Page 44 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“Drink,” he said.
“See? You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Taking care of me without me having to ask.” I pulled my legs up under me, getting comfortable. The margaritas were making me more honest than usual. “That's what I need to learn to accept. Or ask for. Or... something.”
“You have trouble asking for what you need? I don't think so. Maybe when we were in high school, but...”
I laughed, but it came out bitter. “But the entire rest of my life. Just not with you.”
“But why? You can have anything or anyone you want, babe.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the safety of being here with Gryff in our house, but suddenly I wanted to tell him everything.
“I've been thinking about it, and I have an idea,” I said. “I don't blame my parents, and I wouldn't change a thing about the way I grew up, except for maybe the way my dad got hurt.”
I really didn't blame them. It was just the way life worked out. But that also didn't mean it didn't shape the way I thought about myself and the world around me. “But thirteen different cities, eight different schools, a whole new life every year is part of it. Every time I'd finally settle in, make friends, find a favorite spot to read or a teacher I connected with, Dad would get a better deal at another team, and off we'd go again.”
Gryff shifted closer on the couch, not saying anything, just listening.
“I learned pretty quick that it didn't matter what I wanted in this situation because it wasn't just about me. It was what was best for the family.” Although, in the end, it was what my mother blamed for the breakup.
“It didn't matter if I begged to stay, or promised to be perfect, or cried until I made myself sick. We were moving regardless.” I picked at a thread on the throw pillow. “So I stopped asking. Stopped wanting things to stay the same. Stopped expecting my needs to matter.”
“Artie...”
“And I guess that carried over into... other things.” I took a deep breath. This was the hard part. The part I'd never told anyone. “Things I... feel some shame and embarrassment about.”
“You can tell me anything, but you don't have to. Just, you know, I will always be your safe person, just like you said.”
I sighed. “I'm... not good at, well, anything in the bedroom. Guys have told me I'm bad. In bed.”
The silence stretched between us. I couldn't look at him.
“Who told you that?” His voice was surprisingly angry.
I forced myself to continue. “The people I've slept with. They all wanted me to be the dominant one. In charge. I think it's because I'm tall and strong and athletic, so obviously I must want to throw them around and take control, right?”
“I get it, babe. Guys I’ve been with have always expected me to be the dominant one as well. It’s just automatically assumed that I am going to be one topping, I never get a chance to try anything else.” He gave a little shrug that I instantly understood. “But that’s not always what I want.”
“That’s totally not what I want.” The words came out in a rush. “In the rest of my life, I have to be the strong, independent woman. But that's exhausting, honestly. Sometimes I want to be taken care of. I want someone to be gentle with me. I want to be able to be soft and vulnerable and have someone notice what I need without me having to be in charge of everything.”
I finally looked at him. He was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read.
“That's what I need to learn,” I said quietly. “How to be present in my body when I'm with someone. How to trust someone to take care of me. How to ask for what I want without feeling selfish or needy or... embarrassed about it.”
“You're not selfish for wanting that.”
“Aren't I though? I've been told by three different guys and two women that I'm basically a dead fish in bed. And honestly, it's made me question my own sexuality. But... like, guys are hot, women are hot, it's not like it's a choice I made to be bi. I just... am.”
“They were wrong.” His voice was firm, almost angry. “They were completely wrong.”
“Were they? Because the evidence suggests otherwise.”
He moved closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Artie, wanting to be taken care of doesn'tmake you bad at intimacy. It makes you human. And it sounds like some of the people you were with just fetishized you.”
“But I don't know how to communicate any of that. I open my mouth to say anything and freeze up. I don't know how to be vulnerable like that with someone I'm dating.” I met his eyes. “That's why I need your help. You already take care of me without me having to ask. You got me water. You steadied me when I stumbled. You unlocked the door. You do these things naturally.”
