Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

My panic attack eventually turned into a very low moment. I lost track of time, and it felt like my body was trying to move through some thick, impenetrable fog.  Eventually, the fog started to thin and I realized I was still on the floor. My limbs felt like lead as I struggled to my feet and went to my bathroom. All the sweating and crying made me feel gross. Very slowly, I took off my clothes and tossed them into a sad hump on the floor before running the shower.
My shower was long and I allowed the nearly burning water to soak into my tense muscles.  It was cathartic and the chaotic zigzag of my mind started to still. The reality of being on Baking Beasts was pressing against my skull, pushing beaneath my fingernails and sloughing off my skin. Whether or not I felt ready, someone clearly thought I should be on the show, and so I'd have to be on it. I showered until the steam was nearly thick enough to taste before turning off the taps and getting out of the shower.
After drying off, I sat on my bed in my towel and stared at the straight jacket white wall. I felt like I was in some sort of asylum of my own making. I had freaked out for nearly an hour and I felt exhausted. I'm too old to be this fucked up. What am I going to do if I have a panic attack on the show?
My phone started to vibrate, and I fell out of my mental fog. I hurried over to it, and saw it was Trace calling. My heart did a weird little flip where it swelled and faltered. I wanted to hear his voice but I couldn't let him know I was coming out of an attack.
But the want to hear his voice won out. So, I took a deep breath and answered the phone, drawing my cell up against my ear and willing my voice to come out strong and even.
"Hi," I said softly and my voice cracked right through.
Trace's warm, honey like voice was suddenly filled concern. "Woah, Darius. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I lied. "I just—I was cutting some onions. What're you up to?"
"Nothing really, I was just on lunch break. I was thinking I could come over and we could have lunch together?" Trace and I working so close together meant that we could meet up for lunch. Sometimes, in my apartment. But, Trace was never presumptuous and always asked if we were on for lunch.
My thoughts started to zigzag again. I wanted to tell Trace about my anxiety, maybe this was the sign I was waiting for. He would come over, and he'd ask me what was wrong, I'd tell him, and he'd understand... Maybe, I could just tell him the truth...Tell him that everything made me nervous and I was upset and that a hug from him would go a long way to making me feel better. A part of me imagined Trace being okay with all my flaws and understanding me in a way no one else could.
But, what if he didn't understand at all?
"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "Today isn't really a good day."
"Oh, damn." There was a long pause and I could hear the sound of my heart breaking. "Alright. Maybe tomorrow or next week?"
My flight was in three days. "Uh, maybe tomorrow?" I said, instead of telling him about the show.
"Darius, if something's wrong you can tell me. You..." Trace struggled. "You sound like you've been crying."
"I—I—haven't."
Trace sighed like he didn't want to press the issue. "Okay. Well, maybe we'll have lunch tomorrow?"
"Maybe." I said quietly.  "I'm sorry for sounding weird. I just—I just don't want you to think I'm acting like this on purpose. I'm not."
His voice was softer, and quiet. "I don't think that of you, Darius."
My voice cracked again but I felt like I had to explain myself. "I'm sorry I'm like this."
It took a few seconds for Trace to respond and his voice was like a warm caress against the shell of my ear. "Okay," he said patiently. "I'll ask you one more time, but I'll explain myself better. I can come over and we can have a conversation I've wanted to have for a while. Or, I'll give you the space you're asking for, and I'll be okay with whichever decision it ends up being. I just want you to know that even if you can't confide in me right now, I hope you can eventually. Alright?"
I nodded before remembering we were on the phone.  "Okay." The warm, reliable tenor of his voice was incredibly soothing.
"I'm just passing by the bakery on a run for my office. You can text me and let me know if you want me to come over. You don't have to text me if you need space. I hope you feel better." And then he hung up, just like that.
The entire time on the phone he hadn't been condescending or pushy, just quietly patient. For the next five minutes I got dressed, putting on a thin sweatshirt and some sweatpants. I tried to think while cleaning up a little.
