I don’t want to move. I don’t want Silas to move. I keep running my fingers through his hair. I don’t know intimacy like this, not with men. I love my sister and she always invades my personal space. I love her for it ’cause she reminds me that I have someone left that’s all mine. But this is different in a way I can’t describe. How long does it take normal people to get to this point? How long does it usually take for another person to make you feel warm from the insideout?
I’m going to tell Scott. We’ve been friends a few years now and if he started sleeping with Brooklyn without telling me? It wouldn’t be cute. I don’t know how he’ll react. I’m sure it won’t be good, but I just have to accept whatever his reaction is and deal with it. Still, I need Scott to know that this isn’t a case of hormones overcoming sense. And it’s not a case of opportunity in that if things had been up to Scott that I never would have met Silas. I’ll talk to them both. I’ll talk to Claudia as soon as I get up and I think, at some point, I’ll have to force myself to break. I haveto.
I stay in bed with Silas as long as I can, but eventually I have to pee. I manage to slip out of bed without waking him, and when I come out of the bathroom, he’s gone. I slip on a shirt and find him in the kitchen. He’s making coffee. He’s still naked. He turns when he hears me. He tries to smile, but can’t really pull it off. I think he’s sleep walking abit.
“You want this in bed or you want it out here?” he asks. His voice definitely sounds like he’s still halfasleep.
“Bed is fine. Just wanted to see where you were.” I walk over to him and he pulls me under his arm. I slide my hands over his stomach. He’s sowarm.
“Hope you weren’t too hung up on brunch. I’m going to bribe Mason into bringing us food. I don’t want to leave the housetoday.”
“That’s fine withme.”
We stand there in silence until we have our coffee the way we want it and then we climb back in bed. I sit in the middle of the sheets with my legs folded under me and look at Silas as he stretches out in all his naked glory. I look at his thighs as I gather up the nerve I need to speak. That ache comes back to the center of my chest. It’s making its way up to my throat, but I can’t let that stopme.
“I need a vacation,” he groans, then cracks hisneck.
“I want to talk about it,” I tellhim.
He squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them before he focuses on my face. “Talk aboutwhat?”
“I want to talk about what happened to me last week. I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it last night, but I’ve had too much experience with this kind of shit and I know I’m going to have a nervous breakdown a year from now if I try to ignore the way I’mfeeling.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard repressing shit doesn’t work so well. Shoot. I’m listening.” He sits up a little further and pulls the sheet over his lap and chest before he grabs his coffee off thenightstand.
“I’m scared to gohome.”
“That makes sense. What would make you feel better about goinghome?”
“Besides Dorrit confessing and going to jail? I’m notsure.”
“I do need—what did you call it? I need a buxom wife. You’re welcome tostay.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.” I take a deep sip of my coffee, then reach down and move the end of Honeyscrip’s tail a fraction of an inch. “Have you ever felt like no one cares about you? Like you know it’s silly, because obviously someone cares about you, but—I don’t know, it’s like you want people to caremore.”
I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Yeah I might have an idea of what you’re talkingabout.”
“It’s irrational. My friends care. My sister cares. Scott—Scott cares, but I feel like I’ve created this version of myself—I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I can’t articulate it,” I say as I stop myself. I’m being ridiculous. I have people who care and people who would have me hiding out in their homes if I’d let them. “I think I try so hard to protect other people that I’ve made it impossible for anyone to try to protectme.”
“Eh.”
I look up at him. The weird sound he made is halfway to calling my bullshit. “What?” Iask.
“Nothing.”
“No, sayit.”
“It just doesn’t make sense to me.” He shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “We barely know each other and I want to do more than protectyou.”
“What’s more than hiding me in your home?” Iask.
“Not sure, but I’d doit.”
“Why?”
He stares at me. “We’re talking aboutyou.”
I roll my eyes, then hand him my mug. “Put that up, please,” I tell him and then I shuffle a little closer to him. “You know, more than one person insinuated it wasn’t a big deal that a guy told me he was going to kill me with his bare hands because I’m apparently big enough to fight a dude. Like it wasn’t a big deal that I was attacked ’cause I’m some corn-fed she-beast.”