Secret Lucidity(33)

Without a word, he begins to drive.

My clothes are plastered against my skin, and when I look to my side, I catch him running his hand through his soaked hair, leaving it spiked up and messy as droplets fall from the tips and run down the sides of his face. He looks over and catches me staring but still remains unspoken. He stays that way through every stoplight and every turn he takes before pulling into the garage of his brick home. Once inside, the door lowers behind us, and he steps out of the car.

Rankled with nerves, I open my door and follow him inside the house. My heart kicks in a notch too high as we walk into the laundry room.

“Follow me,” he says as he goes into the connecting closet and pulls out some dry clothes from a couple drawers. “Here. Change into these. My bathroom is right through there.” He nods toward the double doors on the other side of the closet.

I take the clothes from him and walk into his large bathroom to see that it wraps around to his bedroom. I shut myself in before stripping out of my wet clothes. I hold up the T-shirt he gave me to my nose and breathe in his scent, closing my eyes and allowing it to seep deeply inside me.

For what?

I don’t know.

But I can’t help myself from seeking comfort everywhere I can manage to find it.

I slip on the shirt and long pajama pants that swallow me up and drag beneath my feet, and then turn to the mirror, only to be met with the face of disparity. There’s no hiding my swollen, bloodshot eyes, so why even bother?

Gathering my clothes, I take them back to the laundry room and toss them in the dryer. I walk through the house, following the soft glow of the fireplace, which leads me into his living room. I watch him toss a couple smaller pieces of firewood in, noting that he’s changed into dry clothing too.

The air is chilly, and with my hair still wet, I shiver and wrap my arms around myself while I stand here awkwardly. When he turns away from the fire, he comes straight to me and guides me to sit on the couch with him.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

His words prick gently against wounds I don’t think I can hide anymore, and I drop my head. His hand reaches behind my back, and he takes my shoulder, pulling me against him. The touch alone weakens what little guard I have left at this point.

I cry silently but so very painfully.

“Talk to me.”

“Everything’s falling apart,” I weep, every word breaking as they come out.

His arms band around me entirely, a comforting strength I’ve been neglected of for far too long, and I bend into him.

I’d melt if it meant I could be closer.

“My mother is hardly ever home,” I admit, needing to rid myself of all the secrets, to free myself of their burdening weight, which is suffocating me. “And when she is, I’m invisible to her. All she does is drink, sleep, and cry. I’m completely alone.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I lost everything the day I lost my dad.”

“I promise you. You didn’t,” he states with fervency.

I wrap my arms around him, needy for his words to be true, because I can’t bear the thought of being alone any longer. He holds me close to him, never wavering in his strength as I break down in his arms and cry for everything that’s been taken from me. I tell him about my mother’s drinking, about the nights she never comes home, about all the neglected responsibilities I’m forced to take care of, and about the man who dragged her through the front door tonight. I dump everything on to him, and instead of him pushing me away, he asks for more, and so I give it until I’m weak, cried out, and falling asleep.

His fingers comb through my hair with my head resting on his lap while I watch through slow blinking eyes as the fire burns down. The glowing wood pops, releasing a spray of embers, and I let out a deep sigh before my eyes shut for the last time.




His hushed words, “Wrap your arms around me,” stir me, but not enough to fully wake me.

Without opening my eyes, I feel him lift me, and I slip my arms behind his neck, drifting and fading as his steps lull me back to sleep.




A chill creeps across my skin, and I rouse, noticing I’m now in his bed. Grabbing at the blanket, I pull it up under my chin and open my eyes long enough to see the shadow of him standing in front of the bay windows, watching me.

I blink, and he turns away, casting his eyes outside before dreams of my stolen past pull me back under.




A crash of thunder jolts me awake, and he’s right here with me, his thumb dragging beneath my eye.

“Do you always do that?” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Cry in your sleep.”

As the haze from waking slowly dissipates, I become aware of how close we are. So much so, that the heat from his body has me warmed to the bone. And yet, my skin pricks in goose bumps.

The longer his eyes hold mine, the harder my heart pounds.

None of it makes sense though, because mine’s broken. It shouldn’t be able to beat, but it does. And when he’s near, it doesn’t just beat strongly, it beats wildly. It drums in my ears, silencing everything around.

Kiss me.

His eyes close, and his brows furrow in the confliction I wish didn’t exist, but it does. It’s everywhere we are, following us, taunting us.

This is wrong.

But when the whole world is spitting its wrongs at me, what the hell is just one more?