Collared(82)

I smile too. Torrin’s bare upper half is a stark contrast to the soft pillow and smooth sheets tangled around his legs. “I was gone for five minutes.”

“Yeah, and you were gone for ten years.” His eyes open. “I’ve done my time when it comes to missing you.”

It’s impossible not to shift when he looks at me like this. When I do, I try to remember why I’m standing here watching him. “Yeah, so, I think someone’s usually supposed to make coffee in the morning, but I don’t have coffee because I’m still a child who thinks it tastes like ass.” I pluck at the hem of my shirt as I look at him. In my bed. Half naked and staring at me the way every person wants to be looked at by another person at least once in their lifetime. It’s like a dream, but it doesn’t quite feel like one, because in my dreams, I feel more intact than crumbling. “But I think I’ve got milk and cereal, so how about a bowl of Cheerios to wake you up?”

Torrin flashes me a thumbs-up. “Cheerios sound awesome.”

“Coming right up.”

I smile as I wander back down the hall. Cheerios. I don’t know if this is what he has some, most, or all mornings, but at least for this morning, it’s what he wants. It’s awesome. That’s a start.

I’m just reaching for the yellow box on top of the fridge when I hear something. It isn’t my neighbors moving around upstairs or someone dropping off their recycling. It’s a familiar sound—though not in this context.

I move toward the window, clutching the unopened box of cereal to my chest. I don’t make it far before it falls out of my arms and hits the floor. I shouldn’t have opened the curtains. I should have kept these ones closed.

Outside past the gate, I see what’s behind the familiar noise—it’s the media. I feel like they’re right outside my window even though they’re stationed a little ways back thanks to the police barrier going into place.

They found me. How did they find me? I’ve barely been a resident for twenty-four hours, and already they’re here, ready with their scalpels and bone saws to dissect me, piece by bloody piece.

I won’t be able to leave my apartment without passing them. I won’t be able to do anything outside of this one-thousand-square-foot space without them seeing it or following me or documenting it.

My heart drops all the way into its grave six feet under. Torrin.

Do they know he’s here? They can’t. But they will. Soon. If I don’t figure out something.

I’m thinking of ways to get him out of here, avenues for him to escape through as I stumble down the hall.

He knows something’s wrong before I face him. His expression goes from serene to troubled in half a blink of my eyes. “What is it?”

I freeze-frame this moment and archive it at the front of my memory. This moment can’t last, but the memory of it can. “They’re here.”

He doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t ask how many. He doesn’t ask where. His expression creases as he throws off the sheets and jumps out of my bed. “Good. I’ve got a confession to make.”

The way he says it, the way he powers past me . . . I know. What’s he about to do and what he’s going to say.

“Torrin, don’t.” I jog after him, panic digging its claws into my throat.

“They want a story? I’ll give them a story.”

The muscles of his back are tense, and as I follow him, I realize there are so many more parts of him I haven’t seen. So many lines and grooves and dips I want to touch and explore. I could spend one full night acquainting myself with each of them.

That will have to wait though because what I want and what’s best for him are two opposite things.

“No, stop.” When he’s reaching for the door, I lunge forward and grab his wrist. It stops him. Momentarily. “People look at me and see a man—Earl Rae Jackson.” When I say his name, Torrin’s jaw locks. “They see what he did and judge him and cross their fingers they’ll never run into someone like him someday.” I pause to catch my breath. “I don’t want the world to look at me and see Father Costigan, because you know that’s what will happen.” I slowly come around in front of him, putting myself between him and the door. “You go out there and start shouting about the way things are between us, shirtless at seven on a Saturday morning, and that will not put an end to anything.” I grab his other wrist and step into him. I don’t look away. I don’t stutter. I just keep telling him the hard truth. “It’s only going to be the start of a long, painful process where in the end, we’ll both come out looking like we swim in the same cesspool of morality as the Earl Raes of the world. I can’t do that to you. Please don’t ask me to.”

Torrin’s eyes cut to the door. His chest is moving as fast as it did during certain parts last night. He’s so torn I can see it about to split him down the middle. “Do you think that’s what I want for you? Another reason for the media to not leave you alone?” The muscles banding down his neck break to the surface. “But I don’t know what to do anymore. They won’t leave you alone. But the thing is . . .” He exhales and lowers his hand around my back. “I can’t leave you alone either. I don’t want to keep pretending we’re old friends. I don’t want to keep sneaking in through dark windows and doors. I don’t want to keep pretending, Jade. It’s killing me.”