“A guy can dream.” I leer salaciously. “How often do you sleep over?”
“More than I’d like to admit. This house is my second home.”
“Why is that?”
Alana shrugs. “My father is strict. When I’m here, I can breathe.”
“I get it.”
“Am I ever going to see where you live?” she asks.
“Why the fuck would you want to see that?” I snap unintentionally.
“I don’t know,” she responds quickly, like she’s thinking on her feet. “It’s part of who you are, I guess.”
“It’s no part of who I am, and I never want you to see where I live.”
“Why?”
“Why?”I sneer. How do I explain this without sounding ashamed or embarrassed or downright mortified? Especially after seeing all this. “You want to know where I live? My apartment can fit in this house’s foyer. I still share a room with my brother and sleep on the same mattress I’ve had since I was ten. It’s a sliver in size compared to Emily’s. There’s never any food in the fridge but always plenty of beer and vodka. Every morning I wake up to a mess of empty bottles littered all over the kitchen. The place stinks of cigarettes and marijuana, and the only time I breathe fresh air is when I’m around you.” I swallow my shame. “So, now that you know all that, why on earth would I take the one person who means anything to me to that dump and devalue her?”
The room is dim, but I can still make out the frown lines on Alana’s face from the moonlight shining through the massive wall of windows in the kitchen.
“I hardly think you’ll devalue me, Ryan.”
“It’s a black fucking hole, and I’ll never take you there.”
“Fine, I understand.” She doesn’t push, and I love her for that. “But I can relate.”
“I hardly think so.”
“Why not?" She shifts abruptly. “Just because I live in a big house and have money, you think I can't identify with crappy circumstances?”
“I never said that. I just never want to expose you tomycrappy circumstances.”
“I feel the same way,” she stresses.
“How bad can it be? You have everything.”
“Not everything, Ryan. Cars and clothes and cash can't fill what's missing inside.” Alana looks down and lets her hair fall in front of her face, like she's hiding from me. Ashamed that she just admitted something so real. It's then that I realize even though she's financially free, she's emotionally bound.
I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to feel that way. ThatI'lllove her. I'll give her everything I have and let her take from me whatever she needs. But I know if I come out with words that strong, I'll scare her away.
“Okay then.” I guide her face back up to mine. “Let's just agree we both have our own fucked-up family drama. And instead of wasting time dwelling on our problems, we just concentrate on each other?”
I really do want to understand her. Understand what’s missing inside. But I’m just so goddamned scared to push.
Alana just stares at me for a few silent heartbeats, searching my eyes. “I can live with that.”
“Good.” I drop my forehead against hers and pull her closer to me. This is the heaviest conversation we’ve ever had, and I’m taking it as a good sign. She finally trusts me enough to share some of her precious emotions.
Alana and I spend the rest of the night sitting in silence, letting the minutes tick by. Holding and caressing and exploring one another’s hands. Hers are so small and feminine. Always polished.
“Alana?” I ask delicately. “What did you mean when you said you liked it?”
“Liked what?” she responds coyly.
“Liked that I called you mine.”