Come to Me Quietly(107)

She joined me in my room and curled up on her side of the bed with her back pressed to the wall, her cheek resting on her hands.

Sinking onto my side, I smiled at her as I tucked my pillow under my head. “I’m glad you came over tonight. This was a lot of fun.”



“Yeah, it really was.” She bit at her lip. Knowing eyes darted to the door, her voice soft. “You love him, Aly?”



I looked at my best friend, unsure why I’d kept this secret for so long. Unsure why I still did.

“So much,” I whispered. I knew it sounded as if it hurt because, really, it did.

She blinked as if trying to work it out. “You’re different with him.”



I glanced away, then back at her. “Is that good or bad?”



She cringed a little, as if she might not want to answer. “Both, I think. Maybe it’s just that I’ve seen you shut off for so long it’s weird to see you like this. I guess it worries me some.” Her eyes were wide and honest. “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”



“I am happy.”



She nodded, though worry creased her face. We both fell into silence, lost in thought.

Sleep was quick to overtake her. In no time, her soft snore filled my room.

I stared at the darkened ceiling and tried to find sleep of my own. I should have known my efforts would be fruitless.

Finally I climbed to my feet and tiptoed out into main room. It was pitch-black, the heavy curtains drawn. My eyes adjusted, and I shuffled to the place I knew he would be.

Heavy, burdened breaths filled the room, this anxiety winding through him where he lay just on the cusp of sleep. I knew it because I found him there every night, shaking, twitching, silent in his pain.

I just wanted to take it away.

Slowly, I climbed onto the couch, straddling him at his waist. He jerked up as if in shock, the strong planes of his stomach stretched taut as he lifted his head. Rough hands dug into my hips.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was all gravelly.

“I missed you,” I said.

I felt his palm come to my face. His fingers traveled up to comb through my hair. “You shouldn’t be out here like this, Aly.”



I leaned down, pressing my hands to the cushions on both sides of his face. “I’m not ashamed of us, Jared,” I whispered urgently toward the shadows that blackened his face.

His hand tightened into a fist in my hair. “You should be.”



Steam filled the bathroom the next day as I took my shower. Sheets of hot water pounded on my shoulders before they cascaded down my back. Rivulets gathered as thin lines that snaked along my legs before they crawled to the shower floor. I lathered my body wash on my loofah and scrubbed it over my skin, breathing in the freshness as the hot water slowly cleared my head.

Megan had left half an hour before.

We’d all slept in, Megan and me stumbling from bed at close to noon. Jared had still been asleep on the couch, his hair sticking up in every direction when he’d lifted his head to throw a frustrated squint at us when we emerged from my room. His pained expression didn’t come close to the one I was sure Megan would be sporting all day. She’d woken with a drawn-out groan, ramming her fists in her eyes to block out the light.

I’d asked her what she expected when she’d consumed half her weight in tequila the night before.

Rinsing the soap from my body, I turned off the shower and blindly fumbled outside the curtain for my towel. I pressed it to my face where it absorbed my contented sigh.