Alex’s hand caresses a little higher up my forearm this time, his fingers pausing just below my elbow, and at the same time, he presses another kiss into my hair. It’s gentle and caring, and I feel his intention in it.
Hewantsto make me feel loved.
The contrast between him and my mom is sharp, like a knife in my gut... or a closed fist to my face.
I inhale another shaky breath, still trying to hold back tears, and I shift in his arms so that I’m hugging him, not bothering to hide my hiss of pain as I move my left arm—god, my shoulder is fucked up. I bury my head into the crook of his neck, and I cling to him.
I can’t hold back anymore. The tears fall. I should be embarrassed by it, but I’m not. I’m just thankful he holds me, still—his arms slowly, carefully wrapping around me. Keeping me warm. Taking care to not hurt me because apparently my back is covered in bruises thatareactually painful too.
“Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m here,” he whispers, ever so lightly rubbing my upper back. “I’m here. You’re... you’re okay, Nico. I’ve got you.”
And those words are too much, pushing me over an edge I hadn’t even known was there.
“I need you,” I choke out, and he somehow holds me tighter without hurting me.
“You have me.” His lips brush my temple, soft but promising. “I’m here. You have me.”
Something inside me rattles and breaks loose, and I tilt my headback, aware that my cheeks are wet with tears. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t let me go. He just lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me. Slowly. Softly. Surely.
Fuck.
I feel it in his kiss. I feel it.
He loves me.
He loves me.
His lips continue to caress mine, still just as gently, again and again until he breaks away to flutter tiny, light kisses all along my skin. He kisses my jaw and cheeks and nose, and then he pulls back slightly, tilts his head, and, as I close my eyes, he kisses my forehead, lingering there, breathing deeply.
My jaw trembles, and I know I should say something. Another thank you, at least. Or an apology for being an asshole to him earlier. But my voice won’t work, and I feel shaky and weak and tired, even though I just had the world’s best nap on the world’s most comfortable pillow.
So instead, I relax against him again and let him hold me.
We stay there for another long few minutes, his hand caressing my arm and his lips occasionally dropping kisses in my hair. I feel like I might fall asleep again.
“Mmm, you’re so comfortable.” I smooth my hand across his stomach and hook my fingers around his hip.
A laugh rumbles through his chest, and his arm tightens around my shoulders. “I’m glad,” he says. His voice becomes softer as he adds, “You seem like you need the rest.”
I nod. “I didn’t sleep well. Nightmares.” Nausea rises up in my chest, and I know I’ve opened the door for his questions. Part of me wants him to ask so I have that extra push to tell him the truth. Another part of me is already pulling away, seeking the safety of solitude under the blanket. Alone.
He hesitates—I feel it in the way he stiffens and holds his breath, the wayhis cheek presses into the top of my head. Then everything around me seems to soften, and I’m surrounded by a comfortable warmth again. Quietly, he says, “You can sleep more now. I’ll stay. If you want.”
It doesn’t seem fair or right or honest of me. But I nod. “Please.”
“Mm-hmm, of course. Did you want to lie down?”
I nod again, and he pauses for only a moment to pull back and kiss my forehead. Then he says he’ll be right back, and he takes the tray and leaves the room for a moment. I sit up, blink my eyes open, and look over at the nightstand. The Tylenol and glass of water still sit there from this morning.
Maybe it’ll help. I’m not sure why I’m at all opposed to it.
Slowly, I push myself away from the wall and scoot over to the edge of the bed. Then I pick up the glass and the pills, pop the pills into my mouth, and wash them down with a small sip. I take a few extra sips for good measure—I’m actually not sure I’ve had anything to drink since sometime midday yesterday, at lunch, maybe, though I don’t feel thirsty.
There’s a light knock on the door as Alex returns. I quickly set the glass back down and climb under the covers again as he shuts the door. Silently, he slips off his pants, leaving only his boxer briefs on, and then he takes a moment to close the shutters all the way and turn on the ceiling fan. By the time he joins me in bed, I’m settled in my spot on my right side, facing the wall. The bed compresses behind me, and I close my eyes, willing my body not to react as he scoots closer.
“Can I hold you?” he asks softly, and I nod.
“Please.”
