Ugly Love: A Novel

It’s been a few weeks since Corbin found out. He hasn’t accepted it, and he still hasn’t spoken to Miles, but he’s beginning to adapt. He knows on the nights I leave without explanation, only to come back a few hours later, where I’ve been. He doesn’t ask.

As far as things with Miles, I’m the one doing the adapting. I’ve had to adapt to his rules, because there’s no way Miles is adapting to breaking them. I’ve learned to stop trying to figure him out and to stop allowing things to get so tense between us. We’re doing exactly what we agreed to do in the beginning, which was to have sex.

A lot of sex.

Shower sex. Bedroom sex. Floor sex. Kitchen-table sex.

I’ve still never spent the night with him, and it still hurts sometimes how closed off he becomes right after it’s over, but I still haven’t figured out a way to say no to him.

I know I want so much more than what he’s giving me and he wants so much less than what I want to give him, but we’re both just taking what we can get for now. I try not to think about what will happen the day I can’t handle it anymore. I try not to think about all the other things I’m sacrificing by still being involved with him.

I try not to think about it at all, but the thoughts still come. Every night, when I’m in bed, I think about it. Every time I’m in the shower, I think about it. When I’m in class, in the living room, in the kitchen, at work . . . I think about what’s going to happen when one of us finally comes to our senses.

“Is Tate a nickname for something else?” Miles asks me.

We’re in his bed. He just got home from four days at work, and even though our arrangement is supposed to be all about sex, we’re still fully dressed. We’re not making out. He’s just lying with me, asking me personal questions about my name, and I love it so much more than any other day we’ve ever spent together.

It’s the first time he’s ever asked me a semi-personal question. I hate that his question fills me with all these feelings of hope, and all he did was ask me if Tate was a nickname.

“Tate is my middle name,” I say. “It was my grandmother’s maiden name.”

“What’s your first name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth Tate Collins,” he says, making love to my name with his voice. My name has never sounded as beautiful as it did just now, coming out of his mouth. “That’s almost twice as many syllables as my name,” he says. “That’s a lot of syllables.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Mikel,” he says. “People always mispronounce it and say ‘Michael,’ though. Gets annoying.”

“Miles Mikel Archer,” I say. “That’s a strong name.”

Miles rises onto his elbow and looks down at me with a peaceful expression. He brushes my hair behind my ear as his eyes roam over my face. “Anything interesting happen this week while I was working, Elizabeth Tate Collins?” There’s a playfulness in his voice. One that I’m not familiar with, but I like it. I like it a lot.

“Not really, Miles Mikel Archer,” I say, smiling. “I worked a lot of overtime.”

“Do you still like your job?” His fingers are touching my face, sliding across my lips, trailing down my neck.

“I do like it,” I say. “Do you like being a captain?” I just throw versions of his own questions back at him. I figure it’s safe that way, because I know he’ll only give what he’s willing to take.

Miles follows his hand with his eyes as he unbuttons the top button of my shirt. “I love my job, Tate.” His fingers work on the second button of my shirt. “I just don’t like being gone so much, especially knowing you’re right across the hall from where I live. It makes me want to be home all the time.”

I try to contain it, but I can’t. His words make me gasp, even though it was probably the quietest gasp to ever pass anyone’s lips.

But he notices.

His eyes meet mine in a flash, and I can see him wanting to backpedal. He wants to take back what he just said, because there was hope in those words. Miles doesn’t say things like that. I know he’s about to apologize. He’s going to remind me that he can’t love me, that he didn’t mean to give me that inkling of false hope.

Don’t take it back, Miles. Please, let me keep that.

Our eyes remain locked for several long seconds. I continue to stare up at him, waiting for the take-back. His fingers are still on the second button of my shirt, but they’re not attempting to unbutton it anymore.

He focuses on my mouth, then back to my eyes again, then back to my mouth. “Tate,” he whispers. He says my name so softly I’m not even sure if his mouth moves.

I don’t have time to respond. His hand leaves the button of my shirt and slides through my hair at the same moment as his lips connect fiercely with mine. He slides his body on top of me, and his kiss instantly becomes intense. Deep. Dominating. His kiss is full of something that’s never been there before. Full of feeling. Full of hope.

Until this moment, I thought a kiss was a kiss was a kiss. I had no idea kisses could mean different things and feel so completely opposite from one another. In the past, I’ve always felt passion and desire and lust . . . but this time, it’s different.

This kiss is a different Miles, and I know in my heart that it’s the real Miles. The Miles he used to be. The Miles I’m not allowed to ask about.

•••

He rolls off of me when he’s finished.

I stare up at the ceiling.

My head is full of so many questions. My heart is full of confusion. This thing between us has never been easy. One would think limiting oneself to just sex would be the simplest thing in the world, but it makes me question every move and every word that comes out of my mouth. I find myself analyzing every look he gives me.

