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“I said we couldn’t have phone sex again. I made no promises about tormenting you.”
“This arrangement is already biased.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
Neither of us ends the call. The agreement between us feels fragile, but it doesn’t feel false. For the first time, we have placed boundaries around something we both desperately want without using distance, denial, or shame to punish each other.
“I should let you sleep,” I say.
“You should.”
We remain connected while her breathing moves softly through my bedroom. I know Sunday will bring the conversations our bodies allowed us to avoid tonight, but caution fails before I can prevent the words from leaving.
“I love you.”
Charm becomes quiet. The silence lasts long enough to bring every defense back into place, but when she answers, her voice is steady.
“I know.”
The words hurt until she continues.
“Don’t give me anything because you miss my body or because tonight felt good. Don’t make loving you easy for me because you still love me too.”
My fingers tighten around the phone. “What are you asking?”
“I’m asking you not to forget what bringing me back into your life requires.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then make me earn it, Ryan.”
Her voice softens around my name while the certainty remains.
“Make me earn your trust, your home, and the right to stand beside you again. Make me prove I can keep choosing you after the fear returns, because it will return, and I need both of us to know I won’t hide when it does.”
Emotion presses against everything desire left exposed.
“I will.”
Charm releases an unsteady breath. “Good night, Ryan.”
“Good night, mi hada.”
The call ends, returning her absence to my bedroom along with the hard truth we finally refused to fuck our way around.
The next Sunday waits between us, carrying the first promise we have made carefully enough not to mistake it for forgiveness.
34
Charm
Two years ago today, I lost Ryan. Well, two Thanksgivings ago, but I don’t give one of my fucks to semantics.
The date has lived inside me since I opened my eyes this morning. I don’t attempt to meditate it away, search for a therapeutic explanation, or bury it beneath gratitude because the calendar says I should be thankful. Some days hurt. Recovery doesn’t require me to turn every painful emotion into evidence that I haven’t worked hard enough.
Today is a bad day, so I own it, let it suck, and keep eating anyway.
