The End

Part II: Chapter 1

January

            The beeping grew louder as the alarm sounded; Duke swung his arm aimlessly, looking for the snooze button. I forced myself from the warm pile of blankets, struggling to escape Duke’s iron grip.

            We had spent the past week together, bouncing between each other’s houses. For the first time ever, I had celebrated Christmas with a family. The days had been filled with shopping, holiday music blasting, even baking, which ended horribly as Duke nearly set the house on fire. Today was the final day of winter break, and neither of us were ready for it to end.

            Duke grumbled sleepily, begging for five more minutes, a concession I was willing to grant. I slipped away as he rolled over; drifting back into the dream world the clock had stolen him from. I stumbled through the dark house to the living room, tripping over shoes that Duke left on the floor. Carefully stooping to retrieve them, I noticed the glow from my book bag, where my cell phone was tucked away.

            The screen was lit with notification, one new email.

            Opening the application, I saw it. Him.

            The email was short, like his temper, and emotionless, like his eyes.

            “Florence,

                                    Come over Saturday, 7:00. Bring Duke.

                                                                                                            -Dr. Stephens”

            My breath caught in my throat as ran back to the bedroom. Duke sat, groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

            “What’s wrong, babe?”

            “Stephens.”

            His eyes widened, now fully awake.

            “What?”

            “He wants us to go over Saturday.”

            “We’ll go,” Duke said resolutely. My heart continued to accelerate. Today is Wednesday, meaning only two days stood between our meeting.

            “But—”

            “Florence, if he is reaching out to you, something is obviously going on.” When he noticed the tear slipping down my cheek, he stopped. “Come here,” he whispered.

            Carefully, I crawled into the bed. Duke wrapped me in his bare arms, puling me to lie on his naked chest. His skin was soft, our bodies fitting like puzzle pieces. We had spent many evenings like this, intertwined, wrapped together in bed, skin-to-skin, face-to-face.

            “What do these mean?” I asked, rubbing a finger of the tattoos that covered his arms.

            “Nothing,” he said quickly, his biceps tightening their grip.

            “If they meant nothing, you wouldn’t have them,” I responded sensibly, trying to distract myself.

            “Fine, they do mean something,” he sighed exasperatedly, “but I’m not telling you.”

            “Well, the least you could do is let me look at them. Every time I try, you pull away.”

            “No.”