raining

t, like everything was happening behind a curtain. The café was half-empty that

e excep

g his coffee. He was just staring out the window, one hand motionless around his cup, hi

didn't ap

n't want to disturb. But something tol

I said

hadn't realized I'd been standing there

for a few moments, the rain ta

" I asked

hen shrugged. "I don't know. Bad

not to push. If he wanted to talk,

ever do something so stupid you can't believe it was

"Yeah. I've had

s chuckle. "I've h

ed at me again, as i

I cheated," he said, voice low. "

but sai

e, helped me through my first panic attacks, my first

slowly, almost like he was try

planned. It wasn't even passionate. It was... compulsive.

ng my face. I kept my exp

again. But it did. Again. And again. With strangers. Friends.

ment-but because of the way he said it.

continued. "I think she always knew.

ened?" I a

couch-surfing, drinking more than eating, and still-still-I was chasing hookups like the

s, palms open like he didn

ly. It sounded like an excuse. But the therapist I saw-court-ordered-told me it wasn't about sex. No

weight in it. Like every word had to be car

etings. Relapses. Regrets. I still get urges, especially when I feel disconnected or rejected. Some

cold, but raw. "You should know that. I'm not fixed.

lence breathe between us, let the weight of

ross the table an

I said. "Fo

ooked down at where our han

oul

in anger. "Most people do. Or the

t people," I

ing look. Then, finally,

said. "Yo

people sharing a table in the middle of a rainy morning-one with a pa

or perfect timing, but with someone staying long enough to