Page 36 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

I want a bath, but the thought of sitting down just to have to get back up is too daunting. So I shower faster than I’ve ever done before. Using shampoo only, I lather head to toe, unwilling to take an extra step to open the body wash.

Fuck conditioner. Screw brushing my hair. I wrap a towel around myself and climb into bed, giving zero fucks that I left the light on in the bathroom. It’ll just have to stay that way. I close my eyes, waiting for the relief of resting to find me, but I miss him already.

The endlessly lonely days seem to stretch out in front of me, and I wonder what the fuck have I done coming here?

I swallow against the knot in my throat and wait for sleep to take me.

When the light gets flicked off in the bathroom, I startle, and he stops moving at the reaction.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I thought it would be easier to sleep without the light on.” I nod, assuming he can see the motion in the dark. I can just make out his body movements, but not his face.

“Can’t sleep again?” I ask, and he nods back, moving closer to the bed.

“Can I?” He doesn’t need to ask.

I pull back the cover for him, realizing I’m naked, the towel lost at the bottom of the bed. He doesn’t notice, or if he does, he pretends to give me privacy by looking away. He takes off his flannel sleep pants and gets into the bed beside me, bringing warmth and his woodsy scent with him. He must have showered recently, and the smell of his body wash is like balm to my skin. I want to melt into him.

But I don’t. I roll over, expecting a repeat of the night before. Plenty of space, no touching, just two souls who can’t seem to make it through the night without each other.

A warm hand on my hip sears and stings at my cool skin, the heat of his touch nearly unbearable.

“I was worried about you today,” he whispers, sending shockwaves bounding over me at how close he is.

“I-I’m sorry. I was fine.” When his hand squeezes at my hip, a full-body shiver shakes me.

“Can I touch you?” He whispers again.

“Yeah,” I whisper back because my lonely little soul is desperate for human touch. I would beg him to rub my back or run a hand into my hair. I would do anything for him to pull me into his chest and hold me.Please.

And then he moves closer, the front of his body sliding against the back of mine. Fitting to me like a glove. Two puzzle pieces locking together. It feels right.

I shiver again, not from the cold but from the thrill, and he notches his arm tighter around my midsection, pulling me flush.

Oh my god.My touch-deprived body burns. He has no idea that this, right here, is getting me hotter than any foreplay ever could.

“I-is this okay?” He stammers. I simply nod, the back of my head rubbing against his chest, and his breathing starts to even out.

Eventually, mine falls into the same rhythm.

“You don’t have to ask, Alex. If you want to sleep in here, you can.” If my only human interaction would be this, I’d take it where I can.

“Okay,” it’s the last thing he says before his breathing drops low and slow, and like the sweetest lullaby, I fall with him.

TEN

Emma

january

Today marks our one-month anniversary — not that we’re celebrating — but it’s a notable day for other reasons. Alex’s sister, Brit, gave birth to a healthy baby boy this morning.Technically, my nephew?I’ll never say that out loud, though, because everyone would know it isn’t true. I don’t even know them.

Aside from our brief encounter at The Grounds, I still haven’tofficiallybeen introduced to Brit. But I tried to do the polite thing and sent Alex with a gift to the hospital.

Again, I wasn’t invited, which is,again, nothing new. For a man whose marriage requirements of me included attending family functions and social events, he never goes to anything, and if he does, it’s clear that I’m not welcome to come with. He never does it in a mean way, but it’s always:I’m leaving, be back in a bit. Then he’ll end up telling me he met up with his brother-in-law. Or his brothers — not blood-related. Or Constantine, his mom’s partner.

So that means I’m always either at home or at school. There isn’t much in between. I haven’t made any friends, and I’ve hardly met another person, but I keep busy enough.

Alex and I have formed a routine of sorts that’s amiable.