boston {h.s.}

trente-cinq.

n. before reading this chapter, i do think it to be absolutely necessary to speak on the behalf of what happened today in the capitol building. the united states is a shit show right now. i'm a writer, and i have a lot of words, but right now i lack them. "shit show" appears to be the best i can do as my country is torn to violence again. physical violence—resulting in one dead in the capitol siege. emotional violence as americans—and citizens of the world—are forced to watch with an angry numbness that has become painstakingly familiar. this feeling should not be familiar. the forced visual of watching hate spread at an unprecedented speed as white supremacists and terrorists claim that they are legitimized in their reaction and are not discouraged by our present president. it breaks my heart to see the lack of response. it breaks my heart to see the world in such a state of disarray. and, truly, i believe that is putting it lightly. please, please, keep yourself safe. stay inside—now, more than ever. if anyone needs any additional support right now, feel free to say in the comments. if any of my readers are in a position to help or offer any services, check in. 

ALL NIGHT LONG, I saw it coming; all night long, I knew it would happen.

It started in the morning. I spent the night. When I woke up, he was sitting in his kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand. His glasses were drooping on his nose and he looked at me with the brightest smile in his face. I love the way that he looks in the morning. His eyes are still hooded with sleep and his floppy hair stands up in all directions. In front of him, he had a World War II book opened, and he appeared to be in the middle of the page. I crossed the room and stood behind him, wrapping my arms around him as I rested my chin on his shoulder. He welcomed me there, holding me tightly where he could. "Good morning," he welcomed, turning to press a kiss to my cheek. I blushed lightly.

"Hi," I said back. The guilt had left me overnight. Again I found myself able to enjoy the company of my boyfriend instead of dreading it. "How's the book?"

"Good." Though, good as it was, he still shut it. Instead he favored turning towards me to give me his full attention. "What do you say we go out to dinner tonight?"

"Two nights in a row?" I teased him, tapping my finger on my lip as though I had to even think about the answer. "I think I can pencil you in."

"Oh, you think, do you?" He laughed, pulling me in closer. His legs opened and he welcomed me in the space in between. I moved in willingly, laughing as I put my hands on his shoulders. "We can get Italian," he tempted me, but it was unnecessary. I've known for a long time—since I met him, actually—that anything he ever asked of me, I would give him. Saying no to him is an impossibility, something made even more so as I continued to explore my dynamic as a submissive in the bedroom.

"Sounds like a date." I agreed, pulling him in for a kiss.

We spent the rest of the day lounging around. We watched some of our favorite movies. He graded tests. I made lesson plans. Around noon he offered Thai food from a place that we both like near him. Twenty minutes after he made the call he gave me a quick kiss and promised he'd be back in less than ten minutes.

He didn't lie.

We ate lunch lounged on his couch, periodically speaking to the other. Around four in the afternoon, we both agreed that it would be time for us to start getting ready for dinner. I wasn't worried about the clothing situation. I'd stayed there enough over the course of our relationship that I've a small arsenal of clothing that I could wear to dinner stowed away in his drawers. He's always been so kind to me. He'd wash my clothes when I left them so that they would be ready for the nice time that I came. That was just one of the little things about him that I always find so sweet.

I was the one who first claimed that I needed a shower. Cheekily, he asked whether he could join me. To save water, you know? He added as an afterthought. I laughed, but agreed and pulled aside the curtain for him to join me. He washed my hair for me; running his fingers through it with a delicate caution. He was making a very concentrated effort not to hurt me. I washed his back, running the soap over him as we fought for the larger stake in the stream of water. Still, I didn't mind it when he won. I couldn't remember a time in which I had felt more loved; whole and complete.