Trace giving me options and not being upset made me feel like this would be the best opportunity to tell him. So, I took a deep breath and texted him to come over.
And, sooner rather than later I was letting Trace into my apartment and stammering out an apology I could barely get out. It felt like my anxiety was worse than usual, and the very thought of talking to Trace about it was only making me feel more nervous.
Aside from a short hello, Trace didn't say anything, and I didn't get one of the customary hugs I had grown used to. Instead, he was carrying a bundle of things and I gently took the load while he went to the trouble of untying his shoes and taking them off.
After he got his shoes off he took the bundle back from me. "I brought you some chocolates." Trace's smiles made his entire face seem soft, somehow making his cheekbones less severe, and his eyes more kind.
"You didn't have to do that." I murmured, gripping the assorted dark chocolates box in my hand. It was more expensive than I expected and I knew it was high grade chocolate. The fact Trace had remembered that dark chocolate was my favourite and had gone to the trouble was heart melting.
We made our way into my living room and Trace quirked his head up at me. "I wanted to. Hey, do you mind if I eat my lunch?"
"Oh yeah, of course." I said.
Trace was acting completely normal, and he didn't comment on how my voice sounded or how red my eyes were. It made me feel better that he wasn't asking me questions I didn't know how to answer.
We got situated on the couch  where Trace opened up his lunch box and took out a bento box. He made handling chopsticks look so easy, his long fingers deftly picking up maki rolls, handling sticky rice, and neatly moving around pieces of meat and fish. Between quick bites, Trace got a more serious look on his face.
"Can I tell you something?" He said quietly. "About my leg."
There was a moment where he looked at me, and I could tell he needed me to listen. As much as it seemed like Trace wanted me to trust him I wanted him to trust me, too. Soundlessly, I nodded.
He struggled, fixing his eyes on the chopsticks he fidgeted with. "I mean— I was sixteen and in Japan, obviously. You probably don't know this but I was raised in Tokyo. It was me and Nalini's birthday and we were all in the car heading to a barbecue restaurant." He gave me a pained smile, his eyes very far away. "You know those places with the grill in the middle of the table? And it's all you can eat. I was really looking forward to it."
He swallowed and I could see his Adam's apple bobbing. "So, some car came speeding through a red light and hit us from the side—my side. In the crash my shoulder dislocated, my arm snapped, and my leg got crushed. They say you're not supposed to remember stuff like that, but I-I remember never being in so much pain. It was just this— Fuck." He put down his chopsticks and fixed his gaze down at his prosthetic. Trace looked angry, and hurt. But, it wasn't the kind of pain I could take away.
"When they transported me to the hospital they couldn't save part of my leg." Trace continued in a low, strangled tone, still restlessly fidgeting with his chopsticks. "The bones in my foot had essentially crumbled and began to disrupt circulation. So, it was either part of my leg or, if we waited too long, I would lose the whole leg. I didn't even get a choice, really. I woke up and it was gone. It felt like the worst thing that ever happened to me. A lot of amputees go through it. Everything feels wrong and it starts with the limb you no longer have. Not everyone like me is self conscious but it just kind of reminds of when I was this insecure kid who just came out of a traumatic accident." Trace's voice was hoarse and he closed his eyes. It looked like it took a lot for him to chew the next words out. "I feel like you've been wanting to ask me about my leg and I've been wanting to tell you."
"I'm sorry." I said, feeling like my words would never be enough. "I don't know what to say, but I'm sorry you were in so much pain." I hated the look on Trace's face that spoke to memories I could never really understand.
Trace laughed, and his face stretched into a terrible, terrible smile. A smile that said his hurt was a lot deeper than he was letting on and it would always be something he'd try to bury with hunour. "It's not your fault, Darius. I just—wanted to open up to you, even if it's hard. And I feel like if I don't laugh about it, I might start crying." And then he laughed again, but the sound was sort of wet and he rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry, it wasn't supposed to go like this."
