Page 25 of Heart of the Race

“I always—how do you know who he is?”

“I saw you with him last night.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t come see me. You didn’t come and talk to me.”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?” I flared angrily, shocked that he would stay away from me. He was never allowed to be in close proximity to me and not be seen, heard, touched.

“You were kissing him, and I— I’ve never seen you kiss anyone before.”

“Okay.”

“It was weird.”

“Weird, gross?” I fished.

“No.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird how pissed I was at you.”

“Pissed at me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the fuck would you be pissed at me?”

“Because you were kissing him!” He sounded disgusted.

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Yes, I’m— Why would it matter?”

“You know why.”

I said what I hoped he was thinking. “Because I don’t kiss other men, I don’t fuck other men. I only do that with you.”

“That’s right.”

It felt like the ground fell out from under me, and my body, which had been cold out in the December air, flushed with heat.

Oh, please, God, let me be awake.

“I’ve never been possessive or jealous or⁠—”

“But you are now.”

“Yes.”

I had to push; I couldn’t help it. “Because?”

“Because you belong to me, Brian, make no mistake. You always have.”