A Little Bite of Magic Goes a Long Way (BxB)

15 ~ Ben

Leaving Matt like that was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. His tears were my weakness, and even after three years together I couldn't bear to see him cry.

He cried easily, too, and having grown up in a household where a man would lose his man-card if he was caught with so much as a sparkle in the corner of his eye, it always took me by surprise. I was glad that Matt had no such hang-up.

He was secure in his own brand of masculinity, able to coo over babies and animals, bake adorable confections, and—yes—cry without any concern that it made him any less of a man. He knew how to be vulnerable and soft, and he didn't think those qualities were anything to be ashamed of.

I loved him for that.

I'd wanted to go to him, to take away his hurt and dry his tears, but I'd also known I couldn't do that this time—because this time, I was the cause.

Matt hadn't meant any harm—I knew that, too. Neither had I, and yet we'd managed to hurt each other anyway. Somehow, I'd led him to believe he couldn't trust me to tell him the truth, and he in turn had betrayed my trust in him.

We were both hurt, and I needed to put some distance between us before the hurt got any worse.

I drove out along the coastal highway, my mind in a kind of haze, and eventually pulled off and parked at a public beach. An hour of sitting on the sand and watching the waves come in did a lot to calm my mind and get me back to a state where I could process what had just happened to me.

I'd eaten a cupcake, and I'd lost my job.

Despite the fact that I'd given nearly ten years of my life to my career, it was the first half of that equation that really stung.

I'd never imagined Matt would have any motive besides love—love for the wonderful things he made, love for sharing them, and love for me.

And yet what had he said? I want to hear the truth for once. What had I done to make him think I wasn't being honest with him? And about what? What had he asked me after he'd given me the cupcake? Something like, Are you happy here, in this house, with me?

Of course I was happy. As I'd told my dad, I was happy as long as Matt was happy. And Matt—

Matt was obviously not happy, and I had failed to notice until right now—after he'd felt the only way to get me to be honest was to enchant me into telling the truth.

But why?

With the sun climbing higher and the answers yet to arrive, I decided I'd better find somewhere else to think before I got a bad sunburn on top of everything else.

The problem was, I realized as I started my car, I had nowhere to go.

Sure, I could go to a café, or the library, or wander a store. But in terms of a refuge—someplace I could feel at home and among friends—I was left with very few choices. Most of 'our' friends were really Matt's friends. I was merely tolerated by extension.

Matt made friends easily. People just liked him, and he could fit in with just about any crowd.

Once, we'd been on a trip and he'd seen a sign promising 'The Best Barbecue Around,' and forced me to pull over at a sketchy-looking road-side dive. We'd just sat down at the grimy little bar and been handed a pair of equally grimy menus, when a whole tribe of scary dudes on Harleys roared up and wandered in, loud, proud, and covered in leather and tattoos.

And then Matt had asked if he could sit on one of their bikes, because they were 'so pretty.'

I thought we were going to die.