I got up to get another beer. The light in the kitchen, which was just fluorescent light passing through a filthy fixture to shine on squalor and despair was taking on a strange magical glow. I was at that strange place of being drunk, and perhaps of depression, when everything was taking on layers of meaning it didn’t actually have. I tried to shake off the glow of the kitchen light and the drunken maudlin fog in my brain. Even if this was a safe space, it was never a good idea to go too far down this road. It ended with me being too fascinated by my own reflection, the disconnect I feel toward it, and watching sad movies and crying. Even when I’m too drunk and numb to cry over my own life, I can always work up a few tears for Steel Magnolias.

When I went back out into the living room, I managed to fake it to such a degree things started being fun again. Mike was teasing me. I was laughing, and it felt like I had always known him. I did wonder if I would want to touch him as much if I knew it was allowed. I wanted him more because he was rejecting me, and he was broken and beautiful. I was falling for him.

When my hands seemed to be moving slowly, and Mike was getting a little too loud I had to admit I was drunk. I didn’t want to go home. It started to make me feel anxious. It wasn’t the safety thing. Going home at night alone and drunk wasn't safe, but having to stand on that cold, lonely street corner which smelled of garbage and frozen metal waiting for the bus and going home to my apartment with its overflowing trash container just didn’t make me want to get off the couch.

As if he knew what I was thinking, Mike said, “You can stay here.”

“Really?” I asked, but in my mind, I thought, “Thank god.” Out loud I said, “Are you sure? I can take the bus home.”

“Of course. I don’t want you riding the bus alone at night.”

“It’s no trouble. I do it all the time,” I said, which was true. It wasn’t the safest thing in the world but on the scale of unsafe things women do it was pretty far down the list.

Mike back-peddled. “I’m not saying you can’t do it. You don’t have to stay here. I don’t want to force you.”

“No, I know. I just. I don’t want to sleep alone. Can we snuggle? Platonically, of course.” I shouldn’t have said it. Forcing him to do something he was uncomfortable with wasn’t my plan, but I also didn’t want to sleep alone, or more likely lay on his couch listening to unfamiliar night sounds until I finally passed out.

“You want to sleep with me? Like actually, sleep? Aren’t you afraid?” he asked, and his voice took on a different tone. I thought it was fear, but perhaps it was suppressed anger. It made his words come out too fast and sound harsh.

“Of what? That you’ll hurt me?” I continued, “No. If you wanted to hurt me, I assume you already would have when you found me drunk and cowering in an elevator.”

“I’m not safe, not to human women.” He didn’t look at me when he said it. His hands groped for his bong. He picked it up unconsciously, twisting its neck nervously in his hands. On some level, it was his security blanket.

I tried to think why he could be unsafe “Like the old myths about centaurs raping human women or like that you’ll roll over on me? I’m sorry. I don’t understand why you’re not safe.”

“They’re not myths. How do you think centaurs get made? There are no female centaurs. Who do you think my mother was?” he asked.

“Oh, I had no idea. Do you have some urge to rape me? Should I leave? I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but you don’t seem to want to rape me.” I wanted to reach out and touch him, to comfort him after what he implied about his conception, the loss of his mother, and how he must view himself as a monster. I didn’t dare. I didn’t want to risk triggering some kind of berserker rage if it was true.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to ever hurt you,” Mike said. His voice sounded thick.

“Okay, good. I trust you. Just don’t roll over on me, and we’ll be okay. I promise.” I reached out, and for the first time since I had met him, I laid my hand on his arm. Something deep inside me opened up.

“I won’t roll over on you,” he said, “I’m going to go brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I don’t have a spare toothbrush, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Can I use your toothpaste?” I asked. The feeling had changed so abruptly I could feel the shift on my skin. Even the light looked different somehow. It had taken on a clear and bright quality.

“Of course. Excuse me.” Mike rose majestically to his feet. His massive improbable body flowed in one quick motion. It was the first time I had seen him move unconsciously as if he wasn’t afraid anymore. The magic seemed to imbue every inch of him, and that was a lot of inches.

He went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him leaving me alone in his living room. Resting my head on the back of his couch with my neck exposed I could see his popcorn ceiling, which had a stain that looked like a rabbit and corners were dusty. Staring at the ceiling and trying to be calm, I couldn’t help but think maybe I was doing the wrong thing. Was I forcing this man to do something he didn’t want to? Was I putting myself at risk? Was I putting him at risk of maybe freaking out and attacking me? Why wasn’t he coming out of the bathroom? I started to worry I hadn’t heard from him. What would I do if he just barricaded himself in the bedroom and didn’t come out to avoid having to sleep next to me? If I was doing something that was making him uncomfortable that I was even considering this, perhaps I was doing the wrong thing. Maybe he wasn’t coming out because he was hiding something. What the hell was taking him so long? Maybe he was hiding a bunch of pornography, or perhaps he had hidden all the mess from the living room in the bedroom, and now he was in a total panic to clean it up. I was internally debating the merits of knocking when he came out not wearing a shirt.

In an ironic T-shirt, he looked good. Shirtless he looked like sculpture, an intimidating sculpture. I was aware of every flaw in my body, of the bit of weight that hung over my pants, of my hair which was frizzing out, of the acne scar next to my mouth. It took long enough for me to respond I could see panic beginning to spread over his face. “My turn in the bathroom?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sorry, everything's such a mess. I’m not much of a housekeeper.” He ran his fingers through his blonde hair and exposed more of his lovely delicate face.

