Eden doesn’t loosen up until we’re at the end of the hall.
I pull free, but my legs are jelly.
I nearly eat shit, but Eden steadies me.
His hands are shaking almost as much as mine.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I feel Anaise’s hand on my back, and I tense, refusing to move.
I stare at the soulless tile, my breath loud and useless.
“I’m going to kill him,” I tell them, but my voice cracks, and my vision blurs with the tears I've been holding in.
Eden wraps his arms around me. I try to push away, but he holds me tighter.
Anaise presses herself against me from behind, her arms reaching for Eden.
Giving in, I let my head fall to Eden’s shoulder, and I weep.
My body shudders in their embrace, and they just hold me without complaint.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter, and they know it’s not for them.
They squeeze me tighter, and I hate them for it. Anaise lost her too, so how can she be whole enough to give comfort when she needs it as well?
I hate them both for being alive when she isn’t.
I hate every human with a pulse and a future, but I lean into them anyway because they are my entire world and all that I have left.
They are my real family.
The first thing that registers is the pressure. It’s not real pain, just a dull, persistent weight running from the base of my neck all the way to the soles of my feet from a night spent in a tug of war between restlessly tossing and turning, and lucid, agonizing dreams.
The second thing that registers is that I’m not cold anymore.
It's still dark, but the sun is rising.
I stretch out my legs and hear the rustling of the sleeping bag.
I shift again to confirm I’m not hallucinating.
My hand ventures beyond my side of the mattress. It’s cold, and bare, everything having been piled on top of me. I smile, and my heart hurts. These are the little things I crave but don’t allow myself to believe that I deserve.
I move, little by little, until I’m lying on Carey’s pillow. Only half my body is covered now, so I pull the sleeping bag on top of me and hug it high around my face.
It smells like him.
So does the pillow.
I breathe in deep, and the ache in my muscles means nothing anymore.
I want this so much, to wake up every morning having slept beside him every night.
For several minutes I allow myself to imagine him returning with coffee he’s made on the fire. He leaves it beside the sink, then crawls back into bed and nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck from behind. I reach up to run my fingers through his wild hair, his lips pressing into my jaw as he grinds himself against my ass, the coffee forgotten.
But then the guilt sets in.
