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After group,Skyler and I part ways with plans to meet for dinner over at the restaurant.
His morning therapy session got moved to the afternoon, so I take the chance to shower and freshen up back in my villa. We spent the morning doing an art therapy activity for Focus—Skyler’s pick—and we didn’t have a chance to clean ourselves up before group, so my arms are still covered in streaks of paint, thanks to Skyler’s more…exuberant style.
Pretty sure he got more on us and the grass than the actual canvas.
But he smiled and laughed and seemed to enjoy the hell out of it, so it’s not like I’m complaining.
It doesn’t escape my notice how much happier he seems these days. Carefree. Especially since our talk in the cave.
It also doesn’t escape my notice either how much lighterIam. I barely even recognize the man I’ve become.
You’d almost mistake us for a couple on our honeymoon, rather than two men who were strangers up until a few weeks ago, vacationing, rather than getting rehabilitated.
Sure, I’ve still got all my baggage and shit. But it doesn’t feel so heavy these days. Where moving forward felt impossible mere weeks ago, there’s now this odd sort of hopefulness I feel when I wake up every morning.
For the first time in…hell,years,now that I think about it…
I’m excited to wake up.
Excited to see what the day has in store.
Excited…
And also dreading the end.
Of course, as soon as I think that, I’m barreled by a wave of guilt.
Abby.
Climbing out of the shower, I grab a towel and scrub it over my wet hair. Outside the bathroom, the A/C hums, mingling with the muffled sounds coming from the TV. Before Skyler, I had no problem with the silence. Now, though, it just feels…empty.
Even when he’s here and he’s trying to be quiet—
Well, as quiet as he’s capable of, which is basically impossible these days now that he seems to be…co-existing with the storm inside him, rather than shoving it down.
If he’s not moaning and screaming in pleasure, or chattering away in between, he’s fidgeting with something, knocking shit around. A human tornado, if there ever was one, leaving no spot untouched.
And fuck, if it doesn’t bring a smile to my lips.
But when he’s asleep…napping in my arms, breaths hot against my neck, curled around me like a koala…
I find it’s…nice. Peaceful.
Like his mere presence acts as a sort of barrier, keeping the thoughts in my head at bay. They’re there, sure. They always are. He just…he makes it easier to bear them. See things clearly. Feel them without being suffocated.
Hell, even his quiet is loud, and if I never know silence again, I think I’ll be okay with that.
Finding some clean clothes to put on, I putz around, cleaning up the mess left. I find one of Skyler’s shirts and smirk, shaking my head. He doesn’t even sleep here—he can’t; curfew forbids it and I forbid him from breaking it and in fear it will somehow get back to his parents—and yet his belongings have somehow started to infiltrate my space.
A shirt here and there.
Boxers.
A belt.
His sneakers—those once pristine white Hermes now utterly destroyed by the elements.
