Please Me, Daddy

Garcia

My fiancé is gay.

That was the thought echoing through my head as I stood there frozen, watching a scene I could never unsee. I stared at the two men in our bed, with Charles lost in a state of abandon I had never seen.

This was my fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry in five days. The man I had shared a bed, a future, a life with for five whole years. But there he was, completely absorbed in an intimacy he had never shown me.

I couldn't breathe anymore,everywhere felt like it was spinning. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. My eyes stayed locked, watching as if my brain couldn't register that this was real.

"Oh, Mark... yes," Charles murmured, and the words hit me like punches to the gut.

My hand flew to my mouth, pressing hard to keep the nausea down. My heart felt like it had been torn from my chest and shoved down a garbage disposal. Was this a nightmare? Was I going to wake up in our apartment, beside him, with his arms around me and none of this real?

The other man's low response was a muffled grunt I couldn't fully hear.

Tears burned the back of my eyes. My knees buckled slightly, and I reached out to the doorframe for support. He had never seemed that engaged with me. Our moments were always brief, rushed. Anytime I sought more connection, he would withdraw, citing tiredness or simply turning away.

My mind raced, spiraling out of control.

Is he gay? Bisexual? Has he always been like this? Had he been faking it with me? All these years? Every kiss, every time he said I love you, every plan we made for the future, was it all a lie?

I felt humiliated, sick, and utterly deceived.

How does anyone process this? How do you act when you discover your partner's profound betrayal days before the wedding?

I felt something wet on my cheeks. My hand lifted, brushing my skin. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

From the bed, Charles let out a low, final sound.

I shook my head slowly, like maybe if I shook hard enough, I could wake up from this twisted reality. But the sight of them was still there.

I laughed bitterly. "You know what?" I said, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You're really something, Charles."

They froze and Charles's head whipped toward me. His eyes stretched wide in panic. He scrambled away, grabbing at the nearest blanket and yanking it over himself.

"G-Gracie..." he stammered, his voice cracking. "What... what are you doing here?"

I pressed harder against the wall, still wiping at the tears with the back of my shaking hand, trying to stay on my feet.

"What am I doing here?" I repeated slowly, meeting his eyes. "That's the first thing you have to say? After I walk in on this?"

He shook his head, still clutching the blanket. "No. No, it's not- it's not what it looks like."

"Not what it looks like?" My voice rose. "Not what it looks like?!"

I pushed off the wall, legs wobbling, hands balled into fists. "Charles, you're betraying me. In our bed. In the house we bought for our future. And you have the audacity to tell me it's not what it looks like? What exactly is it, then?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His face crumpled as he looked at me with shame, guilt, and mostly fear.

"You're a coward," I hissed. "After everything I've done for you. After five years of loyalty, patience, planning our future together, this is what I get? This is who you are when I'm not looking? How could you?"

The other man sat up with a sigh. "This is messy," he muttered. He started pulling on his clothes. "I don't want to be in the middle of this, Charles. I'm leaving."

Charles turned to him, panicked. "Mark, wait- I'm sorry. I didn't know-"

Mark cut him off with a dismissive wave. "It's fine."

That did it. Something inside me snapped. My whole body shook with rage. Why were they acting so casual? He didn't even look surprised, which meant he knew about me.

"You have no respect!"

I stormed forward, overwhelmed by anger, but before I could reach him, Charles moved fast.

"Stop it, Gracie!" he shouted, grabbing my wrist and holding me back. "What are you doing?!"

"What am I doing?" I spat, eyes blazing. "Let me go! This involves him too!"

I tried to move toward Mark, but Charles stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Just stop," he said, his voice tense. "Don't do this."

My heart dropped. He was shielding him.

The man he cheated with. The man who now watched with a detached expression.

"Why?" I whispered, stunned. "Why are you protecting him? After what you did to me? Shouldn't you be trying to make this right?"

Behind Charles, Mark straightened his shirt. Then he looked at me, his gaze cold.

"Why are you so shocked?" he said, shrugging. "Did you honestly think this was about you? Use your head."

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Mark continued, "If it weren't for external pressures, do you really think you'd be here right now?"

My vision blurred with anger. I could feel the blood roaring in my ears. "Let me go," I growled through gritted teeth, trying to free my arm. "Let me go, Charles!"

"No!" he barked. "Calm down!"

In my struggle, I shoved against him, and he stumbled back a step. I stepped forward again, but Charles quickly moved between us. In the heat of the moment, his hand came up sharply to block me, making harsh contact with my arm.

"Don't you touch him!" Charles yelled, his own anger flaring.