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He doesn’t make eye contact—his eyes narrowed as he removes the rest of the old bandages and starts cleaning the stitches.
“I don’t know what you were saying last night,” I tell him. “But I felt it.”
He sits me down on the edge of the tub and squats down, wrapping a new bandage around my arm.
I stare at him, the shame starting to creep in when he won’t look at me.
It didn’t feel bad last night. I didn’t feel the shame then.
Now, he’s probably wondering what schedule the slut is on. Who gets me on Thursdays? On Tuesdays? Do we meet in my bed or do I come to yours?
I try to swallow through my dry mouth, tears welling. “I felt it,” I whisper again.
I felt him and how it was perfect and how I wanted him to fold me up inside him forever. It was a perfect moment when all of me aligned for one fucking instant, and I felt full and strong. Those moments are rare.
His lips twitch, his hands slowing, but then he finds his focus again, securing the bandage around my arm.
I reach out.
Slowly, I lift my right arm, almost like I’m holding out my hand for a dog to sniff when I greet it.
I feel him still as the back of my hand glides up his face, and I hold my breath.
I just want to know it was real. I was his in those moments.
Finally, he closes his eyes, exhales, and leans into my hand, giving in.
A lump lodges in my throat, but I hold back the tears as I caress his temple.
“I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” I tell him. “I’ll leave, okay? You don’t have to fear me.”
His eyes open, his brows etched with pain, but he doesn’t look at me.
“I’ll leave. I won’t ruin this home for you. I won’t hurt you,” I whisper. “I promise I’ll leave.”
Just let us have this time.
He shakes his head, and I don’t know what he’s trying to say now, but just when I think he’s going to jump to his feet and leave, his head falls, sinking into my lap.
I still, looking down at him. His black hair that’s not really black now that I can be close enough to him to see it’s a shade above. The tattoo stretching from under his ear and going down his neck vertically, but even this close, the cursive is still too fine to read.
It doesn’t matter. Kaleb has things to say. He just doesn’t need everyone to hear.
Sitting there, I grip the edge of the tub, something in my chest feeling like it’s splintering apart as he struggles for air with his head bowed.
He blurs in front of me as my eyes fill with tears. It’s not going to be easy to leave ...them.
I swallow. A feeling, not a place.
Loving them has made something inside me wake up, and I don’t want to go back to being who I was. I might wish this change could’ve happened differently, but some of us don’t learn from the heat. We need the fire.
Reaching out, I glide my hands down his back and bend over, wrapping my arms around him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, savoring this.
But just then I hear heavy footfalls run up the stairs and a shadow falls across the bathroom.
“What the fuck happened?” someone yells.
