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Chapter Thirty-Five

Gabriel

I hear Storm come in about two hours after he left, as I’m throwing my clothes into the dryer. He goes straight upstairs and his door closes harsher than I’d like. When I come out of the laundry room, I look up the stairs and wonder if I should check on him. It’s clear he was upset about something when he left, and stomping up the stairs and slamming the door tells me nothing has changed.

When I tried helping earlier, he snapped at me. I’m not sure my skin is thick enough to handle him doing that again, especially when I’m only trying to help. When I’m upset, usually I want space. I have no idea what he wants. I don’t know him well enough. He didn’t get to eat, so I guess I should see if he’s hungry. There’s plenty of food left and he was excited about the pizza.

I knock on his door when I reach it. I wait for him to answer or open, but he does neither. In the mornings, I knock and then slip inside. He doesn’t seem to care about that, but this situation is different. That’s like a standing invitation for sex. Walking into his room without being invited in wouldn’t be right. So I don’t. I knock again—and wait.

“Storm? Are you hungry? I can heat you up some food.”

Still no response. I wait a few beats before heading downstairs to do more cleaning. When the kitchen is spotless, about an hour later, I pick up my phone and text him because I haven’t heard anything and I’m worried.

Just let me know you’re okay.

I put the phone in my pocket and move to the living room. I dust then vacuum. When I’m done, I check my phone and there isn’t a text. What could have happened to get him so upset?

I go back upstairs to knock on his door again, and when I don’t get an answer, I put my hand on the handle, ready to make my way inside. But I stop myself. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t like this. At least, I don’t think I would—maybe I would be okay with it because it’s him and my boundaries are different. He’s never come into my room, outside of that one time, for me to know how I’d feel and honestly, it doesn’t matter. This is about him and how he will react, not me. Unsure of what to do, I drop my hand and pull out my cell.

“Gabriel,” Marta says happily as I turn toward the stairs. “How was your trip?”

“Storm is upset about something and he’s in his room and won’t answer the door. Should I go in?”

“Is it locked?” she asks carefully.

“There is no lock on the door.”

“Seriously? You let him move in and can’t even give him the luxury of a lock on the door?”

“There was never one on it! If he wanted one, he could have said something. I’d have let him change it.”

She tsks. “What happened?”

I pace in the kitchen as I explain everything that happened from when we were about to eat, to what happened when he came back.

“It sounds like he wants space.”

“But it’s been over two hours since he’s been back.”

“Gabriel, you of all people should know what it’s like to want space, right?”

“Yeah, but…” I don’t really have an argument for that. Other than telling her I’m worried about him, but I’m not sure that’s a good enough reason to barge into his room.

“Give him some more time, Gabriel.”

“How long? You know I’m not patient.”

She chuckles. “Don’t I know it?”

“ How long ?”

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Just tell me!”

“Until tomorrow.”

I stop abruptly, frowning.

“Tomorrow? No way. I’m not waiting that long to see if he’s alive or dead.”

“I’m sure he’s very much alive, Gabriel. Stop worrying so much. Try again in a little while, but I’m telling you, do not go into that room until tomorrow.”

We end the call after I tell her about my trip, though it’s a very quick overview of what happened because I want to get off the phone. I leave out all the sex stuff or anything that’ll make her ask more questions. I fold the clothes from the dryer and put them away, then knock on Storm’s door one more time. When he doesn’t answer, I put my ear to it to see if I can hear anything. Nothing. No snoring, no music, no sound. With a huff, I grab my book from my room and make my way outside.

There is no way I’m leaving him in there all night without checking on him, but I will give him a little more time. He’s allowed to be upset, and I will respect his need for space—to some extent.

I enjoy the rest of the sunlight and then head inside to start dinner once it’s out of sight. It’s later than we usually eat, but we ate lunch late. Well, I did because he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

When dinner is done, I sit and eat alone, then bring a plate up to Storm’s room. I’ve never brought food upstairs, but I’m pretty sure he does without telling me. Food doesn’t belong in bedrooms. It’s for the kitchen and dining room—outside is questionable.

“Storm, I’m bringing you some food,” I call out before turning the handle and pushing the door open.