I don’t even know what move I’m supposed to make next. Do I lie here until he asks me to leave? I’ve never stayed the night with him before. Do I roll over and put my arms around him, hoping he’ll hold me in return until we fall asleep? I’m too scared he’ll reject me.

I’m stupid.

I’m a stupid, stupid girl.

Why can’t this just be sex for me, too? Why can’t I come over here, give him what he wants, get what I want, and leave?

I roll onto my side and slowly sit up. I reach down for my clothes, then stand up and dress myself. He’s watching me. He’s quiet.

I avoid looking at him until I’m fully dressed and slipping on my shoes. As much as I want to crawl back into the bed with him, I walk toward the door instead. I don’t turn around to face him when I say, “See you tomorrow, Miles.”

I make it all the way to his front door. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t tell me he’ll see me tomorrow, and he doesn’t tell me good-bye.

I’m hoping his silence is proof that he doesn’t like how it feels to be walked away from.

I open the door and walk across the hall and into my apartment. Corbin is seated on the couch, watching TV. He glances up at the door when he hears me enter, then shoots me a condescending look of disapproval.

“Lighten up,” I say as I make my way inside. I slip off my shoes by the door. “You have to get over this eventually.”

I see him shake his head, but I ignore it and walk toward my bedroom.

“He was screwing you behind my back and lying to me,” Corbin says. “That’s not something I’ll get over.”

I face the living room again and see that Corbin is looking at me. “Did you expect him to be open with you about it? My God, Corbin. You kicked Dillon out of your apartment for looking at me the wrong way.”

Corbin stands up, angry now. “Exactly!” he shouts. “I thought Miles was protecting you from Dillon, when in reality, he was laying claim! He’s a goddamn hypocrite, and I’ll be pissed at him for as long as I want to be pissed at him, so you get over it!”

I laugh, because Corbin has no right to point fingers.

“What’s funny, Tate?” he snaps.

I walk back to the living room and stand directly in front of him. “Miles has been nothing but honest with me about what he wants. He hasn’t once fed me a line of bullshit. I’m the only girl he’s been with in six years, and you’re going to call him a hypocrite?” I don’t even try to keep my voice down anymore. “You might want to look in the mirror, Corbin. How many girls have you been with since I’ve moved in here? How many of them do you think have brothers who would love to kick your ass if they found out about you? If anyone’s the hypocrite here, it’s you!”

His hands are on his hips, and he’s watching me with a hardened look in his eyes. When he fails to respond, I turn to walk back toward my room, but the front door opens with a knock.

Miles.

Corbin and I both turn, just as he peeks his head inside. “Everything good over here?” he asks, stepping into the living room.

I glance at Corbin, and Corbin glares at me. I arch an eyebrow, waiting for him to respond to the question Miles posed, since he’s the one with the issue.

“You okay, Tate?” Miles asks, addressing only me now.

I look back over at him and nod. “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m not the one with unrealistic expectations of my sibling.”

Corbin groans loudly, then turns around and kicks the couch. Miles and I watch him as he slides his hands through his hair and grips the back of his neck tightly. He turns to face Miles again, then exhales heavily.

“Why couldn’t you have just been gay?”

Miles looks at him with careful concentration. I’m waiting for either of them to have a reaction, so I’ll know whether or not I can breathe.

Miles begins to shake his head as soon as a smile appears on his face.

Corbin starts to laugh, but he groans at the same time, indicating that he just came to terms with our arrangement, even though he still may not agree with it.

I smile and walk quietly out of the apartment, hoping they’re about to mend whatever was broken between them when I stepped into the picture.

The elevator doors open on the lobby level, and I’m prepared to step off, but Cap is poised in front of them as if he’s about to step on.

“You coming for me?” he asks.

I nod and point upward. “Corbin and Miles are working things out upstairs. I was giving them a minute.”

Cap steps into the elevator and presses the button for the twentieth floor. “Well, I suppose you can walk me home,” he says. He grabs the bars behind him for support. I stand next to him and lean against the wall behind me.

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?”

He gives me the all clear with a nod. “I love being asked them as much as I love asking them.”

I look down at my shoes, crossing one foot over the other. “What do you think would make a man never want to experience love again?”

Cap doesn’t answer my question for at least five floors. I eventually look at him, and he’s looking right at me, his eyes narrowed, producing even more wrinkles between them. “I suppose if a man lived through the ugliest side of love, he might never want to experience it again.”

I contemplate his answer, but it doesn’t help much. I don’t see how love could get ugly enough for a person to just shut himself off from it completely.

The elevator doors open to the twentieth floor, and I let him step off first. I walk with him to his apartment door and wait for him to open it. “Tate,” he says. He’s facing his door, and he doesn’t turn around to finish his sentence. “Sometimes a man’s spirit just ain’t strong enough to withstand the ghosts from his past.” He opens his apartment door and walks inside. “Maybe that boy just lost his spirit somewhere along the way.” He closes his door and leaves me attempting to decipher even more confusion.