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MIA
When I wake up alone for the fourth night in a row, I can’t pretend I don’t know it anymore.
I guess some people in the world can sleep solidly. They get into bed, they close their eyes, they fall asleep, and they don’t wake up again until their alarm goes off. Or, even weirder, they get up on their own. Psychos.
Me, on the other hand? I can’t remember the last time I slept a whole night all the way through. Back in the day, I used to always listen for Mom to come through the front door, so I’d know she got home okay from her late shift. I guess it’s one of those habits that stuck. Even though I have nothing to listen for now, I never sleep for more than an hour or two without at least opening my eyes and checking the time.
That’s why I know that tonight’s the fourth night in a row that Zeke started out in bed with me, then ended up somewhere else. I told myself I’d wait until he came back on Thanksgiving, but I fell asleep before that happened. In the morning, he was there, beside me. It’s been the same since then.
And that’s not the only thing different.
I sit up and check my phone—it’s quarter to three, and I have no idea how long it’s been since he left. I never pegged him as an insomniac. Maybe that’s the problem, and he never mentioned it.
Or maybe something bigger is going on.
I hate to even think it, but I can’t avoid what’s been in my gut for days. Thanksgiving was definitely when things changed, no doubt about it. Everything seemed fine—great even. We had dinner, watched movies, and went to bed feeling good. Stuffed, but good.
By morning, everything was different. He can pretend all he wants to, but he’s not a great actor. There’s a stiffness to him now. Not quite the way he was before, but not the way he’s been the past few weeks, either. It’s almost enough to make me wonder if I imagined everything, even though I know I didn’t.
But it’s still easier to question my memory and experiences than to admit what’s irking me.
I think he’s tired of me now.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. I was forbidden fruit. Because he couldn’t have me, he only wanted me more. Now, I’ve literally lost count of the number of times we’ve had sex all over our home. Maybe I’m out of his system now. Maybe I made the biggest mistake of my entire life convincing myself we could keep this casual.
There’s nothing casual about it for me. Not only because he’s my first, either. I’m sure I would feel a certain way about whoever that person happened to be.
Zeke is different. He’s not some random hookup. He’s not some fumbling college freshman who managed to work his way into my pants.
And now, I don’t think he wants me anymore. He hasn’t even gotten handsy with me in days. I’m smart enough to know I didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t help blaming myself a little. I shouldn’t have gotten attached, and I know I did. But I’ve done everything I can to keep that from him. I don’t want to scare him off.
I chew my lip, staring at the closed door. Should I go looking for him? Will he resent me if I do? He probably needs his space, right? Then again, I didn’t invite him to stay in my bed. That’s just something that sort of happened. I’m not trying to force him into anything, so I don’t think it makes me needy if I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where he went.
That’s enough to firm up my resolve. It’s enough to make me cross the room and open the door, to step out in the hallway and look around. There he is, sitting on the balcony of all places. Fully dressed, right down to that leather jacket. I don’t think I’ll ever smell leather again without thinking of him.
When I tap on the door, he flinches, his head snapping around. I hold up a hand, silently apologizing for startling him before opening the door. “What are you doing out here? Is there something wrong?”
He frowns, his brows a solid line over his eyes. Eyes that remind me of steel. They’re that hard. I don’t think he’s ever looked at me this way before.
But just as suddenly as I notice them, they change. They soften. “Nothing’s wrong. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“I hope I wasn’t the one keeping you up.”
“Now that you mention it, you were snoring like a trumpet.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“And how would you know?” He smirks a little, then gives in. “No, you didn’t keep me up. I’ve never been a great sleeper.”
Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? Have you had insomnia?The question is right on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t dare ask it. Since when do I have a hard time expressing myself? He has me acting in a way that even I don’t recognize anymore. “So what? You thought getting dressed and sitting outside in the middle of the night would make you sleepy?”
“The fresh air clears my head. And I figured what the hell, if I fall back asleep now, I’ll feel like shit when it comes time to get up.” That does make sense, even if I don’t believe him. Something else is going on. I mean, I have class later this morning, but I haven’t for days. Nothing to wake up early for. Yet something tells me this is how he’s been spending his nights away from me. Sitting up, watching. For what?
I shiver, and this time, he scowls. “You shouldn’t be out here. You’re barely dressed.” But he doesn’t make a move either.
“Would you come in with me?”
He hesitates, his jaw working like he’s frustrated, like there’s something he wants to say but, like me, is holding back. “Yeah, I will. Otherwise, you’ll give yourself pneumonia or something like that. And then what would I tell your father?”
