Page 101 of When In Doubt

I slide out of bed, trying to keep my steps light as I pad across to the drawers against the opposite wall. Scattered across the wood are various trinkets, a few sports medals, some rocks, a collection of framed photos. I press a finger against the glass of one, and my own tired reflection stares back at me. I was halfway through brushing my hair when the alarm started blaring and I can see the mess now, still unresolved.

Past the ghost of my own face, there’s a photo of Oscar, caked in mud and wearing a soccer uniform, tucked behind the glass. He looks about fourteen or fifteen, and there’s a man next to him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. I recognize him from the pictures downstairs. Oscar’s dad. He beams down at his son, pride radiating from his every pore.

I reach up and try to rub away the pang in my chest. I imagine Oscar trying to save his father, feeling so helpless, so alone. I wish I could reach back and be with him. He’s been there for me so often, showing up every time I’ve asked and all the times I haven’t. I want to offer him the same comfort.

There’s another frame behind that one—a picture of Oscar on a school field day. He’s sprinting down a track, but it’s not him that catches my eye. In the corner of the image, barely visible behind the heads of other kids, is me. I stare at my younger self, the way her shoulders curl in, making herself as small as possible. A few kids down the line from me is Jamie Riley.

It’s strange, seeing Oscar and I in the same space. I wish I could remember him better. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have felt so lonely.

A sound from downstairs shakes me out of my reverie, a soft thud and a grunt. I should be wondering who it is, but I don’t need to ask. Because where else would he be?

I grip the handrail tight as I make my way down the stairs. Things don’t feel the same as they did when I last saw him. Even though just a few hours have passed, something’s shifted.

Maybe I just know too much now. It’s torturous keeping up the walls I’ve been clinging to, all because of my fears of being hurt. Again.

Distance has always been like a parachute for me, but now it’s like someone’s started unraveling it from the edges, and soon enough I’ll end up in free fall.

Oscar’s shuffling around, propping pillows up against the arm of the couch. He lifts up the blanket, obscuring his face as he gives it a shake. When he drops it, I finally get a good look at him. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Did he just get in? Or has he been here a while, struggling to sleep just like I am?

“Oscar?” I whisper, wary of disturbing Valerie.

He looks up, eyes wide. “Freya!” he hisses. “Shit, did I wake you?”

“Are you okay?” I take a step toward him. He folds the blanket in half and tosses it down onto the cushion.

“What are you doing up?”

I shrug, rounding the couch. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He reaches out, cupping my elbow and tugging me the last few paces until our toes touch. “Is everything okay?” His hand comes up, palm cupping my cheek as his thumb strokes a soft path under my eye, leaving sparks in its wake.

“I’m fine, just a bit wired.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, his breath puffing against the top of my head. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Did you just get back?”

“No, I’ve been here for about an hour.”

“You’re still up?”

He smiles awkwardly, giving a little wince. “This couch wasn’t exactly made with someone like me in mind.”

Even calling it a couch is a stretch. It’s more of a loveseat, barely long enough for him to lie down, even with his legs curled up.

“Come upstairs.”

“You sure?” He runs his long fingers through my hair, catching on a tangle, and I have to suppress a giggle as he has to work to detach himself.

I nod, looking into his eyes. “I’m sure.”

I take him by the hand, leading him up the stairs as if this is my home and not his. When we reach his room, neither of us moves to turn on the light. Anything is possible this way, and nothing could be bad or wrong when we’re wrapped up in the shroud of darkness. Oscar snakes an arm around my waist and kisses my cheek.

“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit,” he whispers.

I take in the twin bed, only just wider than the couch and maybe a foot longer. I don’t care, and if it means I can be even closer to him, then it’s all the better in my book. “We’ll make it work.”

Oscar steps away from me and pulls back the covers before gesturing me in. I slide back into the warmth I left behind and scoot over until I’m almost touching the wall. Oscar follows, but it becomes clear that this bed was not designed with two people in mind.