Flinging the duvet off, and stomping to the door, or more like stumbling because my muscles ache. How long does it take for muscles to atrophy?
The hallway light outside the condo door is blinding after lying in the dark for so long. I squint as I throw open the door, ready to tear into Naz or whoever the fuck has the nerve to keep making so much racket.
It’s no one I expect.
It’s Luc.
He stands in front of me, looking objectively like shit with his clothes disheveled and wrinkled, his hair past the point ofneeding a haircut, one side sticking straight up while the other is plastered to the side of his head. Dark stubble casts a shadow over his lower face, almost as dark as the circles under his eyes.
Where is his coat? It’s fucking December.
I can’t breathe at the sight of him. Everything in me goes stupidly quiet, like he found the pause button on the screaming feed in my head.
“Luc?” I question, testing the waters of whether this is a hallucination or not. My voice cracks, and I hate that it cracks. I hate that I care if it cracks, because even if he’s not a hallucination I’m mad at him for hanging up. For giving up.
For breaking my fucking heart.
Luc huffs out a ragged breath that puffs white in the air. He swallows. “Jesse–”
My name on his lips is just as raw and pained as I feel. He takes a small, tentative step towards me, then drops to his knees and wraps his arms around my hips.
“Jesse, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.”
What?
My knees wobble, and I lower myself to eye level with him. I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t find the words, so I surge forward and wrap my arms around his neck instead. He pulls me close and breathes in at the base of my neck. He probably regrets it. I really need a shower. And a toothbrush.
We haven’t discussed or decided anything, but heat and relief radiate in my chest so strongly I almost mistake it for pain.
He’s real. He’s here.
I stand up, not trusting myself to think clearly when I’m so close to him, and gesture for him to do the same. Clumsily pushing the door open wider, I gesture into the entryway. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold as shit out here. Why aren’t you wearing a jacket? Are you insane?”
He shrugs and gives me a tired, exasperated little half-smile. His eyes catch mine, and the blue of his irises seems dimmer. The look he gives me is full of complicated things. Exhaustion is probably paramount. There’s fear, some anger. And there’s just enough hope that we can find forgiveness with each other.
There’s a lot to talk about. We both know it. But for now, I step into him and wrap my arms around his waist. He smells like cold air and clean laundry and hope.
I, however, probably smell like shit, so I pull away. Or I try to. Luc is holding on to me too tight.
“I smell. I’ve been lying on the same sheets, in the same clothes, since yesterday morning.”
“Why?”
I shake my head, and he grabs my chin to direct me to look at him. “Why, Jesse?”
A small flare of anger has me spitting out the truth before I can think better. “I gave up hope that I’d ever see you again, and it hurt too much.”
His shoulders move forward almost imperceptibly, like he can shield his chest from an ache.
“I know we have a lot to talk about, but right now, I just need to take care of you,” he says, voice strained.
He wants to… take care of me?
“Okay,” I whisper, because honestly, I need that too.
He has me point him towards the bathroom, but other than that I don’t lift a single finger. He starts running a bath before stripping me out of my dirty clothes, tenderly but clinically. He actually sits me on the toilet, turning away to give me privacy, adding some random bath salts from a row along the edge of the tub to the water.
I can walk, but he still lifts me to lay me in the tub.
