Most nights I lay awake, pretending I'm okay.
He knows I'm not.
He knows I don't sleep.
He knows I worry too much about the world around me and how I'm supposed to wedge myself into it.
So it's to no one's surprise when he texts me at 11:34 to make sure I'm still breathing.
- Hey Jordann. How are you?
I don't reply for a few minutes.
- I know you're awake.
- Hey El. Yeah, I'm awake. Why are you?
- Couldn't sleep. I wanted to make sure you were alright.
- You know the answer to that.
- I'm sorry.
A brief pause.
- Elliott?
- Yeah?
- I want you to hold me.
- I know baby. Wait, hold on a sec. I'll be back.
I wait for him to text again. I wait for the buzz of my phone that never seems to arrive. Until it does.
- Well don't make me stand out here.
I rush downstairs and swing open the front door, not bothering to be quiet or refrain from waking anyone up.
"Elliott, what are you doing here?" I inquire when I see his face.
"I needed to hold you too." He steps into the house and closes the door behind him. He wraps his strong arms around me and hugs me tightly. We head back upstairs and we climb into my bed. He wraps the cool covers around both of us, and we intertwine our legs, fingers, our bodies mold together. Him pressed up against my back. The sound of him breathing, knowing he's alive, calms me. I somehow forget the world when I'm around him. He eats up all of my thoughts, good or bad. He takes up all of the room. He demands to be in my mind. And I let him. He holds me so close to his own body, protective and loving. The feeling of his fingers tracing circles over the cold skin on my arms. I feel heat in every inch of my body, regardless of the fact that my hands are eternally freezing. Elliott Hilton makes me feel alive.
