“I miss them too.” No matter how I feel about growing up in the commune, growing up so sheltered, I do miss the people. I keep in touch with a few of the kids my age via social media, especially the ones who left like I did.
“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asks in her sweet-as-honey, Georgia-peach accent. The familiar sound of it rolls over me, soothing some of the bumps and bruises I’ve gathered over the past month.
“I’m fine. I promise. I miss you guys soooooo much.”
“Now you sound more like yourself. Well, it’s early. We’ll let you go. But we love you, Sunshine. You’re the light of our lives.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
The sound of a small skirmish filters through the phone and I can clearly hear the sound of Mama stepping out onto the porch, the small creek behind the house bubbling through the phone speaker.
“Mi corazon, mijo. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, I promise. Don’t worry!”
Mama sighs heavily. I can practically see her leaning against the porch railing, black hair shot through with gray. “If you say so. Your mom is driving me up the wall, you know. She’s doing that whole mural thing again. We’ve painted and repainted the bedroom three times.”
Crap. Mom only does that when she’s anxious because of me. “I’ll text more. Promise. Also, I hope it’s flowers and not insects again. The beetles were super freaky.”
“It’s galaxies now,” Mama says with an air of resignation.
I try really hard to not laugh. But I can practically envision the black wall with weird splotches of color splattered across it. “Oh, space. Nice. The best of a lot of bad options.”
I can practically hear Mama’s shoulders lowering from her ears. “Alright, mijo. We love you. Call soon.”
“Love you,” I murmur just before the line quiets.
I glance back over my shoulder and sigh in relief when Nolan is still sound asleep in the messy bed. Rubbing at my face, I shake off the phone call. It’s fine. They’d just worry if they knew the mess that I was in. And it definitely is a certified mess. The room is chilly and breaks goose pimples over my skin as I tread back into the bedroom. Nolan makes a small disgruntled sound when I lie quietly back down beside him.
His dark brown eyes blink open slowly, as if there is an insurmountable amount of something weighing them down. As the tour goes on, he looks closer to death than life. I want to feed him, make him sleep, pull him into my body to keep him safe. I have this odd sense of feeling that he’s slowly slipping through my grip, like sand at the beach.
“Morning,” I whisper into the soft beige sheets.
Nolan grunts and leans forward to bury his face in my neck. A few seconds go by where he just simply breathes me in, his fingers dancing across the expanse of my back before settling at my shoulder blades. His skin is so cold against my own overheated body. The shape of his hand feels like a brand, one that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget.
“Are you making me go out on a date today?” Nolan murmurs against my skin, his teeth lightly nipping at my throat with each word.
“Making is such an odd choice of words, Nolan.”
He snorts and snuggles closer against me. I close my eyes tight against the small, rare show of want from him. Usually by now he’s fled the bed, pushed me away until I feel tormented with some odd sense of loss. He’s still naked after last night, so I curl my hand over the hard curve of his hip, the bone biting into the softness of my palm.
“Are youtakingme out today?”
“Yes.”
Nolan hums quietly. When he pulls away, his eyes are full of more life than they have been for weeks. “Do you need to go home for Thanksgiving?”
“Were you eavesdropping?”
Nolan rolls over onto his back, bringing me with him. His leg curls around my hip, his slowly hardening cock nudging against mine. Fuck.
“You talk very loudly.”
That’s definitely not true. “I was whispering.”
I shiver when Nolan scratches at my scalp. He blinks slowly up at me. “Your whisper is very loud.”
I can’t take one more second of his fingers working their magic in my hair. I grab his wrists and press them down into the pillows above his head. The pulse in his wrist pounds against my palm, proof of life. Nolan stays quiet, only arching one eyebrow as he waits for my next move.
