"Fox, what if I never feel better?"
"I'll keep being here until you do."
"But what if it's forever?"
"Then I'll be here forever."
"But Fox... sometimes I feel too tired to be here forever."
"You're just sleepy. You're okay."
"It's different. I'm really, really tired, Fox. I feel like I'm going to float away."
"Wait, what? What do you mean?"
"The wind's just gonna take me."
"No. I'd hold on to you. You can't float away with me here. Want me to carry you like a backpack? It'll help."
"..."
"Jellybean."
"Yeah, sure. Fine."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
c h r i s
I like having a balcony. The morning sun is soft and gentle on my face, like a warm palm pressed against my cheek. I settle deeper into the cushion of the chair, feeling the plastic creak as I wrap my hands around my mug of tea. It's lemon and mint again today, the steam drifting up in lazy tendrils that remind me of who bought it for me.
Goldwen's not yet awake. I'm only halfway there, myself.
It's been a few days since the bookstore. Fox and I have been wrapped in each other at least once a day, sometimes twice.
Between the sex, we're friends. Between the kissing, he talks about heavy things like the screams of his childhood. Between the dirty talk, he tells me his favourite breakfast is toast and margarine, not butter.
Sometimes I just want to kiss him when he talks, and then keep listening. Comfort for him, maybe. Or just because.
He asks about me too often. He's curious about my homeschooling, about why it hurt so much. I tell him that I just wanted friends. I wanted to be free and fly around the recess yards, picking flowers and skipping rope.
I tell him all my little benign stories, like me and dad canvassing girl guide cookies one year, I just leave out the part about it being in a hospital. Or how I lost my virginity when I was 17 to a boy named John, I just leave out that his sick bed was down the hall from me. John died a few weeks later and it hurt so badly I cried for months.
Fox listens, and sometimes we hug, because we're friends.
Whitney's watching me closely these days, worried about this line we toe. I assure her at each turn that I am grown up, that I can handle it.
I'm lost in a memory when I hear the door whoosh open behind me.
"Mind if I join?" It's Noah, his voice a low rumble.
I force myself to sit up a bit, to breathe in the morning and not the memories. "Of course. Hi."
He steps out onto the balcony, looking like he's just rolled out of bed, which is rare. His dark hair is messy, and his cheek is lined with fabric marks. He's in a matching set of dark blue pyjama pants and a shirt.
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. Waves...
