What now? Does he wear a mask? A stranger’s artificial face, a mask under a mask? With black eyebrows and black hair.
Just ask, Alex!
Don’t be such an idiot.
I burst into my room, and just as I’m about to fall onto my bed, I suddenly freeze and stare at it. It’s messy, deformed.
Why can’t I build a normal nest? Why have I been living with this pathetic imitation for years, just a sadshadowof a real one?
I’m a coward, unable to pull myself together, unable to put my life in order. I could’ve changed it so easily, but fear kept me frozen…
I grab the edge of the nest and shove it onto the floor. I tear it apart.
Enough.
I don’t have a nest. I don’t deserve one. I can’t build it in this fucked-up version of my life. I’ll start… when I finally dare to make things right.
Ineedto make things right.
After my recovery.
???
Three days later, when I’m curled up in bed dealing with the miserable, difficult heat recovery, I hear knocking at the door.
I curse under my breath because everything feels too hard, recovery always makes me miserable, like the world looks black, my conscience unbearably heavy, my whole life just one long string of events squashing me down like a meat grinder.
With messy hair, an unwashed T-shirt and old shorts, I drag myself downstairs and walk to the intercom just to see…
Bay.
WTF.
Officially, the last time I saw him was two weeks ago after my therapy session at Malden Pharmaceuticals.
My hands are shaking, but there’s nothing I can do now, I can’t run, change, shower, fix myself in a few seconds, so I just smooth my hair nervously and open the door.
"Bay…" I mumble stupidly.
He studies me with his head slightly tilted, like he’s trying to assess my mental state.
"Tough heat recovery?"
Funny, how does he know? I didn’t tell him anything about my heat. Hmmm.
I stare at him for a moment. How could he know that? I’m torn between doubt, hope and the prospect of shattering my illusion. If it was him, maybe seeing my distress in the forest,my escape, he decided to give me a little hint that it really was him. Are masks that perfect nowadays? Maybe I should finally do some proper research on that.
"As always," I mutter and step back to let him in, and that’s when I notice the row of suitcases lined up on the ground behind him.
Wow!
I get a wave of déjà vu; I saw this once already when Jared arrived here, a row of suitcases one after another, a symbol of a life change.
Bay brings the suitcases inside in silence, places them by the wall, straightens up and crosses his arms.
"It’s been almost seven months since you started your therapy, Alex. Is this the moment when we can start becoming a couple again?" he asks plainly, his voice calm and even.
I stare at him like an idiot.