I didn't know what to do so I hugged him. We were both still sitting on the couch, but I moved into his space and wrapped my arms around his waist. He hugged me back, his head falling into the crook of my neck and my shoulder. We were so close I could feel his eyelashes teasing the side of my neck and his heart beating hard against his chest.
"Thank you for telling me even though it was hard." I said quietly and into Trace's hair.
He hugged me harder than he ever had before. His voice was muffled, "Thank you for listening, Darius. God, I love the way your hugs feel. You make me feel so safe."
I was stunned by his words because Trace was the one who made me feel safe. But, it I could give him that feeling just by hugging him, I'd never let him go. "I'll  always listen." I said quietly, wanting him to feel just how much I meant it.
#
Eventually, Trace's lunch break was over, and I walked him out of my apartment. It was a nice day outside and I decided to walk Trace over to his workplace. It was only about a five minute walk from Sweets N Things.
The walk was easy, and Trace had a habit of affectionately bumping my shoulder or touching my arm whenever he laughed at something I said. I didn't consider myself funny, but the way Trace's eyes creased when he laughed made me think otherwise.
We got to a crosswalk and waited for the light to change in companionable silence. Then, someone tapped me on the shoulder. At first, I ignored it, because I figured it was an accident or someone accidentally bumping into me but the tapping became more insistent.
When I turned, I saw a smaller man. Or really it was an impression of a tumble of blond hair, ocean blue eyes and plumped up lips. I mean, it was a large city, with millions of people, but I was still surprised to see Jeremy.
His demeanour was what had attracted me to him in the first place. Jeremy was blunt and unafraid to go after what he wanted. I had always been drawn to direct, confident people. But, now that we weren't dating, I could see that Jeremy wasn't direct and confident but pushy and arrogant. The look he gave me was just that; as forward as it was haughty.
Jeremy was dressed in a simple outfit of skinny jeans and a t-shirt. It emphasized his trim waist and small frame. In a blink his expression changed to that of an easygoing smile.
"Oh my gosh, Derr-Bear! It's been forever!" He gave me a sudden hug. The hug felt wrong because of what he had done to me. He had disrespected me, cheated on me, and generally spoken down to me and he thought it was okay to hug me? I stood there in shock, not hugging him back but feeling his slender frame fold against my own bulk.
I mumbled something about how we should move out of the crosswalk and the three of us shuffled off to an uncrowded corner of the sidewalk. The entire time Trace was looking between me and Jeremy. His face was so still and it disturbed me he was only watching. I couldn't get a read on what he thought about Jeremy. It was completely throwing me off balance that Jeremy and Trace were both standing right there.
"Uh, Hi Jeremy." I said, wishing he wouldn't stand so close. "This is Trace. And Trace...This is Jeremy?" It came out like a question and I tried to act normal but on the inside I was totally freaking out.
"Oh, aren't you cute?" Jeremy said softly, giving Trace a once over that was far too careful for my liking. "Please tell me your friend isn't straight, Dairy." He just about purred. I knew exactly what he was doing and I didn't like it one bit.
Trace raised his brows at 'Dairy' giving me a somewhat amused look. After a beat, Trace looked down at Jeremy. I waited for the moment where the look would turn to one that lingered but it didn't.
"I'm taken." He said dismissively. Trace looked at Jeremy like he was some kind of insect instead of the very pretty man that he was. Whenever Jeremy and I had gone out, people noticed how blond he was, the ocean blue eyes and his pouty lips. It didn't seem like any of that even made a blip on Trace's radar.
Jeremy looked as surprised as I felt. He pouted a little more. "How do you know Dairy anyways?"
"Ah, well, he's—" I stuttered, looking to Trace to save me.
He gave a me a gentle nod but his voice was firm. Trace drew his hand down my arm comfortingly. "We're dating."
Jeremy blinked once, and then again. Then, he frowned. "Seriously?"
