Page 30 of Shapes of Love
“What are you talking about? Sleep on the bed?”
“What?” He shoots me a puzzled look.
“Relax.” I give his arm a gentle squeeze and push the doors open. “I’m just kidding.”
A spacious foyer opens out onto a living area stacked with plush sofas arranged around a cozy fireplace. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of London’s skyline, and on either side, there are two private rooms connected by the same wall.
Kai’s shoulders slump with relief, and I snicker.
“I hate you.” He takes off his boots and throws one at me. “You were messing with me?”
“In my defense, you looked very messable.” Something about his bed hair and the way his bangs are swept back by one of Sonia’s flower hairpins makes him look unguarded.
“I’ll get my revenge.” He groans, unceremoniously dropping his bag on the couch. “Just wait.”
My gaze drifts to the window, where the streetlights shineacross the pavement. I take a picture of the view and send it to Mia, but a knot forms in my chest when she just hearts it and doesn’t reply. Our chats have been looking so dry lately, and I don’t know what to do. I know friendships evolve, but it feels like my friendship with Mia is evolving into cold, empty space.
I ignore the tightness in my chest, chalking it up to the jet lag. I always get sad when I’m sleepy. Maybe I should just get some rest. Kai and I retreat to our rooms, but I keep tossing and turning, so I pull out my guitar and Pato—Tito for friends—my travel plushie.
If I can’t sleep, I might as well be productive.
Tito is a yellow duck I’ve had since I was a kid. He was the first plushie Mom ever bought for me, and I always take him with me when I fly somewhere. He’s so small he fits in my purse and keeps me company. He’s also my assistant during late-night songwriting sessions. I play and sing for him, and he holds my notebook. In return, I take pictures of him with landmarks of the cities we visit.
You twist the knife, and I long for the touch of your hand…I hum a few lyrics, recording a sample for Shirley. They kind of suck, but at this point I’m just trying to get a feel of the melody.
One of the other songs I’m currently writing is inspired by this extremely sad fic I found. I wanted fluff but found permanent-emotional-damage angst instead. I spent a week unable to function after I read it, and I’ve been wanting to turn it into lyrics for some time.
Wait. Will people think this is about me and Kai? Itdoesn’t really fit into the current narrative my label has built around us. Or worse, what if, without context, it sounds like I got my heart broken in a horrible way? Will they blame Kai and make up terrible stories about him? I want our eventual breakup to be amicable.
I can’t sing about this, I realize, with a pang to my chest. I don’t want my relationship to dictate what I write about, but I can’t just write about whatever. It’s what got me into this mess to begin with. Except, the boyfriend has a face and a name now. My songs will come back to haunt him.
I delete the audio, letting out a faint sigh as I fall back on the bed. Maybe I should call it a night—
“Why did you stop? It sounded good.” Kai’s voice travels through the wall.
“Sorry.” I straighten, turning slightly toward the direction of his voice in the other room. I feel oddly exposed, even though it’s not the first time he’s heard me sing or that I’ve sung in front of him. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I was awake playing on my phone. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Walls are thin. It’s not your fault.”
There’s a pause after that, and I don’t know what to say. I crack my knuckles, pressing my face against the pillow. I wonder if he thinks this is weird. We haven’t been alone like this—at night, just the two of us—since we went no contact.
“Sasha?” Kai says. “This is definitely the jet lag talking and I’ll probably regret bringing this up tomorrow, but can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I shift, wishing I could decipher the emotion thatlingers behind his voice. Ever since we found each other again, I’ve had this feeling, like he’s keeping something from me.
I can’t tell what it is.
“When we were together… did I ever… Ugh. I don’t know how to put this.”
My breath hitches uncomfortably. He wants to talk about our breakup?
“You can ask me anything.” I draw my legs up to my chest, feeling the coolness of the sheets against my skin. Part of me is worried that this conversation will end up turning into an argument. Maybe some things are better left unsaid.
“I’ve read that some aroace people force themselves to have sex. Did I ever…” I can’t see him, but his voice is uneven. “Did you ever feel like I made you?”
“What? No.” I tighten my grip on the sheets. “Are you serious?”
