare feet.

“This is a perfectly normal way to eat an apple,” Stag said, slicing off another piece and tipping the blade to pass the slice into his mouth.

“Normal is biting it,” I said lightly, leaning over to swipe the next slice and pop it in my mouth. It was crunchy and fresh and delicious.

Stag grinned. “Call me abnormal then. I can’t stand the sound of someone biting into an apple. It’s too obnoxious, even if I’m the asshole doing it. You want something to drink?”

I shook my head, leaning against the opposite counter for the briefest second, before icy cold granite made me grimace and step away from it.

“You were gone.”

Stag tossed the apple core in the recycling bin, and tossed the knife in the sink, stalling, I think.

“Stag?”

He turned and sighed, leaning against the counter again.

“My mind was too busy, so I couldn’t sleep.”

Was that a bad thing? It felt like a bad thing. Was he overthinking, or was he regretting? Was it not as good for him as I’d hoped? Did I take over too much? Did I pressure him into it? Did he wish we hadn’t slept together at all?

A light tap on my wrist pulled me from my thoughts, and I lifted my head to watch Stag’s lips.

“You’re overthinking what I said, I think? You seemed to shut down right after I spoke. I don’t mean anything that happened was a bad thing. It’s literally the opposite. Jesus, how to say things without fucking up. That’s always my issue, like I said. What kept me awake was knowing I’ve fallen completely in love with you, and wondering if telling you adds pressure you don’t need. And now instead of just wondering, I’ve blurted it out like a prick, and probably done that anyway!” He dragged a hand through his hair and fisted it as he closed his eyes, agitation tightening his jaw.

“Stag-”

His eyes were still closed, but he replied before I could finish.

“No, you don’t have to say anything about that. I didn’t say it to give you something to worry about. This is my shit. They always joke about falling for the first woman you fuck, but this isn’t like that. The love came first. You get that right?” His eyes shot open, practically imploring me to understand, to grasp the fact he was desperate to get across. “You do get that the love came first? I might joke around and be a dick, but I loved you this whole time. Sex was just like the icing on the fucking cake. This wasn’t some kneejerk thing, where I’m this pathetic loser who falls for the first woman he sleeps with. Even without the sex, I loved you. I do love you.”

It was strange for him to get so agitated about telling me the one thing I think I really needed to hear right now, or maybe always needed to hear, because control and obsession aren’t love. This is love. A man so broken up over blurting out the truth, the beautiful truth, is love. He’s more concerned about pressuring me, or me thinking he’s just saying it, than the fact that he’s baring his soul to me.

“Stag, please listen, Stag!” I spoke over what was more of the same, finally darting forward to press a hand over his mouth, silencing him, silencing what he thought was his only method of communication with me. He didn’t realise that every smile, every gaze, and every touch told me that. He didn’t realise that the way he empowered me to feel normal said that. He didn’t realise that every time he made an effort to only speak when I looked at him said that. Even that time in the bath, when he thought I couldn’t see him speaking, he took that embarrassment for what it was, and owned up to his feelings.

The fact that his club brothers and their judgemental women were missing this side of him was purely their fault. It was all there to see. It was all right there, and maybe they were missing it by not missing a sense, but as his family, they should try harder to see the wonderful man they called brother.

“I love you, Stag. I think I’ve wanted to say it a while too, but didn’t want to make you feel trapped with me, because you’re young, and this is a relationship full of firsts for you. I love that you said it first, but I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t say it when you realised. I think as direct as we can both be, we still both hold back sometimes, maybe because we’re used to the others around us expecting that. Why don’t we just make it a rule between the two of us to just be open and clear, and deal with the fallout of that later?”

Stag nodded, cupping my face in both palms.

“Then I need to say something else. An apology. I feel like such a dick.”

“What? Why?”

He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs.

“Because I was just complaining about the sound of a person eating an apple, and that feels like such a fucking offensive thing to say to someone who’d probably relish being able to hear that, to hear anything. I try so hard, but I always fuck up.”

Oh this sweet, sweet man. How could he think those things would matter? Again, probably because to everyone else he knew, they might.

“I’m not them. I don’t offend easily, and I’m deaf. I’m used to it. I’ve accepted it. I, at least, can quite happily sit beside someone eating an apple, and not suffer.”