“Please, you should see my place. It’s hard to stay motivated when you live alone.” I pointed to the door he had just come out of. “Bathroom’s through there then?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry it’s messy.” He backed through the door, his hooves moving with care. He had to bend so his torso was almost even with the topline of his horse half to get through the door. I stepped through after him. The ceilings weren’t quite as high in the bedroom as they were in the main living area, but they were still much higher than they were in my apartment, and he could easily stand upright. At some point, the room had been very tastefully decorated, with a double or triple king sized huge ebony bed with a bookshelf headboard full of books. Above the bed hung a map of the world and the walls were painted a dark, almost brown green. On each side of the bed, there was a small, austere bedside table that looked to be made entirely out of one piece of black wood and a spare, contemporary lamp, with a long chrome neck, stood on each one. I couldn’t make out the base because precarious stacks of books topped with bowls and dishes covered both tables. Some attempt had been made to stack the dishes. I couldn’t tell if that was in my honor or not.

He had pulled the tan duvet over the bed, folded it down, and neatened up the pillows. There were no windows in the bedroom, and the closet door, the folding panel kind, was slightly ajar with a wad of something blocking the way. How many shirts did the guy own? It’s not like he ever wore anything else.

The bathroom door was slightly open, and I went in. It was almost as big as the bedroom and all marble. There was a sink covered in stuff, a hair brush, toothpaste, and deodorant all vied for room on the marble slab surrounding the freestanding bowl with a waterfall faucet. The mirror above it was flecked with toothpaste and a few smears. Along one wall there were jets as well as a shower head and a big drain so the whole wall turned into a shower and could spray him from multiple angles. The toilet was a bench, made of the same marble as the rest of the room and the shelf the sink sat on. It had no seat, just a hole, and there was a discreet handle on the side. There didn’t seem to be any toilet paper, which made sense since how would he use it. I peed and washed myself off with water from the sink as best I could, which was kind of gross, but I couldn't think what else to do. I washed my hands and brushed my teeth with my finger and wished I had cleaned my teeth before I peed. Now that I was cleaner, I slid off my bra and stuck it in my bag so I would be more comfortable. I could not sleep in a bra.

When I went back out Mike was in bed. He looked less awkward than I thought he'd look laying down in bed. His was on his side and he had stretched out his human half, his head on a pillow. The covers obscured his other half. It was just massive mound stretching out over the gigantic bed.

When I got into bed, I pulled the covers over myself and wiggled out of my pants, dropping them on the floor beside me. I couldn’t sleep in them. I was uncomfortably aware of not having pants on and hyper-aware of the man lying beside me and of the smell of him on his bed. His pillows smelled wonderful, like his body. He smelled of man and faintly of horse.

“Good night,” he said, his voice deep and melodious.

Hearing his voice, smelling him on the pillows, I wanted to touch him, to kiss him, yet his folded front legs and hooves were between us. Literally, his hard, potentially deadly, very uncuddly hooves were between us, but metaphorically I suspected they were between us as well. If he had just been a human man, we would have been making out right now. If he had just been a norm, I wouldn’t have been there at all. I wondered if he was thinking about kissing me, too. He was next to me. I could hear him breathing beside me in the dark. It would be nothing to reach out and touch him, kiss him, hold him, at the same time I didn’t want to push him too hard. What if he was right, and he wasn’t safe? What if casual contact would send him over the edge into some sort of rape fugue state?

It didn’t even seem like it would be possible for him to spoon me. His hooves would get in the way. There they were again, always being a bother, perhaps there was some way around it, or rather of addressing them directly.

“Mike, can I touch you?” I asked. I heard him breathe in, but he didn’t answer right away. I lay there staring at his ceiling, covered in unfamiliar shadows.

“I want you to touch me, but you can’t,” he said.

I didn’t turn and look at him. I asked, “Are you still afraid you’ll hurt me?” The blanket smelled of him, too, but more horsey.

“Yes, but I’m also afraid you'll hurt me.” Mike said it very softly.

The room was dark and still with only the street sounds filtering through. I could hear the emotion in his voice, the sadness, and the vulnerability. I turned toward him and watched him in the dark. It wasn’t true dark. It never is in the city, but it was dark enough it washed out all the colors until nothing remained except for the white of his skin and his pale hair. The bed was so big he had his head on the pillow next to mine and for the first time we were eye to eye. With his horse half under the covers, he could have been a human.

“I won’t hurt you,” I said defensively, reflexively. Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. How can we ever say we won’t hurt someone we want to kiss? In the end, we always do, always.

“You will. I’m not human. I’m not even something that can pass for human. I’m sort of like disfigured. Maybe right now you think it’s different or even sexy. In the end, it won’t be. It’ll be a handicap. You’ll grow to be ashamed of me and disgusted. I don’t want that. I’d rather just lay here watching you and thinking about how your lips would feel than to lay here alone and wonder why you’re never coming back.”

“We don’t have to kiss. It doesn’t have to be sexual. I just want to feel your body against mine, your skin on mine, your breath, and your heartbeat. You seem to be alone all the time, and I’m alone. If we’re together, really together just in this moment, maybe it will be enough.”

It was like I was on a precipice. What would I choose and how would I go? Fear flooded me, tinged with a sexual anticipation. He didn’t say no. I waited a moment longer for him to object but I only heard his breathing. Dragging the covers with me I moved toward him, but not to his human part. Instead, I walked around and crawled up against his great horseback, lay my back against his horse back, head against his human half, and curled into the fetal position. Snuggled up and making myself small I fit perfectly into the dip in his back. His body was hot and hard, with no fat anywhere. I could hear him kick the covers, but he said nothing.

I lay there for a few moments. “Why don’t I feel you breathing?”

“That’s not where my lungs are. They’re up in my chest with my heart. It’s mostly stomach down there.” His voice didn’t reverberate in his horse body at all.