Christian, with the sad pout on his face, climbs onto our bed and curls up beside me, facing me. I shake my head. “No, turn around.”
He sniffs, nods, and turns away from me. I grab the blanket and throw it over our bodies. I wrap my body around his, my arms holding him around his middle and my leg over his hip. I hold him tightly, and whisper, “I love you. I love you enough for the two of us right now, and I’ll love you through this.”
He nods and I kiss the curve of his neck.
“We’ll get you help.”
CHAPTER 20
Christian
It’s late when I sit on the edge at the foot of the bed, holding the jar filled with my chips in my hand, examining the colors and counting them repeatedly.
A year and seven months.Almost eight.
Everyday this week I’ve had dinner with Lana, and those hours go by too quickly for me. The few hours I have that is me and her before the end of the day are filled with nonsensical laughter, conversation, and subtle touches. Sometimes I have permission to kiss her.
I need more. I need to touch her constantly—all the time. My chest always feels tight and my heart feels suffocated whenever I don’t have her close, and even more so these past few nights, especially since my birthday.
July third was always just another day, but then I met her and she made it the grandest day of the fucking year,every year.And those days would always end with the two of us, in our bed with twisted limbs, a thin layer of sweat, and whispers of sweet nothings until we were asleep in each other's arms.
I’ve needed that every night since July third of this year. Ijust haven’t earned it and the only person I can blame is myself for my omissions. I stare at this jar and, with my thumb, trace the black stains ofhouse jarscrawled on it in her handwriting.
To put an end to my self-inflicted suffering, I stand, ready to put this jar away for now. Opening the drawer, I push the jar between folded stacks of my clothing. As I close the drawer, I feel her.
“Hey,” her soft voice murmurs.
I work myself up to face her—to see her standing at the door in an extra large shirt, her legs bare underneath it, and her hair a long, wavy mess. It’s strange how every time I look at her it takes my breath away, again and again. I know what she looks like, I know each and every detail of her skin, the measurements of her features—I know her blind. Yet, once I look at her, it’s as if I don’t. It’s always like seeing her for the first time.
My hand flies to cover my heart, feeling her beauty like a bullet. “Hey.” Feeling weak and defeated, I drag myself back to the foot of the bed and let my body drop onto it. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m here to ask you the same thing,” Lana says.
“I’m okay.”
She takes a step into the room. “I’m starting to hate that word.”
“But it’s what I am.”
“I thought we were better than this,” she sighs, taking two steps forward, the moonlight making her smooth, olive skin glow. “Lying to each other.”
“I have never lied to you.” Not about the drinking or the mistakes. But there is an omission…
“I know.” In another few steps, she’s standing between my legs. “So why are you lying to me now?”
Lana’s hands come onto my shoulders, her fingers soothingly run up and down my upper arms. Back on my shoulders, her fingers scratch into my hair at the back of my head, and she breathes, “Christian.”
“Keep doing that.”
“You’ve had a bad day,” Lana says softly.
I sigh heavily, my shoulders curving forward.
“Today, when I called you at the supermarket,” she says, “I had a feeling.”
I nod, keeping my head down, ashamed. But her hand comes to my chin, urging my head back. “Yeah.”
“Don’t do that.”
