Alex, who has been with me through the darkest moments of my entire life, is standing here, looking at me like I hung the stars, giving me something that feels like a promise of a future wecanhave, even if it’s only one I let myself believe in for tonight.
I love him.
The realization settles into me like a quiet, undeniable truth.
I love him. I love him. I love him.
I always have, I just didn’t want to see or acknowledge it before. I think it was a result of losing so many people in my life that I loved. I was scared that if I loved him, I would lose him too. And the fucked up thing is… that I was right.
I know that I love him now, and I’m going to lose him.
I throw my arms around his neck, clutching him to me as I breathe him in. “Thank you,” I whisper against his skin.
“Always,” he murmurs back.
I wakeup the next morning and something is wrong.
It’s not the usual fatigue. This is worse. Heavier.
My body feels like it’s sinking into the mattress, as if gravityhas tripled overnight. Even lying down, the dizziness grips me like a vice, unrelenting and cruel.
Please, not today.
This is our first Christmas together. I won’t let my body take that away from me. I hear Alex stir beside me, and then his groggy morning voice mumbles, “Good morning, Princess. Feliz Navidad.”
I force a smile as I turn my head toward him, willing my body to cooperate. “Merry Christmas.” I reply, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The room tilts slightly, but I ignore it.
He studies me, his hazel eyes sharper now as if he recognized a slight change in me.
“How are you feeling?”
“Perfect.” The lie slides out too easily.
His brows pull together. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Just tired from yesterday. It was a lot.”
Alex doesn’t look convinced, and I know he sees right through me. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Em. You know that.”
I close my eyes for a second, swallowing past the fear creeping up my throat. “I just want today to be perfect.”
He exhales softly. Instead of pushing further, he pulls me close, wrapping me in his warmth. I bury my face in his chest, savoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, memorizing the way his fingers trace slow circles against my back.
I’m so fucking scared.
By the timewe make it back to my house in the afternoon, I’m barely keeping it together. My legs feel weak. My head is foggy.But I keep smiling and moving through the motions, because today is special and I’m not going to ruin in with my fucked up situation.
Alex watches me like a hawk.
When I go to start prepping the food, he gently takes the utensils out of my hands. “Sit down. I got it.”
I start to argue, but his stare silences me. With a sigh, I perch on a stool at the counter, watching him move around my kitchen like he belongs there. While the food is in the oven, I grab his hand and pull him toward my art studio. “I want to show you something.”
A look of suspicion overcomes his face. “Is this a trap? You never let me back here.”
I laugh, leading him inside. The studio is small but cozy. The walls are covered with several unfinished canvases, paint-stained rags are thrown about, and the shelves are stacked with brushes and jars of color. He stops in front of a large canvas near the window, his gaze sweeping over it. There’s not just one painting, there’s a collection of them around it. All different, each one scattered with pieces of him.
“These are all inspired by you,” I admit quietly.