"Yes, Jeremy—" I said.
"Well, that's a little fast for you, isn't it?" Jeremy had the soft note in his voice he always had before he was about to humiliate someone. But, I didn't want to be the subject of any kind of joke.
"Jeremy—" I warned, but it came out more like I was pleading with him.
"Well," his smile was mean. "It just surprised me, that's all. I mean, you probably don't know this about Dairy, Tracey."
"It's Trace." I corrected.
Jeremy blinked, directing all his attention to Trace. "You probably don't know this, but Dairy can be very particular about things. I mean someone not as kind as me would say sensitive. But, I mean if you're into that kind of thing, then." He shrugged his shoulder and smiled.
"I'm not sensitive." I said quickly, not wanting Jeremy to tell Trace things about me that only he knew.
"Really, Dairy?" Jermey propped a hand on his hip, and gave me a look of disbelief. "What about when you were crying on my kitchen floor?" He laughed. "I would consider that pretty sensitive. I've never seen someone so big crying like a kid, but I mean you must get that a lot."
"Stop it Jeremy!" I seethed, leaning down until he finally looked at me. "Stop purposefully embarrassing me."
The smile was gone and anger was carved into the lines of his face. "I just can't believe you've moved on so quickly. How is that fair, Darius? Were you cheating on me? It took you forever to hold hands, even to kiss me and don't get me started on sex. Were you getting it somewhere else?"
My heart was beating so intently I could feel it behind my eyeballs. The pound of it bursting within my body. "Can we not have this conversation, please ?" I stressed.
Jeremy blinked like he remembered where we were and he stepped closer to me, lowering his voice. "You didn't even let me explain or let us have a last talk."
"There's nothing to talk about—" I ground out. Humiliation filled my throat and I turned around, not even waiting to see if Trace would follow me.
But just a second later he was at my side, talking quietly, and putting a large, stable hand at the small of my back.
"Are you okay?" He said. It didn't sound judgmental. In fact his voice radiated calm and patience.
But, I felt humiliated and embarrassed. I hadn't even been able to check Trace's reaction when Jeremy was saying all those things about me. I couldn't have him know how much his words had hurt and rattled me.
I rolled my shoulder so he would move his hand away and slowly, he did. "No." I said in a clipped voice. "And I would never cheat on anyone. Obviously. I don't know why he was saying those things. I hate that he's like that. I can't understand it at all. God, this is such a mess. I'm sorry he's like that."
Trace was keeping up at my side, looking over at me even though I was looking straight ahead. Central Tower was looming over us and we were just about outside the building where Trace worked.
"Of course I don't care about what he said." Trace said firmly. "He was clearly trying to fuck with you. Don't let someone half your size manipulate you like that."
I stopped, and it took Trace a couple seconds to stop, too. "I know that. I know that what he says isn't supposed to bother me but I don't see what that has to do with my size. I know I'm not exactly Mr. Masculine Monthly but I can't help that people half my size can get to me. I appreciate that you're trying to help, but I don't see what size has to do with it."
"I didn't mean to imply—"
"It's fine." I cut him off. I wanted Trace to be different. I wanted him to see me as me, not the over sized freak that I was. Not get ideas about what it meant for me to be big and black the way so many people did. But maybe it wasn't possible for anyone to look past that. "Everyone gets caught up in what I look like and what they think it means." My voice came out all crags and edges, and I didn't mean it to, but I couldn't help it.
In my peripheral I saw Trace stop. "Okay. You're obviously upset. And, I didn't mean to imply that your size means anything. It was just crazy watching you let him get to you. You don't have to walk me to work, and we'll talk later if you're up for it." His voice was hard and his dark eyes were unreadable.
I didn't get a hug. Just a wave and a frown before Trace turned around and left. In the middle of the sidewalk, I stopped, watching Trace walk away from me. His silhouette got smaller and smaller until he was gone and the entire time I wasn't sure if I wanted to go after him or go back home. So I just stayed where I was.