Am I gay?

I was lying on my bed, back at the flat, all the lights out save for the one at my bedside, the radio on quietly in the background, the smell of smoke hanging fresh in the air from a stubbed out fag; a place where I'd normally spend hours thinking over one particular issue again and again and again, getting nowhere, yet inevitably winding myself up over the whole thing.

I thought the same thing would happen with this issue, that kiss with Dennis.

...and then the second one outside the restaurant.

How could I make heads or tails of that?

But, strangely, for once, my brain seemed to get right to the point, to that oh so ugly and direct question that I could never have imagined I'd be asking myself:

Am I gay?

Dennis' face kept flashing back into my mind, those deep blue eyes and that wicked loose grey hair of his, how genuinely attractive he'd looked in that suit in Oliver's.

And then the memory of us in the hospital, those moments where we'd kissed that felt like a lifetime. Everything flooded back to me so quickly, so vividly, the way his hand danced across my back under my shirt, like this incredible electric current, shocking me into such a forceful life I didn't know I had, how I'd unconsciously let my hands work over his back as we made out, like it was the most natural thing in the world, the feel of his warm defined back against my fingers.

Could it just be Dennis? Just this one, random man I happened to have come across that had this strange effect on me? Does sexuality work like that? Can you spend your whole life straight, but there's this one person, just the one, out there that is exclusively for you, that one individual you would cross over for?

I sat up in my bed and pulled out another Marlboro from the packet at the bedside. Even if I felt something for the guy, something I wished with all my soul that I could identify, the bastard had gotten me back into this stupid habit. Merci, Dennis.

The phone suddenly sounded into life, jolting me upright in shock, and causing me to burn my hand with the lit end of the fag. "NOM DE DIEU !" I swore aloud. "Hello?"

"Allo bro'zer, I'm sorry it iz a little late..."

Ah, Jacques. Great. Exactly the person I didn't need to talk to right now. "Oui Jacques, qu'est-ce que tu veut?"

"Oh, ah, um, it's nu'zink, I just wanted to make sure you were didn't stay long, and you left wi'zout saying goodbye to Amelia or me..."

Please Lord, let this be brief, don't make him ask any questions. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Something came over me, a cold or a flu or something, I don't know. I felt really bad and just needed to get home and to bed quickly. I hope you understand."

"Ah, I see," Jacques replied, but i could hear the scepticism in his voice. Please just let him hang up now. "Amelia and I z'ought zat maybe it was Dennis who had said som'sink? You two went outside toge'zer, but he was ze only one to come back in..."

"No! No..." Dammit, that was too quick and too loud. "No, Jacques, don't worry. Dennis... Dennis was the one who suggested I go home. He told me I looked a bit off and called me a cab. It's fine."

Jacques stayed silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Oh, please, just say something! "Erm, well, okay. Get well soon little bro'zer. I'm in town for ze rest of ze week, so hopefully if you feel better we can meet up again?"

No. No. Please, just go back to France and Valentine and your kids and leave me be for a while. Please. "Okay then, yeah, I'll keep you posted on how I feel. Thanks for calling Jacques."

"N-No problem mon fr re. Dors bien."

"You too."

I couldn't hang the phone up fast enough.