Come to Me Quietly(50)

“Hey, Jared, you feel like going out tonight?” he asked as he ran his hands through the messy locks of his black hair.

Jared looked up at him with something akin to a grimace. “Nah, man, I had a long day at work today. Think I’m just going to hang out here and relax.”



“Ah, that’s too bad.”



Christopher grabbed his keys and tucked his wallet in his back pocket. “Did you have a good day at work, Aly?” he asked with a casual smile as he gathered his things. He didn’t seem to notice the well of emotion that had broken between Jared and me, or how our movements had slowed to match the weight in our chests.

“Yeah, it was fine,” I said.

“Cool. Well, I’m going to get out of here. Give me a call if you need me.” Then he shut the door behind him without a second thought.

Jared barely acknowledged me when I said I was going to grab a shower, just obliged me with a small nod as he turned back to the television in the same motion.

I turned the shower as hot as it would go. Steam filled the small room, streams of scalding water assailing my skin. Redness seeped to the surface, and I wished the hot shower could somehow burn the questions from my mind the same way it burned the fatigue from my body. But those questions remained locked tight in the boy sitting out on the couch.

Wrapped in a towel, I unlatched the bathroom door and looked down to the end of the short hall into the darkened living room. Flashes from the TV lit the end of the couch, and I could feel him there just as I knew he could feel me. Yet I sensed no movement, no shift in his presence.

Out of respect, I left him there because I didn’t really know what to say. How could I take back last night? Because it was my heart. He was my heart. I didn’t regret the fact that I’d invited him to open up to me. I only regretted the reaction he’d had to it.

In my room, I dropped my towel to the floor and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank, then curled up on my side on my bed to stare out the open window. Even though it had waned, the moon still shone bright enough to light up my room. My sketch pad lay on the floor next to my bed, but tonight I didn’t feel like drawing. It had always been my therapy, the way to work out my thoughts, fears, and desires. A way to show my love.

But tonight I clung to those thoughts, let them tumble around in my head while I rested on my side in the soft glow of the moon. With my back to the door, I stared out the window. In the dull light of the city, I could only make out the few brightest stars. Time passed too slow and too fast because I longed for him and was entirely terrified of what hid inside him at the same time. I’d fallen a long time ago, had held tight to the remnants of his memory that he’d left in his wake. It’d been foolish then, but safe, because it was only an illusion. I’d given myself to him when he’d never even had me at all.

Now my bones trembled with reality.

I didn’t know if he would come, and many hours passed before he finally did.

Tonight Jared didn’t knock. I tensed when the door creaked open, listened as it quietly snapped shut behind him. He said nothing as he inched up behind me. I sensed the hesitation in his steps, the heavy breaths he pushed in and out of his lungs.

For a second he just stood there at my side, and I could feel his eyes burning into my body. Then the bed dipped behind me.

I stilled myself as he settled, and his weight spread out over the surface of my bed. Tension radiated and poured out of him, so thick my mouth went dry.

He exhaled toward the ceiling, his arm pressed up against the length of my spine. I could picture him lying there, flat on his back, staring into nothing. Waiting. Waiting for what, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what he wanted. All I knew was I wanted him to want me.