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Tess
July 2009
I’m livingtwo completely different lives.
During the day, I’m the dutiful daughter. I work hard for my father. Never say no, even if I grumble about it. I hang out with Conner while I work. He’s different since Henley left. Quieter. Not as quick to smile. He’s graduated from oil changes and tune-ups to part replacement and engine re-builds. I’ve never seen anyone take to cars the way he has. He’s much focused and detail oriented then I would’ve guess. As far as my father is concerned, Conner Gilroy is the second-coming of Jesus. If I ask for time off, all I have to do is tell him I’m going somewhere with Con and he’s practically shoving us out the door. We see the occasional movie. We hang out at Benny’s and heckle his cousin who works summers as a fry cook.
After he leaves for the day, I shower and get dressed for bed. Put my rapidly growing cat in her basket where she curls up and tucks herself in and I do the same. Turn off my light and close my eyes.
And wait for Declan.
Sometimes I doze off, only to feel him slip into bed beside me. Sometimes I’m awake and watch him climb through my window.
I don’t ask where he’s been or what he’s done because I don’t want to know. I just let him pull me close, tucking me against him. If I try to move or turn over, he just tightens his grip and tells me to go to sleep.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
Every night, without fail for that last two weeks.
He hasn’t so much as tried to kiss me, not since the first night.
I’m about ready to lose my damn mind.
This time when he comes through the window, I’m awake. Sitting up. Waiting for him.
Like most old buildings in Boston, there is no central air in our apartment and it’s been unseasonably hot the last few days. I have a box fan propped on the sill of my open window, trying to combat the stagnate, warm air that fills the apartment during the day. It’s not doing much good but it’s the best I can do.
I sit on my bed and watch him move the fan, carefully setting it on the floor before slipping over the sill. It seems impossible that someone so big could fit through such a small space. He puts the fan back in place. When he turns back around he’s frowning at me.
“You can’t sleep with your window open like this,” he says quietly. “It isn’t safe.”
I haven’t heard his voice in weeks. We don’t talk when he comes over. If I’m awake I lay there wondering if this is it. If this is the night he’s finally going to touch me. If he’s ever going to kiss me again. I fall asleep waiting and wake up alone.
Every night, for two weeks.
I’m not going to do it again.
“Why?” I whisper back. “Is someone going to break into my room and bring me cat food?”
It’s too dark to tell but I think the frown deepens into a scowl. “I’m serious, Tess.”
“And I’m hot, Declan.” It’s true. It’s got to be 90 degrees in here, even with the window open.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just stands by the window, looking at me. “You’re not wearing pants,” he says, his tone gruff.
I look down at my bare legs and tank I’m wearing before bouncing my gaze up at him. “You heard me say I was hot, right?”
He doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps looking at me. Finally I lean over and turn off my bedside lamp. “Are you coming to bed or not?”
He mutters something to himself. Something that sounds like last time, asshole. But he comes toward me. Kicks off his shoes. Pulls off his socks. He’s wearing track pants and a dark colored, hoodie, despite the heat. He unzips it to reveal a plain white T-shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders. After a second’s worth of hesitation, he pulls it off and drops it on top of his shoes.
Jesus, he’s beautiful.
Powerful shoulders.
Broad, muscular chest.
Thick biceps.