My heart and my stomach drop out of me, replaced bysickening dread.
Don't let it be Maggie. Don't let it be Maggie.
Hot pink shorts come into view first. A lime green swimsuit. A neck with red, angry marks. The sweetness vanished from her eyes.
My Maggie is gone.
I drop to my knees and scream. The same women who shielded their children's eyes pull me away. One drags me back, she is tall and strong, and she presses my face to her chest, covers my ear with her palm. The whispers, the shouts, they muffle. Drowned out by my silent screaming.
I wake with a start. Press a hand to my belly. It grounds me, reminds me where I am.
The seconds tick by. My bladder becomes insistent now, as does the dryness in my throat. It's as if my body is sayingyou're alive, and you have needs.
Rolling over, I push myself up to seated. My phone lies on the nightstand, and I tap the screen. It illuminates, showing me the time. 1:17.
I pad sleepily to the bathroom, take care of my bladder first. Quietly I walk to the kitchen for a glass of water. A motion sensor night-light flickers on as I walk down the hall, and I'm grateful for it. The full moon from a few nights ago has disappeared, and the night outside is an endless black shot through with stars.
The kitchen is dark, and I pause at the threshold, getting my bearings. Behind me, the motion sensor night-light goes out. My eyes adjust, and I see the outline of a figure near the sink.
"Hey," Hugo says, sleep curlinginto his deep voice.
"Hi," I answer. The room is coming into focus now. Outlines of appliances, the window over the sink, the fruit bowl on the island laden with crisp green apples.
"Are you thirsty?" Hugo asks. He doesn't wait for my answer, he's already moving for the fridge. He opens it, and it bathes the front of his body in light.
My throat, already dry, now rivals the sandy desert in the distance. Hugo wears nothing but shorts, and his body is something someone would paint. Long muscles, shaped and chiseled. I can't see everything in full relief, but the light illuminates just enough to make it hard to see anything but him. He turns away with a bottle of water, and the light disappears with the close of the door.
Hugo reaches me in two strides, hands me the bottle. I open it and sip. Hugo steps away, leaning over a section of the kitchen counter. He pushes a dimmer switch, and now a faint light stretches from underneath the cabinets. Low, but enough that I can see the way his eyes rake over my body. I'm wearing my nightgown, a slip of red silk. It's not lined in lace with a slit up the thigh or anything overtly sexy like that, but it's comfortable and loose and most importantly, not what I was wearing when the creep took pictures of me. I saved the yellow pajamas, just in case, but I will never wear them again. A shame too, because they were new.
"Couldn't sleep?" Hugo asks, his gaze finally landing on my face. A warm glow spreads through me, knowing he was drinking me in. I want to be what quenches him.
He leans back against the lip of the counter, crossinghis arms. The stance makes his biceps pop, his shoulders flex.
It makes me need to cross my legs.
"I had a bad dream," I answer. "You?"
"Same," he responds. "Do you have bad dreams often?"
"A few times a year," I confess.
"Me too," he answers. "The same dream?"
I nod. "You?"
"They differ, but it's the same handful on rotation."
We fall quiet. We've confessed what keeps us up at night, but neither of us feel the need to describe it, because we already know. It is a dubious honor to understand one another this well.
"Do you want a hug?" Hugo asks.
I hadn't thought to want a hug. To even need one. I've been shouldering my grief and pain and sadness alone for a long time. In the beginning, I wanted hugs. To be held and soothed. Over time, that stopped. I wasn't getting it, and I learned to survive without it.
Hugo's offer brings that need screaming to the surface, makes me realize it was there all along, unmet and never truly going away.
"Yes," I whisper, setting my water on the counter and taking a step toward him. He pushes off the counter, meets me more than halfway. He doesn't slow or stop, falter or question. He wraps me up, pulls me against his chest. My arms wind around his back, his hand works up into my hair, cradles my head. His other hand splays against my back, holding me in place.
We stay that way, silent and unmoving. Breathing one another in. Relaxing into each other. It's the best hug of my life.
