Chapter thirty-four
Antonia
He snuck out again this morning. It must have been around four. I felt the duvet ruffle, the heat leaves the bed, and he was gone like a shadow in the night, as cliché as that sounds.
When he’s here, it’s amazing. But I know he can’t leave his kids all night. He’s probably pushed it too much already. We’re just lucky they’re old enough to be without him. Still, he likes to be there in the morning when they wake up, to make their breakfast and do all the dad stuff he claims he enjoys.
It’s sweet, really.
I’m sad I never got to experience that. Watching your children grow up. Making their breakfast in the morning, even though they could probably do it themselves.
I think I would have liked that.
Mikey’s favorite cereal was Sugar Snaps. Crunchy bites drenched in enough sweetness to have him bouncing off the walls. I wonder, as an adult, if he would’ve still enjoyed them. Orif he’d have moved on to avocado and bran flakes like everyone else.
The house always feels colder once Ben’s gone. I miss the warmth he brings to the sheets.
I haven’t stayed at his place yet. I haven’t been to his house. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’d be encroaching on somebody else’s family. He offered, but I said I should probably meet his kids somewhere that wasn’t home. Somewhere that wasn’t Bex’s home.
I think he understood.
Though I’m not entirely sure.
So he comes here instead, to my apartment, where it’s safe. My space.
I like it that way.
My alarm goes off. Time to get up and start the day. Work again, but I have no motivation. I’d rather just stay here and wait for him to return. Though work does feel much more achievable when you’re happy. The challenges are more manageable. I’ve noticed in recent weeks, especially after a night with him, the door at the end of the day is easier to close.
The cold air bites my skin as I pull back the duvet. I forgot to turn the heat on again. It’s freezing. My arms stretch above my head, attempting to wake the muscles. I’m still naked from last night. The memories are so damn good. His lips. His hands. What he did to me.
The sounds I made. Hell, I hope the neighbors didn’t hear everything.
I swing my legs out of bed and sit up. My feet hit the floor. Cold.
Ugh. I really need to put that rug back down.
I grab my robe from the chair in the corner. It was thrown there last night after my shower, not wanting to wait before diving under the covers.
As I pass the mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself. My hair is a mess, twisted in knots. I grab a comb from the dressing table as I pass. It drags through the strands, catching on every one.
As I move into my bathroom, my toothbrush sits waiting. The toothpaste squeezes onto it with a plop. The bristles move over my teeth, my hand moving slowly, scrubbing away the night before.
I stare at my reflection. Dark circles frame tired eyes. Lines crease beneath.
At my age, being up all night with a man doesn’t do much for my complexion. Never mind not sleeping. Ben doesn’t seem to age the way I do after a late night. His eyes stay bright.
After freshening my breath, I move over to the shower. Spinning the tap, the water immediately turns hot, steam rising, hitting the ceiling, and the fan buzzes in the background.
I pull off my robe, chuck it on the floor, and step inside.
The hot water is bliss, gliding over my skin. Comfort in liquid form. I grab the shampoo, squeeze a dollop into my hands, and pull it through my hair, rubbing it hard, kneading away the remnants of last night.
It’s peaceful.
My hands move over my body, massaging down my torso, between my legs, thinking of him last night and all the things we did.
Him on top.