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I eye the bed where the blankets are mostly still made, only slightly wrinkled like someone has laid on top of them for a while. There’s a good chance he hasn’t just been sleeping badly, but that he hasn’t even bothered trying to sleep at all. Will he try when I leave, or just go right back to his self-destructive tendencies?
“Change of plans.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean, I don’t have to sleep anymore?”
“No, no, you’re still sleeping. I’m just going to be in the bed next to you.”
Now both of his eyebrows are raised, nearly disappearing into his hairline. “Oh?”
“Not like that!” I blurt, my face going hot. “Just to sleep. I don’t trust you enough to do it otherwise.”
“That’s rude. But also fair.” He chuckles then, resting his elbows on his thighs and groaning into his hands. “I’m also pretty drunk and a selfish fuckin’ bastard who’d love to have you beside me while I sleep, so ’m not gonna argue. I’ll feel bad ’bout it in the mornin’. Jus’ add it to the list.”
That sounds like a whole lot of shit I’m too tired to unpack right now. One thing at a time. First—sleep.
“Do you sleep on the left or the right?”
He shrugs. “You pick. I don’t really sleep anywhere.”
Yeah, there’s that worry again, in case I had any chance of forgetting about it…
“I guess I’ll take the right.”
“Okay.”
It’s a slightly awkward minute or two while we work on moving blankets and pillows around and get settled with as much space between us as we can manage without falling off the bed. After he’s confirmed that I’m comfortable, he turns off his bedside lamp and settles again. The tension is so thick the moment we’re in the dark, it feels like I might explode from it. There isn’t even a reason. It’s just this big ball of… something in my stomach and chest that feels unbearably pressurized.
He laughs first. Just a soft puff of air and a shake of his body that vibrates the mattress. It’s like something unlocks once I hear it, a laugh of my own bursting out.
“Why is this so fucking awkward?” he asks around another laugh.
“I have no idea.” I scoot closer to him, realizing how silly it was to put so much space between us as if we’ve never touched before. I don’t stop until I can feel his shoulder pressing against mine. He doesn’t seem to mind, if the way he turns onto his side to face me is any indication. His breath is warm when it fans across my face, his hand comfortingly heavy as it settles on my hip. His thumb is slotted over the strip of skin exposed between my sweatpants and shirt. I try to focus on anything but that point of contact. It’s kind of impossible. “Your side is bruised. You shouldn’t be lying on it.”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles, sounding so fond my chest hurts with it. His hand shifts, his thumb stroking my skin. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” I feel a little dizzy from my sudden shift in reality, but that doesn’t stop my smile. “I’ve missed you.”
“I haven’t been very good company.”
“Since when does that matter?”
“Mm.” His thumb moves again, drawing slow and lazy circles. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“What’s going on? I’m worried about you. Let me in. Let me help.”
He’s quiet for a long time before whispering, “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Ask me to let you in. Ask me to let you help.”
“Why? We don’t hide from each other, Mais. We never have.”
“Because I’m not strong enough to tell you no, but I don’t deserve it, Nolan.” His voice is thick with the truth of it. Not a genuine truth—those words could never be true—but the truth that he’s convinced himself exists. A deeper, more dangerous truth than any real truth could be.
He wants to be helped, to be cared for, but he doesn’t believe he deserves it.
I close my eyes, a realization coming over me. One I can’t believe I didn’t figure out sooner. “That’s why you don’t take care of yourself.”
