There was something guarded about him.
“Do you have an idea what you want for dinner?” he asked.
There was a chill in his voice.
My arms crossed, my hands rubbing up over the goosebumps on my skin.
“I’m not picky,” I said, barely resisting the urge to shift my feet. “We can just grab something on the way.”
“Okay,” he agreed, turning to grab his wallet, then making his way to the door.
I slid my feet into shoes behind the door, watching him turn away from me and go into the vestibule.
Something had changed.
He had changed.
And that change had my heart feeling deflated in my chest.
I figured maybe it was just a fleeting mood. We all had them. But then he barely spoke a word to me when we ducked into a sandwich shop, just waited for me to order my food, ordered his own, and paid for us both.
We ate and walked, so maybe that shouldn’t have felt uncomfortable that we didn’t speak, but my stomach twisted itself into knots the whole way to the shop. Enough that I lost my appetite after the first half of my sandwich and gave the rest to an unhoused man we passed.
The market was just as awkward. To anyone passing, we likely looked like a couple who’d just gotten into an awful argument and didn’t want to be anywhere near each other.
The thought of eating anything made me queasy, but I tossed one or two snacks into the cart as Harrison filled it up.
By the time we got back to the apartment, I had the strangest, almost overwhelming urge to cry.
I tried to focus on my studies, but the words swam. My room felt claustrophobic. Nothing on TV held my attention.
And Harrison was silently rearranging the damn pantry.
Not sure what else to do, I got into some workout clothes, slipped into sneakers, and made my way out of my room.
“I’m going for a run.”
Harrison glanced over his shoulder at me.
“You hate running.”
“I do.”
It turned out I hated being in the apartment with him and the weird, complicated feelings stirring between us all the more.
So I did the real mature thing.
And physically ran away from my problems.
Until my knees were wobbly.
Until my head was pounding from dehydration.
Until I barely had the energy to go home, do a quick body shower, and slip into sweats.
But when I tried to get into my bed, I smelled him on the sheets.
I ripped the bedding off with a growl, carrying it out into the hall where I’d heard Harrison’s clothes swishing around in a closet at night.
