Thank you, I say. But…

Michael, he says. I want to be with you. Not just for sex; you matter to me.

My pulse races again with his words, but then he leans up to kiss me, and I pull back without thinking. But you’ve been with a lot of guys just for sex, I repeat. My voice comes out in a monotone.

I think of him hanging out at the type of places that Connor goes to. Think of him at the parties and at the baths.

And I’m so damned conflicted because he’s only living his life.

But…

This is different than watching a memorial in Central Park.

This is different than watching someone interviewed on television.

This is different than James worrying about the people he knows, although I think I get his fear now.

This is Gabriel—my Gabriel—no, not mine. Gabriel who has slept with a lot of guys, and who the hell knows if even one of them is sick?

Do you want me to leave? he asks.

My thoughts are spinning as fast as a disco ball, a whirling dervish, a tornado.

He isn’t sick. I trust him when he tells me that. At least I think I do.

But that could change. The being sick part, not the trust.

Or maybe that too.

I don’t want a life dictated by fear.

But I’m not an idiot.

I’m half in love with him. More than half.

But at the moment, I’m not sure I want to be.

Talk to me, Michael. Talk to me, he says over and over in so many ways. But I’m empty of words. Empty of everything.

His eyes are on the floor.

I’ve never seen Gabriel without his swagger. It makes him look young. It makes me want to put my arms around him and tell him it’s all okay. But I don’t know how to make it okay.

After he dresses and packs, he stares at me as if he wants me to say something to stop him.

You don’t have to go, I try. But my voice doesn’t sound anything close to sincere.

He pauses at the door, bag slung over his shoulder, gives me a sad smile.

I’ll see you around, I hope, he says and walks out, leaving me with an unconsummated kiss on my lips. I’m left with only the sound of blood rushing through my veins overlaid on top of the silence. So much silence.

I pace. Trapped.

Is this how James feels? Is this the fear that he’s letting dictate his life? Am I stuck with this too, then?

Is fear just another type of disease?

I never should have invited Gabriel over in the first place. What was I thinking, anyhow?

I miss him. I want him.

What if he calls?

I turn the phone ringer back on.

Why did I let him leave?

The phone rings, and I hold my breath.

If Gabriel asks to come back, will I let him? What do I say?