Chapter 7 - The Morning After (Neil's Perspective)

Neil sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his laptop. A blank word file stared at him, its emptiness echoing the pit in his stomach. He hadn't even meant to open the document; he'd done it on autopilot - perhaps intending to journal about his guilt, or distract himself with school work. He wasn't even sure what it was. But when he finished packing what little he owned and realized he wasn't going to be able to sleep, he'd ended up in front of his computer.

The duffel bag lay slouched in the corner of the room, stuffed up with clothes like he'd stuffed up his life. Everything he'd packed -- his toiletries, half his clothes, the phone charger -- just sat there, waiting for Avery to tell him to leave.

He let out a breath. It felt like cheating to call it a sigh. He couldn't hear Avery moving around downstairs. He had no idea what she might be doing, she might as well already be separated by a thousand miles. He'd have given anything to hear her right then, to know she was at least okay. Even angry, even hurt -- even when she was cussing him out -- at least it meant she hadn't given up. Silence was worse.

He turned back to the screen. The blinking cursor dared him to act. He started typing.

September 5 -- 12:47am

Personal Reflection

Wanting something doesn't mean you get to have it.

Helping someone doesn't mean they owe you forgiveness.

Seeing someone as beautiful doesn't give you the right to imagine them naked without permission.

Being sorry is not the same as redemption. It's the first step in shutting the fuck up and learning.

Consent doesn't become irrelevant just because you didn't mean to hurt someone.

He stopped, blinked and erased the last line. Then he typed a new one.

You can think she's beautiful. But what you did was ugly.

He hovered over the Save button. He couldn't press it.

Finally, he shut the lid and sat there in the dark with the echo of his own thoughts for company. A year ago, he would've tried to write a message. A plea. A neat, sincere apology that made him sound like a man worth keeping. Now he just felt like a man who was starting to understand how far off the mark he'd been.

"It wasn't just that I created a picture of her naked," he whispered to no one. "It's that I let that version of her live in my head while the real one thought I was an innocent friend and helper."

He walked to the window and pressed against the dark glass. The chill of the night air seemed to burn the palms of his hands like a scourging fire. His mind remained on Avery. He might not be able to hear her, but somehow he knew she was awake. Maybe she was writing. Maybe she was messaging people. Maybe she'd ask them the same question he couldn't answer for himself. "Can you still care for someone who made you feel like you were unreal, a fantasy... a fetish?"

He turned back to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. His laptop stayed closed on the nightstand. He didn't open it again. In the morning he'd find out if he still had a place here, even though he felt he didn't deserve it.

----

Neil stood at the stove making breakfast: two eggs sunnyside up, bacon, sausages, toast, and a dish of fruit consomme. It might not be particularly healthy but it had been Avery's favourite over the last few weeks. It probably wouldn't make any difference, but he needed all the help he could get to make up with her after what he'd done. Besides, if this was going to be the last breakfast he made, it was going to be what she wanted.

The coffee pot gurgled behind him. He'd already filled one mug -- hers -- with the exact amount of cream she preferred. He hadn't poured one for himself. He didn't feel like eating. And more than that, he didn't feel like he should.

The toast popped. He placed it all neatly on her plate, not trying to be cute just to make things as close to perfect as he could. Eggs like two suns in white clouds, bacon crisp but not brittle, sausage sizzling and juicy. He set out the knife and fork carefully and made sure there was nothing in the way of getting her chair to the table.

He heard the sound of her chair rolling across the hallway floor before she even entered the kitchen. His body tensed without meaning to. When she came into view, she looked as tired as he felt. She was dishevelled. Her hair was tangled, her clothes rumpled from sleep. Recently she'd started dressing and washing before breakfast, despite his assurance she didn't have to. But today she looked exactly how she had before he arrived--too exhausted to care.

Their eyes met. No words passed for several seconds. Finally he spoke, to break the silence if nothing else. "Morning," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Avery looked at the plate on the table, then back at him. "Morning."

That was it. She didn't thank him, she didn't yell at him. Somehow, he thought he'd prefer that than this.

He pushed the plate slightly toward the edge of the table so she could reach it easily. "I made breakfast. For you. If you want it."

Avery rolled forward, stopping just short of the table. She looked at the plate, then at him, then back at the coffee cup. "You're not eating?"

Neil shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He was too worried, and too upset with what he'd done to feel how hungry he was.

She stared at him as if trying to assess an unknown threat. Then she reached for the coffee. "Thanks."

The word was quiet, without inflection. But it wasn't nothing.

Neil remained standing, hands gripping the countertop to anchor himself. He felt a lump in his chest and wasn't sure if it was because of the judgment he was waiting for, or just the pain of how he'd hurt her. He wanted to fix it, and he knew he wasn't able to do so. Not right now at least. All he could do was wait and be ready for whatever she said.

Avery raised the cup to her lips, feeling the steam rising over her face. She was taking her time. Not, Neil thought, to make him feel bad. She wasn't made like that, though he wouldn't have blamed her. No, this was Avery trying to adjust to a changed world with the rug ripped out from under her. This was Avery unsure what to do or say.

Neil watched in silence. He wasn't going to speak until she did -- the ball was in her court now. Anything he said would likely be seen as pushing and that was the last thing either of them needed.

Avery set the mug down gently, her fingers tracing its edge like it might offer answers. For unending moments she just sat there, staring at the cup before her. Neil shifted uneasily. Finally, she spoke again, her voice weary. "I talked to some people last night," she said.

Neil said nothing, just listened.

"An online group," she continued. "People like me. People with disabilities who've had caregivers. Several of them have been betrayed, had their boundaries crossed."

Neil could feel his jaw tighten involuntarily at the last words, but he stayed silent.

