Page 128 of What We Break
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone harder. You've got that look, like you've been through some shit. But you're..."
"I'm what?"
"Gentle. When you're not trying to ignore everyone."
Jared used to say something like that.You're softer than you let on, man. Stop hiding it.
I finish my whiskey instead of answering.
She pours us both another round. We talk more. She tells me about the house they bought together, the plans they had. I tell her about the renovation work, leaving out the parts that matter. She doesn't push.
At some point she ends up closer on the couch. My arm ends up around her shoulders. It happens slow. Natural. Two people leaning into warmth because the night is too fucking cold.
"This is nice," she murmurs against my shoulder.
It is nice. That's the fucked up part. I don't want her. She doesn't want me. But this — just being close to someone without it meaning anything, without it hurting anyone — I forgot what this felt like.
"Yeah."
"I don't want to think anymore tonight."
"Me neither."
She lifts her head to look at me. Eyes red-rimmed but clear. "Is this okay? I know we're both —"
"It's okay."
She kisses me first. Soft, questioning. I kiss her back.
We move to the bedroom eventually. It's not desperate, not frantic. Just slow and sad and honest. She cries a little after, apologizes, and I tell her she doesn't need to. I hold her until the shaking stops.
"I miss being touched," she whispers. "Not sex. Just... being held."
When's the last time someone held me? Not a back-slap from Reid. Not the half-hugs you give people at funerals where nobody knows what to do with their arms. Actually held.
I can't remember.
"Yeah."
"Does that make me pathetic?"
"Makes you human."
She laughs. Wet, broken sound. Presses her face into my chest. Her hair smells like some kind of fruit. Not vanilla. Nothing like Laine.
I'm grateful for that.
We don't sleep much. Drift in and out, tangled together. At one point she gets up to use the bathroom and I pull the blanket over myself, stare at the ceiling. Streetlamp throws stripes of light across the room.
When she comes back, she stops in the doorway.
"You're still here."
"Did you think I'd leave?"
"I don't know. Maybe." She climbs back in, settles against my side. "Thank you for staying."