I find him lying face down on the bed, hugging his pillow. His breaths are long and slow, and he’s still wearing what he had on earlier. Even his shoes are still on. He’s definitely alive—just sleeping. Probably been sleeping the entire time. At least he’s alive. His phone is beside him on the bed, and for the first time, I wonder who he talks to. Does he talk to guys? Does he have boyfriends? Go on dates? I don’t think he has since he’s been here, but he could be doing all sorts of things while I’m at work without me knowing. We aren’t dating, never said anything about actually being with each other. I’d have no right getting mad at him if he was doing any of that. Standing here, watching him, for far too long, all these thoughts start swirling in my head. Thoughts that have me sick to my stomach. Thoughts I really don’t like.

I put the plate of food on his end table, then carefully take off his shoes and leave them by the door. I leave the room and go for a drive, because I need to think.

The house is quiet when I get back, and I don’t feel any better than when I left. I was able to think, but it didn’t do me any good.

I’ve accepted that I like sex with Storm, even though he’s a man. I’ve accepted that I’ve had premarital sex, and that I have made a sex video that anyone in the world could see. What I haven’t accepted, and what I can’t wrap my head around, is that I have feelings for Storm. Feelings that aren’t just comfortability. It’s not the same way I like Marta; trust her and want to spend time with her—sometimes. It’s more than that. I think about him often, want to be with him, and when I’m not, I wonder what he’s doing. He’s always on my mind. I like when he smiles, and like when he makes me smile. I like that he cares about my feelings and is thoughtful. I like that he knows me and that I can be myself with him. He makes me laugh, and that’s important. Is this what it’s like to have a crush on someone? I don’t know where to begin to process this.

I’ve spent my whole day worrying about him. Though I got things done, it was all around Storm.

Finish cleaning the kitchen. Check on Storm.

Fold the clothes. Check on Storm.

Make dinner. Check on Storm.

I don’t hate it. It didn’t ruin my mood or my day, and I don’t feel bad for doing it or put-out by it. Doing it was almost natural. It’s just… different. I’m not used to caring about someone outside of what they think of me.

I hang my keys up by the door and head upstairs, finding Storm’s door partly open. I peek inside and see him sitting on the bed, eating the food I brought him that must be cold by now.

He looks up, our eyes meet, and I just stand there. It’s like my feet have grown roots.

I want to talk, but something is stopping my mouth from opening. There’s some invisible force that is making it impossible to move. My stomach twists and this stupid voice in the back of my head tells me I need to take a step back from this situation. That it isn’t going to end well for me if I push to hard right now.

Storm blinks and breaks the spell, so I keep moving into my room, shutting the door behind me and changing into my pajamas before getting into bed. It’s late and I’m going back to work tomorrow, so I need to get back on track with my routine. Going away for the long weekend, especially with the time change, messed me up.

I toss and turn for what feels like hours, but eventually fall asleep. Only to be woken up a short time later to someone getting into my bed, which has me jerking awake and pushing myself up to see who it is. The shadow of someone is beside me, frozen halfway to getting under the blankets.

“Sorry,” is whispered into the dark. Storm.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice sleepy.

“I wanted to apologize for today.”

“By crawling into my bed in the middle of the night and scaring me half to death?”

He shrugs, not saying a word.

I sigh and lie back down. He finishes getting in, scooting closer to me and carefully putting his arm around my waist and tugging me to him so my back is to his front.

We don’t share beds here. Not in this house. We did while we were on vacation, but that was there. yet… Here we are. And I don’t hate this. The thought of him being in my bed doesn’t bother me at all.

Storm kisses the back of my head. “I’m sorry I was mean earlier.”

“You were upset about something.”

“Not an excuse.”

“I’ve done it to you plenty.”

“Still not an excuse.”

“Apology accepted,” I say, assuming that’s what he needs to hear.

I’m not sure what else to tell him. I’m not mad about him snapping at me. It hurt, yes, but it wasn’t intentional. And he’s apologizing, so that should be enough, right? Yet, something still feels off and I can’t place what it is. Maybe just him being in my room, in my bed, that no one but myself has ever laid in? Not even Tara shared this bed with me, and she never came in here. But I don’t think that’s it either, but I already decided I don’t hate this.

“Thank you,” he whispers, nuzzling his face against the back of my neck. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

“Guess we’ll find out in the morning.”

He huffs out the smallest laugh, kissing me one more time before I fall asleep again.