<h4>Chapter 55: I Am Not Gay</h4>


    <strong>Reed POV </strong>


    "You... you don’t have to do that. I’m... I’m a girl. Disguised as a guy," she said—meekly, softly, like the confession itself weighed more than her skin could carry.


    And just like that—


    The room stopped breathing.


    My heartbeat paused.


    Even my damn <i>wolf</i> froze mid-step in my mind, ears forward, silence thick like fog choking the trees.


    She’s... a <i>girl</i>?


    My foot halted mid-air.


    I stared at her—no, <i>her</i>—the curve of her chest still barely hidden by her trembling arms, her eyes wide and pleading. Not for mercy. Not for release. But for <i>understanding</i>.


    But I wasn’t understanding.


    I was unraveling.


    Every fucking piece I’d boxed up and nailed shut started rattling loose.


    She’s not a boy with boobs.


    Not some cursed mix of both.


    <i>She’s a girl.</i>


    A <i>female</i> who tricked me. Lied to me. Hid herself in the skin of something I thought I could control. Someone I thought I <i>understood</i>.


    "Are you..." I started, but my throat was too dry to finish.


    She looked away.


    <i>Not a lie</i>, my wolf whispered, almost reverently. <i>She told us. She gave the truth.</i>


    "A girl?"


    The words left my mouth like they burned my tongue.


    I didn’t believe it.


    No—I <i>refused</i> to believe it.


    This had to be a trick.


    Some sick, twisted joke from the universe. From the goddess. From <i>her</i>.


    She crouched there like a trembling creature, eyes wide, chest heaving—<i>boobs</i> still clumsily hidden behind crossed arms and shame. But her voice, that soft shaky confession... it didn’t sound like a lie.


    It sounded like surrender.


    My wolf growled low in my head, pacing, restless—but not angry. No, he was... listening.


    I wasn’t.


    I couldn’t.


    "You expect me to believe that?" I snapped, taking a step forward, voice low, sharp like broken ss. "That you’re some innocent little girl in disguise? Just ying dress-up with your chest wrapped up and your scent all fucked up on purpose?"


    Her flinch was subtle. Almost missable.


    Almost.


    "You’ve been lying since the beginning," I hissed. "Acting like some smart-mouthed little shit—getting in my way, running your mouth, hiding <i>this</i>—" My hand gestured toward her body, shaking. "Why?"


    She didn’t answer.


    I didn’t want her to.


    Because the silence meant <i>maybe</i> I didn’t have to face the way my gut twisted. The way my wolf <i>watched</i> her. Not with hunger. Not with rage. But with... something else.


    And I didn’t want to name that something.


    I wasn’t supposed to <i>want</i> anything from her.


    Not from a filthy, lying human. Not from someone who wrapped their truth up inyers of deception. Not from—


    Someone who made my hands itch when I wasn’t touching them.


    Someone who made my chest feel <i>wrong</i> when she wasn’t near.


    Someone who...


    <i>Fuck</i>.


    What the hell was happening to me?


    "What else are you hiding?" I asked again, softer this time, but not gentler. My voice was colder now. Deader. Like something in me didn’t want her to answer. Didn’t want to hear something that would drag me deeper into the abyss I was skirting.


    Because if she gave me the truth—


    And if that truth fit too well—


    I wasn’t sure what I’d be next.


    <strong>**************</strong>


    She’s a girl.


    A <i>fucking</i> girl.


    Relief surged through me like a drug I didn’t ask for but desperately needed.


    My lungs remembered how to breathe. My skin stopped crawling. My gut stopped trying to w its way out of my body.


    I’m not gay.


    I’m <i>not</i> gay.


    Gods, for days—maybe weeks—I thought I was slipping. Falling into some deviant spiral of twisted desire I couldn’t exin. Wanting him—<i>her</i>—touching her, <i>dreaming</i> of her.


    And now...


    Now it makes sense. <i>Now</i> it’s allowed.


    But then—rage. Blistering. Burning. Tearing through my veins like acid.


    Because <i>she</i> did this to me.


    She made me think I was broken. Defective. A man who wanted another man.


    She had me pacing in my own mind like a caged animal, questioning everything I was, everything I <i>knew</i>. Had me thinking the universe was spitting on meughing as I fell for a boy with <i>boobs</i>.


    She made me <i>doubt</i> myself.


    And the worst part?


    I still want her.


    Not because I’m relieved, not because I’ve found some sick excuse—but because something in me <i>chose</i> her before the truth was revealed.


    And that—


    That’s the part that won’t shut up.


    Because if I wanted her when I thought she was something else, someone else, some <i>wrongness</i> wrapped in a lie... then what the fuck does that say about me?


    My wolf’s quiet now. Too quiet. Like he’s waiting. Watching. Like he’s already made peace with the chaos and just needs <i>me</i> to catch up.


    But I don’t want peace.


    I want to burn this whole confusion out of my system. I want to scream at her. I want to grab her and shake her and demand she undo all the damage she caused inside me.


    Because I’m not fucking broken.


    She is.


    And she made <i>me</i> believe I was.


    <strong>**********</strong>


    I wasn’t gay.


    And she wasn’t a boy.


    But can you really fucking me me for needing to see it with my own eyes?


    Yeah, my wolf had already confirmed it—low, gruff certainty in the back of my mind <i>"she’s telling the truth"</i>. But that wasn’t enough. Not after everything.


    You try living with this maddening chaos for weeks—waking up hard, dreaming of him—her—whatever.


    <fnb161> N?w ?ovel chapt?rs are published on FindN()vel</fnb161>


    Thinking you’ve lost it. Thinking you’ve <i>changed</i>. That maybe everything you thought you were—was a lie.


    I <i>came to terms</i> with it.


    With being gay. For <i>him</i>.


    I rewrote the rules of who I am because I couldn’t stay away.


    And now she says she’s a girl.


    Just like that.


    You expect me to ept it?


    Just <i>ept</i> it?


    No.


    I needed to see.


    Needed <i>proof</i>.


    Because some sick, twisted part of me thought: <i>What if this is still a game? What if this is just another lie to manipte me, to make me drop my guard?</i>


    I had to know—had to strip away every shred of doubt.


    Because this wasn’t about her body.


    This was about reiming control of my fucking reality.


    I didn’t trust anything—not her scent, not her voice, not even my own wolf.


    So yeah. I had to see if she had a dick.


    I <i>had</i> to.


    Because you don’t un-break a brain overnight.


    You don’t erase madness with a whispered confession.


    You tear the truth out with your own hands.


    And maybe, just maybe, once it’s raw and exposed—you can finally <i>breathe</i> again.