Page 12 of Nitro
Neither of us spoke.Neither of us moved to close the gap.We lay there in the dark, side by side but not together, separated by a distance that felt both too small and too vast to cross.My breathing stayed shallow and controlled -- the rhythm of a woman pretending to be asleep while hyperaware of every breath from the body beside her.But I could feel the awareness radiating off him, telling me he was just as awake as I was -- both of us lying rigid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, cognizant of every small shift, every swallowed breath, the exact distance between his arm and mine on the mattress.
At some point deep in the night, I turned my head and looked at his profile in the dark.His jaw was set, eyes open, staring at the ceiling the same way I was.In the faint light, I could make out the line of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the angle of his shoulders that spoke of tension carefully controlled.He was as awake as I was -- had probably been awake as long, lying in his bed with the same thoughts keeping sleep at bay.I didn’t know why he’d come in here.He’d lain beside me with no explanation.
Something about the shared insomnia, the mutual refusal to pretend, cracked the silence open just enough that I could breathe through it.We were both here -- both trapped in the same impossible situation, both making the best of a road neither of us had planned to travel.He’d claimed me in front of his brothers.Had given me his key without being asked.Had offered me a bed without asking for anything in return.Not because he wanted to, necessarily -- though something in the way he’d held himself since I’d walked through his door suggested he did -- but because it was what the situation required.What his code demanded.
I turned back to the ceiling.The exhaustion that had been following me for weeks pressed in again, heavier now that I was horizontal, now that the immediate adrenaline of the day had begun to fade.My body felt leaden, my limbs too heavy to lift, but my mind kept circling -- round and round the same questions, the same fears, the same impossible choices.
Beside me, Nitro didn’t move.Didn’t speak.Didn’t close the distance to touch me or pull me closer or offer the comfort of another body in the dark.But after a moment, I felt the mattress shift slightly as his hand, resting between us, uncurled -- fingers open, palm up, not pushing for more but there if I wanted him.An offer without demand.A connection without ownership.
I stared at it in the dark, at the pale shape of his hand against the darker blanket, at the silent invitation waiting for me to accept or ignore.No pressure.No expectation.Just open, waiting, giving me the choice he hadn’t given me in Church.
My eyes felt too heavy to keep open.The day -- the confrontation, the claiming -- pressed down on my shoulders, on my chest, on the backs of my eyelids.I let them close, just for a moment, just to rest.Just to give myself a pause before whatever came next.
The last thing I saw before sleep took me was his hand, still open, still waiting.
Chapter Four
Willa
I woke to the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing, the softthudof something being set on the counter, the low murmur of a voice from the direction of the kitchen.The room was bright -- full morning light streaming through the gap in the curtains -- and I was alone.I turned my head to the space beside me, to the indentation in the pillow where Nitro’s head had been and remembered his hand in the dark -- open, waiting, an offer without demand.I’d fallen asleep watching it, and he’d been gone when I woke.
I sat up slowly, one hand going to my belly out of habit.The twins were quiet this morning, and for once, I didn’t want to puke my guts up.I ran my palm over the slight swell, feeling the reality of it beneath my hand.Two lives that belonged partly to me and partly to the man moving through the house.
The mattress creaked as I stood, my body feeling heavier than it should have.I smoothed my hair back with one hand, tucking the loose pieces behind my ears, and headed for the door.
The hallway was quiet, the other bedroom’s door standing open to reveal the made bed and empty room.I passed it without stopping, moving toward the kitchen with its sounds of purposeful activity.The house felt different in daylight -- the shadows gone, the corners visible.The floorboards were cool under my bare feet, the air carrying the scent of coffee and something else.
I reached the kitchen doorway and stopped.
It had been transformed.The counters, which had been bare yesterday, now held green vegetables in plastic bags, cartons of eggs, a loaf of whole wheat bread still in its wrapper.A gallon of milk sat by the sink, a container of orange juice beside it.The refrigerator door was open, and I could see more inside -- yogurt in neat rows, packages of cheese, a carton of what looked like almond milk.On the counter by the stove, a bottle of prenatal vitamins stood front and center, the label facing out, impossible to miss.
I stepped into the room, my hand dropping from my hair to rest on my stomach.The sound of my bare feet on the hardwood must have been too quiet to hear over the running water, because Nitro didn’t turn -- just kept talking into the phone pressed to his ear, his free hand braced on the counter beside the sink.
“-- Tuesday at eleven,” he was saying, his voice low and measured.“No, that’s fine.We’ll be there.”A pause.“First appointment.Four months.”Another pause, longer.“Twins.”
I moved past him toward the coffee maker, giving him a wide enough berth that we didn’t touch, and that’s when I saw it he was writing everything on a piece of paper.My name written across the top in block letters.Below it, a date, a time, and the name of a clinic I didn’t recognize.An appointment.Without even asking me or getting my opinion.
My jaw tightened as I reached for the coffee pot, but I stopped halfway, my hand in the air.On the refrigerator door, held in place by a plain black magnet, was a piece of notebook paper with a short list.
HOUSE RULES, it said at the top.Then, in a column down the page:
1.No leaving the compound alone.
2.No skipping meals.
3.No missing doctor appointments.
4.Check in if you go anywhere on the property.
That was it.No explanation, no room for negotiation, just four absolute statements in black ink on white paper.I read it once, then again, each line landing like something solid in my chest.No leaving.No skipping.No missing.Check in.Four rules for a house I hadn’t agreed to live in, for a life I hadn’t agreed to share.
I turned to look at Nitro, who was still on the phone, his back to me, his shoulders straight under his T-shirt.He’d showered -- his dark hair was damp at the edges, curling slightly at the nape of his neck -- and changed into clean jeans and a fresh shirt.He looked alert, focused, already three steps into whatever plan he’d made for the day.For us.
“-- appreciate it,” he was saying into the phone.“We’ll see you Tuesday.”He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn’t see it.“Yeah.Thanks.”
Things were happening too fast.Being claimed, moving in here, the appointment, and now the damn list of rules -- all while I slept in a bed in his house.
I stood in the kitchen reading the list a third time with my jaw tightening on every line.Nitro ended the call and set his phone on the counter, then turned.He stopped when he saw me, his gaze moving from my face to the appointment card I was holding and back again.For a moment, neither of us spoke.
