Page 71 of Unbound

Paloma

Things return to normal and neither of us brings up my desperate confession.

We continue exchanging slips of paper like normal. He sends famed sonnets, ballads, villanelles, odes. I respond with free verse and lyrical poems, sometimes song lyrics with strict instructions to treat as a poem first, then listen.

I spend more time searching for the perfect ones to send than I do on my actual schoolwork.

Halloween falls on a school night, which means most parties are postponed to the weekend. I invited Bennett with a heavy advance, making sure he was comfortable with hanging out at my apartment for the evening.

“Just us?” he asked, biting his lip and hovering in front of the door to our study room.

“Just us.”

“Does this count as another date?”

I laughed and nodded. To me, every minute I spend with him is a date.

And at 6 p.m. on the dot, there’s a knock at my door. My roommate left earlier in the day with no information on when she’d be back, but I’m glad for it. I don’t want to share Bennett with anyone. I want him to be only mine, at least for now. Even if it’s only in my head.

“Hey, Paloma.”

“Hey, Bennett.”

Gorgeous as usual; I specifically instructed him to dress in comfort clothes, and he clearly obliged. A soft black long sleeve with Waterfell Hockey across the chest in bright blue is tight against his broad shoulders, and his legs are encased in long gray sweatpants that make my mouth water a little. He looks warmer and cozier than I’ve seen him before.

I want to make a pillow fort around him and cuddle by a fireplace.

Bennett’s bright blue eyes scan over me slowly, taking in my oversized H is for Halloween T-shirt and soft black leggings.

Opening the door to my room feels terrifying. This place is my sanctuary, my one fully safe space: the blue walls covered with a floral tapestry, the glowing stars on the ceiling. A wooden skim board with multicolored hibiscus florals printed across it hangs precariously on one wall above my desk. I got flowers from the florist in Waterfell when they were going bad, hung them upside down to dry, and now they’re part of my wall décor. Prints of every size and color and style hang alongside them, some taken from restaurants or coffee shops as free giveaways, some thrifted along with everything else in my room, all carefully styled.

I’d gone a little overboard with decorating, but it was the first thing that was ever completely mine.

Growing up, I went trick-or-treating around the trailer park with the other kids. I’d worn the same costume until the princess sleeves were so high and tight on my arms they left marks. My mother never decorated for the holidays, though I asked often enough. But she often didn’t know what day it was.

“I bought a Halloween candle,” I stutter out. “A-and the ghost pillow. I wanted to find a blanket, but . . .”

I trail off, rolling my eyes at myself because what in the hell can I say? But I couldn’t afford it because the other decorations already went over my spending budget for the month?

I know that Bennett is much wealthier than I am. Granted, I might not know by how much, but he doesn’t need to budget the way that I do.

“Anyway, it’s . . . yeah.” I shrug, spinning in a tight circle to face him where he’s still lingering near the door. “This is my room.”

Bennett examines every item as he steps forward into the space. It feels like he’s seeing into a piece of my soul, closer than I let anyone else.

“I like it.” He smiles.

“Yeah?”

“It’s just like you,” he says softly, affectionately. “We should come here more often.”

“We can study here,” I say, a little too animatedly. “If you’d like.”

I grab for the stuffed animal sitting on my bed, considering tossing it under or into my closet, but as usual, Bennett’s eyes are already on me.

“It’s, um . . .”

I try to think of a more palatable way of saying what the stuffed bunny means to me. That it was something I found in my old room. That I thought maybe it was a gift left by my dad when he knew he wouldn’t be there with me, for me to have a piece of him. It was more likely that my mother had found it or accidentally stolen it from some kid thinking it was mine. But it was hard to let go of the fantasy.