Alexander’s in rough shape. Not as bad as she expected, but his weariness is almost palpable.
There are dark circles beneath his eyes. His normally luscious black locks are knotted and a little greasy. He smells like an ashtray.
Eden’s the first to give in and speak.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I overstepped and I didn’t respect your boundaries and I promise never to do that again. But I’d also understand if you... If you don’t want to keep seeing me. I said things I shouldn’t have and... Fuck. I was a lot more eloquent in my texts.” She laughs bitterly.
“You sent texts?”
She glances at him. “Yes? A good dozen. I was trying to check up on you, but you never answered.”
“Broke my phone,” he replies curtly.
“You what?”
“My phone. Broke it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was... angry. I called my mother and she... She has that effect on me. So I broke my phone.”
Eden swallows, incredulous. “Your mother? What—” She stops herself. It’s none of her business. If he feels like sharing, great. Until then, she’s learned her lesson about prying. “I was really worried about you,” she says instead. She chews on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. It doesn’t help. Her eyes feel hot with the threat of tears, the mounting pressure inside her skull too strong to fight against any longer.
“You said you were done. Did you mean with me?”
Alexander shakes his head, frustrated. “No, I—Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I know how bad that sounds. Please don’t cry, Eden, I—”
It’s too late.
It hits her like a runaway train.
Frustration, followed by a quick and heavy dose of alleviation.
She sobs into her hands. “Do you have any idea how scared I was? You left. You justleft.You said you were done and you drove off and didn’t answer my calls and I thought—” Her voice is shaky. It’s squeaky and pathetic and cracking all over the place. “I was so worried. What if you got in an accident or something? What if you were hurt? Dead in a ditch somewhere? There would have been no way for me to know if you were okay or not and I—”
It suddenly occurs to her that a runaway train isn’t a good enough analogy. This hits much harder. Deeper.
Darker.
“I don’t want to have to look for you, too!”
The silence that follows is brutal.
“Shit,” Alexander mutters to himself. “Fuck, Eden. I forgot all about—”
She shakes her head, trying to shake herself free of the thoughts. “No, no. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“I don’t want to make this about me. I’m just glad that you’re alright.”
“Eden?”
“What?”
“Can I hug you?”
She nods quickly, eagerly. No sooner is she wrapped up in his arms.
Every ounce of stress she has bottled up in her body evaporates. She feels safe. She feels good.
She feels like she’s home.
