"You're knee is dripping."
"So?"
"You should stop it, Fox."
"How?"
"I dunno, just... like this—"
"Ow, stop poking it!"
"I'm not poking, I'm pressing."
"It's not working."
"Yeah, it is. I did it on my elbow once. See? Your knee is still drippy."
"It's called bleeding, Jellybean."
"We have to fix it."
"...I don't have anything to fix it."
"Here. Use this."
"Your sticker? The blue one?"
"Yeah."
"But you're saving it."
"For what?"
"I dunno. Something better than my knee. Wait—"
"Well now it's stuck to your knee."
ｃｈｒｉｓ
The laundry room smells like detergent and warm fabric, the air heavy with the constant hum of machines. These ones are fancy. New. Expensive.
I came in here because it's the quietest place in the apartment at this hour—everyone's in bed. It's my escape.
I fold my warm shirts slowly, smoothing the soft cotton between my fingers. I breathe in, trying to shake off the heavy ache in my chest.
Whitney's been busy the last few days. Walker this, and Walker that. He's stealing her in my time of need. But I've been trying to stand on my own two feet, at least a little. So I tell myself two things over and over.
Fox is not Little Fox.
I'm not Little Me.
The washer beeps. I lift the cover and take the damp clothes out, tossing them into the dryer with a few sheets.
The door creaks open, and just by the way my scalp pricks, I don't have to turn around to know who it is.
"Busy night for laundry?"
I glance over my shoulder. Fox leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over a loose white shirt, the light catching the sharp angles of his jaw.
I promptly turn around, gulping. "Figured I'd get it done."
He steps further into the room, closer. I feel it. My hands grip the edge of the vibrating dryer, a quiet storm building in my chest.
"How long are we gonna do this? This avoiding thing. It's a bit pointless, don't you think?"
The words I want to say get stuck somewhere between my ribs. I am avoiding him. And I think I have to continue. Is it sustainable? Sure it is.
Fox steps closer, spiced and warm. "We both know there's tension here, Chris. We don't have to dance around it."
YOU ARE READING
Beside
Romance''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers. "Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect -- like we've been doing this for years. His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it. Wav...
