I just need to get through tonight. Then I can start work and continue to only spend time with the four friends I keep close.
I can go back to my regular scheduled programming of runs in the morning, the gym in the afternoon, and consistency. Normalcy.
And most importantly, I can go back to watching Atticus from a safe distance during the brief times he visits town. His proximity is driving me nuts.
It’s making me… curious.
With one final deep breath, I wipe my face, take a leak, and wash my hands. Everything is kind of blurry, and the world is shifting too quickly, but I’m still thinking mostly straight, so that’s good.
I’m sighing as I open the door of the ensuite, greeted by the dark guestroom lit up only by the bathroom light.
As I notice the figure sitting at the end of the queen-sized bed, I startle, smacking my head into the casing of the threshold.
“Fuck!” I shout, clutching the side of my head.
“You alright?” A cold chill moves through me at the sound of Atticus’s voice.
Did I summon him or something?
“Yeah,” I mumble, rubbing at the sore spot on my scalp before dropping my hand. “Sorry, it’s all yours.”
Gesturing toward the bathroom, I begin to walk toward the closed door of the guestroom. I didn’t close that, right?
“I don’t need it.” His low, confident tone makes me want to shiver. To hear it again. To learn how to swallow it and project it from within my own body.
“Oh.” For some reason, my feet stop moving. And now I’m standing in the center of the room, facing where he sits, staring dumbly.
Atticus has his feet planted firmly on the ground, his legs spread, his back straight, as his hands sit clasped in his lap. Hisexpression is carefully blank as he watches me, the light of the bathroom making him glow.
Ethereal.
“That girl,” he says, “she’s your girlfriend.”
It’s not a question. And it’s also not correct.
“No,” I say, rubbing at the back of my neck anxiously. “Just a friend. Or sort of a friend? We know each other.”
Why I am trying so hard to explain myself, I don’t know.
Atticus hums quietly, his head tilting just slightly. “But she wants to be. " Your girlfriend, I mean.”
I want to throw my hands out in exasperation. What are these questions? And how wouldIknow what Grace wants?
“I… I don’t know? She wants sex. Probably just sex.” My tone portrays my frustration, but I’m pretty positive I’m correct.
She just got dumped, and I doubt she wants a boyfriend already.
“And will you?” Atticus pushes.
“Will I what?” I’m confused, most likely staring at him like an idiot. But who can fault me? He’s asking all of these out-of-pocket, random questions!
And I’ve… I’ve never beenalonewith Atticus before. It’s overwhelming.
“Will you have sex with her?” he clarifies.
This time, I don’t startle at the straightforwardness. I stay frozen, my mouth gaping.
When it becomes clear he won’t be sayingnever mindorjust kidding, I clear my throat. “Um, no. I don’t think so.”