Avery finally met his eyes with a serious gaze. "I got a lot of different opinions. A few told me I was overreacting, and what you did was harmless fantasy. That as long as you didn't go further it was ok. One person even said she would have felt flattered."

Neil winced visibly, and Avery gave a small nod of acknowledgment, as though she'd expected his reaction.

"I'm not flattered, Neil. She can think what she wants, but that's not how I feel. Most got it," she said. "They understood exactly why it hurt, why I feel so sick."

Neil's voice was nearly a whisper. "I understand why you do, too."

"Do you?" She wasn't aggressive, but the question was pointed, sharp in its simplicity. "Because here's the thing, Neil. Before all this happened, before I found out what you did, I was starting to like you. Really like you."

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, pausing before continuing.

"Now I'm not even sure I want to see you."

Neil swallowed hard, feeling like he'd taken a blow he'd seen coming but couldn't dodge. It was the last thing he wanted to hear, but completely understandable... and, he felt, deserved. He gripped the counter tighter, his knuckles whitening as he tried to control himself. He wanted to apologize, but he'd done that already. It wouldn't help now. Instead, he forced himself to breathe, slowly and deliberately. What was decided here was entirely Avery's call and he could only make things worse by trying to make them better.

"I understand," he said. "If you want me to leave, I'll go."

Avery breathed slowly, staring fixedly down at her coffee. There was something she wanted to say and all he could do was wait for her to be ready. It was over a minute before she spoke. "That's the problem, Neil. I'm not sure what I want right now. I'm not even sure what I need. If you'd asked me last night, I'd have thrown you out without question." Her chin sank onto her hands and she exhaled deeply, like she was releasing years of anxiety for a moment of clarity. "But after talking to everyone, after trying to think this through--I'm confused."

Neil stayed quiet, waiting patiently while she sorted through her thoughts. He wouldn't rush her. Not now, nor ever again.

Finally, she lifted her gaze back to him. Her face was drawn, her eyes bleak. She reminded him of how she had been before she'd found the strength to live again. He realized he'd hurt her, but this made that realization solid.

"The thing is, you've helped me, Neil. You've made things easier. And until yesterday, you made me feel safe. I'm not sure I'm ready to lose that, even though you broke something between us."

He swallowed, throat painfully tight, his heart beating fast and unevenly in his chest. "Tell me what you want me to do," he said softly. "If there's a way for me to fix even part of it, just say the word."

Avery's gaze hardened slightly as she spoke. "You can't fix this, Neil. You did what you did -- it's not like you can undo it. But if you're going to stay, I have to know exactly what staying means." She paused, then took a breath. "Do you still think about me that way?"

He hesitated. She deserved honesty, and after everything, there was no way he could deceive her again--but the truth might still be the last thing she'd want to hear. Still, Neil didn't see any other acceptable option. "I still find you attractive, yes," he admitted. "I can't just turn that off. But that's mine to deal with, Avery. I won't let it affect how I behave towards you."

She nodded slowly, clearly processing his words. "Can you really do it, Neil? Can you separate what you feel from what you do? Can I actually trust you again?"

He considered his response carefully. He knew what she needed to hear, and he could say it honestly--but would it be enough? He didn't just want her to be safe, but to feel safe.

"I can," he said, each word dropped carefully into place. "I was wrong to think what I was doing was innocent or ok in any way. It's one thing to be attracted to someone, another to try to make that into something when they don't feel the same way. Maybe I've grown up. Maybe I just realize how stupid I was. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted me gone, especially knowing I still find you beautiful, sexy even. But I'm not going to lie to you and I'm not going to act on it. I promise you that."

Avery stared at him, a troubled look on her face.

"I don't expect you to just believe me, not after everything," Neil continued. "But I want the chance to prove it--to show you that I understand what real boundaries are. To show you that I can respect them."

He paused, searching her face. "But only if that's what you want. If you don't think you can ever trust me again, then I'll go right now. No argument."

He fell silent again, letting her have the space to think, to feel, to decide. The room was heavy with tension, with uncertainty. He watched her as she sat there, staring forward at the plate in front of her without moving. Her breathing was slow, shallow. Her lips were pursed and deep lines creased her forehead. He could almost feel her internal battle between anger and forgiveness, between resentment and appreciation. Part of him almost wished she'd tell him to leave, to spare them both this struggle.

"Okay," she said with a slight nod. "You stay, for now. But there have to be rules. And I mean real ones, ones you stick to without question."

Neil felt relief mixed with caution. "Of course. Whatever rules you set, I'll follow."

Avery met his eyes again, steadier this time. "First, move your things out of my old room and into my parents'. It feels weird having you in there right now. And you don't enter my bedroom unless I explicitly ask you. There's no touching, no hugs, no comfort unless I clearly invite it. You're here as my caregiver. Not my friend, not my--" She paused, faltering. "Nothing else."

Neil nodded again. "I understand."

She tapped her fingers on the table as she considered what else to say. Then she turned to stare at him as she took a deep, stilling breath. "And if tomorrow--or next week, or whenever--I change my mind and can't handle having you here, you leave immediately. No questions asked."

"I promise, the moment you say it, I'm gone."

Avery finally seemed to relax slightly, shoulders easing just enough to be noticeable. "All right," she said quietly. "Then we can try this."

Neil still didn't move. He wasn't sure what came next, but still felt the wrong move could ruin everything. She wanted full control and that not only made sense, but it was how it should be. Still, she'd also said how important him pushing her to live her life had been. Finally, he took a small risk. "You should eat," he urged. "Please."

She looked down, hesitated, then finally picked up her fork. "You too," she said, without looking up. "Starving yourself doesn't fix anything."

Neil turned toward the counter and took a slice of toast. The tension eased a little. This wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was a second chance--and more than he had expected. He knew he couldn't waste it.