Unable to resist the urge, I hold my hand over the stove, enjoying the warmth tickling my palm. Sometimes I think aboutlaying my palm flat on it and letting it burn my skin until the red ink stops clogging my lungs.
I know that wouldn’t work and I promised to stop acting on these thoughts. Jason would be disappointed if he knew I still cling to the familiar sensation of pain. I can’t even glance at sharp objects without thinking about my blood trickling down my wrists.
Am I ever going to be okay? Will these thoughts plague me until I stop breathing?
7
Visha
I want to try his moisturizer.
I know I shouldn’t go through his stuff, but it looks intriguing. I reach for the small glass container and open the pink plastic cap. The cream is pale white and looks more watery than creamy.
I dip a finger in the weird consistency and smear it on my face. Instantly, my cheeks feel softer, and I wonder what magic this is. That’s probably Aoi’s secret to that handsome face of his.
“What’s in this thing?” I ponder and read the words on the flacon. “Yeah, never mind. These aren’t words, just gibberish. Who even knows what Hyaluronic Soja is?”
I put the flacon back in its rightful spot and shut the mirror cabinet. Better not to play around with his stuff, I wouldn’t want to break something.
I slip into the clothes Aoi gave me earlier and curse internally. “I should’ve asked for underwear. This isn’t comfortable at all.”
No point in complaining to him about it, so I simply hold the hem of the pants and push the bathroom door open. At the same time my stomach grumbles and I blush.
I swear he better not have heard that.
8
Aoi
With perfect timing, the bathroom door opens, and Visha steps out wearing the clothes I lent him.
They’re massive on him, and I have to fight the urge to wheeze at the sight. Children are truly precious little gremlins.
He holds the sweatpants up as they keep sliding down.
“The pants are a bit big,” he mutters and looks away.
I chuckle and stride towards him, pulling off the elastic on my wrist to tie a knot on the waist band of the sweatpants. I make sure to avoid immediate skin contact. Freaking him out is the last thing I want.
He pulls his little hands away and lets me tie it. The sweater looks more like a dress on him than a sweater which is absolutely adorable.
I never wanted children of my own. As a matter of fact, I have never even thought about it ever since I realized, back in high school, that I liked men. There’s no inherent correlation to my sexuality, but I simply figured out at that same moment that I have no interest in having children. Being a parent is difficult and having children is a choice one must be 100% certain of and I know it’s not for me.
My relationship with Jason–if one can even call it that–is too tricky for me to ever think about potential kids. I mean, we’re nottogetherbut I don’t know how to describe what we have. Besides, I can barely take care of myself so taking care of a childis a no go. Well, now the situation has clearly changed but it isn’t definite.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
At those words his face lights up. That’s a clear answer. I gesture for him to follow me and take a seat around the oak table. He sits down on one of the dark grey chairs and like the polite little gentleman he is, he patiently waits for me to put down the plate of pasta in front of him. He looks at me eagerly and gratefully but doesn’t dare reach for the fork.
“Go on. It’s for you.”
He stabs the pasta as if he hasn’t eaten in days and shoves chunks of it in his tiny mouth. I even start worrying that he’ll choke on his food.
“Slow down or you’ll get indigestion. Don’t worry, no one’s gonna steal the plate from you.”
He nods shyly and continues eating slower this time, enjoying every bite. I can’t take my eyes off him. His hair is still wet from the shower and his cheeks are plump and rosy.
It’s so incredibly unusual to have someone,anyone, eat something I prepared. I could get used to this, but I know I shouldn’t. Getting attached will only burden me.
