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Am I that needy? God, how fucking pathetic!

I shouldn’t be seeking this out from anyone, really, but especially Lev. There’s a real chance that he’ll leave again. He did it once before. And I know that I’m playing with fire letting myself get close to him, but he makes me feel so safe and comfortable, more peaceful than I’ve felt in a very long time. Finally, finally getting to sleep after being restless, struggling and not sleeping for a few days . . .

I screw my eyes shut, hoping I didn’t fuck things up and that whatever this is between us won’t end like my panicked brain is telling me it will—with him taking off again.

And that means I need to get out of here now, before I have even more of a chance to embarrass myself and before he wakes up and starts asking all the questions he didn’t ask last night.

I slowly remove my leg from his thigh and then roll to my back, crushing his arm. He stirs.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles, his voice sleep-filled and raspy. “What time is it?”

I scoot off of him to the edge of the bed and grab my phone, goose bumps erupting on my skin from the chill of the room.

“It’s four a.m.,” I whisper. “I just have to pee. Go back to sleep.”

He rolls over to his side with his back to me, and I pick up my clothes and scamper into the bathroom. After relieving myself, I quickly dress and quietly make my way out of his room. It’s dark and cold, but I get to my car without him calling to me, so I assume he fell back to sleep.

My stomach is growling, and I know I don’t have any real food at home, so I stop for some coffee and a breakfast sandwich at the Fuel For Thought gas station. The diner’s not open yet, which is unfortunate, but the Fuel For Thought is the next best thing. The coffee is terrible, but it’s made already, and it’s usually hot. The sandwiches are okay, and I’d eat just about anything at this point.

I buy my coffee and sandwich and get back to my car, and by the time I get home, I’ve downed at least half the coffee. For only getting about five hours of sleep, I feel strangely refreshed. I guess if it’s good sleep, it helps.

The truth is, except for last night, I haven’t slept more than an hour or so at a time since the conversation with my mom about the house. I was desperate. As weird as it was, when I showed up at Lev’s, he was perfect, like he understood just what I needed and was happy to give it to me. I needed comfort and touch, and he was there to provide it.

Then I went and snuck out this morning, which was a jackass move. He’ll wake, once again, to me not there. But my sense of self-preservation kicked in, and I sort of panicked and did what I had to do.

My stomach sinks as I head upstairs to my bedroom. I know it’s wrong of me, but in the moment, I had to get out of there. All those racing thoughts, all my emotions, my panic telling me to run. And the real, honest fear of having to answer his questions, having to tell him the truth about how I just needed his warm body, the skin-to-skin contact. How I used him. How fucking pathetic I am.

I couldn’t stay around and let that happen. And I couldn’t stay around and continue to use him more.

Shaking my head and pushing my thoughts away, I sit down at my desk, boot up my computer, and open my emails. I connect my drawing tablet and open Adobe Illustrator, following the routine that I use every time I log on to start my day, hoping I can be productive.

Sipping my hot, shitty coffee, I decide not to take a shower because there’s a hint of Lev’s scent on my shoulder and neck. I want to smell him on me as much as I can today. So, I eat my sandwich and get to work.

About two hours later, my phone chimes, and I know who it is before I even pick it up.

Lev: Hey.

Me: Hey yourself.

Lev: You okay?

Me: Yeah, thanks.

Lev: I woke up to an empty bed this morning. I didn’t like it much.

Me: Yeah, about that - sorry for just leaving. I had to get to work.

Lev: You had to get to work at some god-awful time at the butt-crack of dawn?

I pause. He’s right. I don’t know what to say to that. My chest tightens with shame, and I swallow and type back a quick message.

Me: Thank you for last night. I slept well.

Lev: Yeah. Me too. I would have rather woken up to how we fell asleep. wink emoji

I take a minute to respond because I still don’t know what to say. He’s right. I’m chicken shit and shouldn’t have left. But I don’t have any excuse I’m ready to share with him. I type out a response to his text and delete it. Then I type and delete again. Then I type and sit for a minute and delete again. I finally settle on something generic.

Me: I appreciate you letting me stay.