Remember This Part

27. The Aftermath: The Sequel

Thea.

I'm not sure how long we've been laying like this in each other's arms, my head on his chest as he strokes my hair. There hasn't been a need to count the hours. We both agreed a while ago that after the day we've had, we've earned the right to skip our morning classes. So we haven't set our alarms. We haven't even looked at our phones since we ate.

After I cried in his arms for a while, Alex took me to my dorm so I could grab some clothes. He was unwilling to leave my side, so I let him follow me into the building.

He did, however, have to wait outside the door while I talked to Nika. The moment she saw me, she apologized for telling him where I was. Then, when I told her what happened on Wellington Street, she took back her apology, because it turns out it was "the right decision." And I agree with her, now. For Manuel's sake and for mine, it was a good thing Alex came, even if it made things tense between us.

Nika asked me profusely if I was okay, and I told her—profusely—that I was. And I believe that. At my very core, I believe I'm okay. She helped me gather my things. I took a couple outfits with me, as requested by Alex. He said he wants me to stay with him for the next few days, and honestly, I couldn't refuse. I don't want to be apart from him right now, either.

When we got back to the apartment, Lyle served us spaghetti. I wasn't hungry, but I ate a little. I knew it would only exacerbate Alex's worries if I skipped dinner. Whenever I took a bite, I could tell he was somewhat relieved, so I managed to finish half a plate. Lyle offered to finish the other half, but Alex put it in the fridge for me in case I wanted it later.

After dinner, he took me back into his room, and—even though I brought a shirt to sleep in—he gave me one of his own to wear. Then, despite how early it was in the night, we brushed our teeth and got in bed.

So here we are in the growing darkness. A streetlamp from outside is dimly cast in the room, painting the bed with orange glowing stripes. A fan whirs in the corner. A car drives by, and I can hear the sound of its tires on the wet pavement below.

Everything is...peaceful. I'm tucked into his side, beneath the bed sheets that smell like him. After the collapse of my adrenaline and my most recent emotional episode, I should be passed out right about now. But I haven't slept. I know Alex hasn't, either, because his hand won't stop moving across my nape and along my spine. Maybe, like me, he doesn't want to sleep yet. Maybe, like me, he wants to stay like this for a while longer, and experience every moment of the dissipating tension, until—eventually—the what ifs stop running through our heads.

What if Alex hadn't come? What if he came a minute later? What if I had just asked him to come with me in the first place? What if we hadn't forgiven each other?

And what if none of that matters?

I have a lot more questions, too. But I'm reluctant to interrupt the quiet right now. I want to cede everything to the natural ebb and flow, the gentle tide that comes in with every breath and goes out with every exhale, returning to the silence. I'm scared to wade into the water. What if it's colder than I expect it to be?

- - -

Alex wades in first when he quietly asks, "Are you still feeling okay?"

"Yeah," I whisper, my voice sounding rough to my own ears.

"You haven't fallen asleep yet," he says. "Are you comfortable?"

"I am. Too comfortable to sleep."

He places a tender kiss on my temple.