Page 76 of Pretty Thing

I’m staring at his half-soaked hoodie and jeans.

“I’m fine. The cold doesn’t bother me,” Felix says.

Well, that’s absurd. I take his hand and limp toward the stairs.

“Do you want me to carry you up,” he asks sheepishly as I make it up one stair.

I look at him, and he presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh at me.

“Fine,” I sigh, giving in.

Felix is always so careful and knows exactly how to hold me so that it doesn’t feel like knives stabbing me.

I can’t help but stare at the tattoo on his neck.

“Do you want to go to your room,” he asks when we reach the landing.

“No. Go start the shower, and I’ll see what my dad has that will fit you.”

“You don’t need to do that. I can just wear a towel and put my clothes in the dryer.”

“Felix, it’s okay.” I look at the closed door. “I have to go in there sometime.”

“If that’s what you want.”

He slowly sets me down on my feet and waits until I’m stable with my cane. I’m moving better, and as much as I hate the exercises, they really do seem to help.

My heart races as I stand in front of my parents’ bedroom. Reaching for the handle is as surreal as an out-of-body experience. The smell of my mother’s perfume hits me in the face when I open the door.

Taking just a moment, I close my eyes and picture her. She used to flit around the room like a honeybee with a wide smile on her face. My mother rarely ever got angry or sad, and if she did, she hid it so well that I never knew.

I flick on the lights and enter a time capsule. Nothing has changed. The bed is made, and everything is exactly as it should be. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe my parents’ unruly ghosts. Or maybe this is the moment when I wake from the terrible nightmare that refuses to end, like the door is an escape hatch.

But I’m not so lucky, and I’m not ready to worry about it tonight.

The shower turns on down the hall as I wander over to the closet and pull open the bi-fold doors. I dig through my dad’s sweatpants and find a black pair that have never been worn. Then I search for a T-shirt. Dad wasn’t as tall as Felix, but Mum always bought our comfy clothes one size too big. She felt relaxing shouldn’t be constrictive.

I shut the door behind me, closing my memories inside. The bathroom door is open, and I can see Felix’s reflection in the mirror. He is nothing more than a shadow behind the curtain, but watching his hands move over his body sets my heart racing, and I quickly look away.

“Hey,” I call out, trying to retain some bit of formality. “I have clothes for you. I’ll just leave them by the door.”

He grabs the edge of the curtain and pokes his head out. Good Lord, why does he have to be so hot?

“Why? Just come in.”

“But…um…”

Felix gives me a lopsided grin that’s seemingly sweet and playful. But his eyes…they burn with an emotion that’s new to me. Lust is my best interpretation. I swallow, and it feels like a ball of sawdust is lodged in my throat. Then he disappears.

“You were practically naked when I helped you shower, and after the other night on the couch, I thought we were past being…so formal. Besides, I want you in here,” he says.

Against my better judgment, and lured by his ridiculously hypnotic aura, I limp in and place the clothes on the counter before leaning against it.

Steam rises and ripples over the curtain like smoke. I can’t seem to peel my eyes away from his shadowy silhouette. I gasp when he grabs his dick and runs his hand up and down. He moves on to his abs, but I’m now fixated and can’t look away.

Holy shit. It’s really hot in here. Grabbing the front of my blouse, I pull it away from my chest.

Am I sweating?