Page 22 of Made
He flicks on a switch, and one of the heat lights above us comes on. Right. That does help.
“What did you mean when you said that I didn’t think you were beautiful back then?”
So he wants to go there. “I think it’s obvious, Maddox.”
He blinks at me, like he’s confused. “No, it’s really not. So how about you tell me.”
My cheeks are now burning, and it’s not just down to the heat lamp. It’s a combination of embarrassment and shame. Thememory of that rejection, but also now, as I try to put it into words, me realizing that he didn’t do anything wrong. The man is allowed to not find me attractive. It’s not exactly an exclusive list these days.
“Ellie? Please talk to me,” he says, and the pleading tone to his voice undoes me.
I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I went out with you that night because I was told you were a sure thing,” I blurt out the words, mortified as I say them, but I need him to stop looking at me the way he is. God, it sounds even worse out loud.
His eyes widen with… shock, or horror? Possibly both. And I totally understand why. There’s more to it, and maybe I’ll tell him, but right now, left as it is, it sounds terrible. If I was a guy saying this about a woman I would quite rightly be called an asshole.
“A sure thing?” He laughs, loud and booming, drawing the attention of the other people in the garden. “You thought I was…what, some kind of fucking gigolo?”
I throw a hand over my eyes. Oh dear goddess, dear patron saint of embarrassed women, please, please let the ground open right up and swallow me whole. “No, not that. It’s just that I’d been told by everyone?—”
“By everyone? Really? Because I didnotfuck everyone…”
“No. Okay. I was told by a lot of girls I met that you were, you know, up for it. That you never said no to anybody.” I risk a peek at him through my fingers.
He’s shaking his head, looking both amused and sad. “That’s kind of fucked up, Ellie. Would you please look at me, by the way?”
It’s very fucked up, actually. I drop my hands and face him. My cheeks are probably as red as my dress right now.
He has his head tilted to one side, viewing me with curiosity. “So you only wanted my body, huh?”
I wince. God, that sounds awful. “It wasn’t like that, Maddox.”
He rests his chin on his hand, his deep brown eyes twinkling. How can he be having this terrible conversation and still look so good? “Then what was it like? Tell me.”
He’s not making this easy, and part of me doesn’t blame him. I guess I’ve told myself the same narrative over the last couple of years, created my own legend. What happened between us hurt me, deeply, and the way I’ve coped with that is to put all the blame on him. Was that fair? Not at all, but it got me through those lonely nights. I suppose that painting him as some charismatic douche-bucket made me feel less stupid about opening up to him the way that I did. Something I don’t even do with friends, never mind complete strangers.
“Okay. Well. I’d just gotten out of this really toxic relationship. I was feeling really low about my…” I close my eyes and will my skin to stop burning up. Why is this so hard, all these years later? It’s like I’ve jumped in a time machine and I’m right back there, feeling like I’m not good enough for anybody all over again.
When I open my eyes again, he’s still staring at me intently. Still waiting for an explanation.
“My body confidence was low, you know? And I’d heard about you. From those girls at the hostel, and on my travels. You were kind of famous, Maddox.”
He sucks in a breath, a small smile still on his face, sadness creeping into his eyes. “As asure thing?”
I nod, and the sadness turns into fully-fledged hurt. Now I can, all too clearly, see this from his perspective, and it sucks. He’s a whole complex human being, and we objectified him. Reduced him to a ‘sure thing’ like he was some kind of sex toy. I wonder now if that’s one of the reasons him coming back into my life like this was such an unwelcome shock. It wasn’t just that herejected me when he apparently said yes to the rest of the world. It was that I was also ashamed of the way I behaved. Seeing him again held up a mirror to that.
“I’m so sorry, Maddox. I didn’t know you then and it wasn’t like… oh, god it was very wrong of them to say that about you, I know, but I don’t think they meant it a bad way. It was just fun to them. And they were very, very complimentary about your skills. I mean, you were something of a legend in Marrakech, in case you didn’t know, and if I’m being honest?—”
“Ellie,” he interrupts my string of word vomit, and I take the opportunity to suck in a much-needed breath of my own. “It’s okay. Really.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think it is.”
All this time I held the fact that he wouldn’t sleep with me against him, and only now do I see how very fucked up it was to expect him to. His rejection hurt, especially after we seemed to have such a connection—it stung even more than the breakup with the guy I’d been traveling with for four months—but none of that was Maddox’s fault.
He laughs again, a self-deprecating one this time. “No. It really is. Everything they said about me was true. I was a sure thing.” He screws his eyes closed, wincing. “I fucked anything with a pulse, Ellie. I had no respect for myself. I told myself I was having fun. But by the end, I wasn’t, I was just escaping from other things. I was using those women just as much as they were using me. That’s the truth and I’m ashamed of it now.”
“Oh.” I chew on my lip, not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel better or worse, because it kind of makes me feel the latter. He’s sitting here admitting to my face that he would literally fuck anybody, apart from me. “Right.”
Emotion flickers over him, and his expression turns serious. “That’s why I decided to become celibate.”
