Sleeping With the Enemy

Chapter Thirty Seven

It's been seventeen days since Adam was shot, but it feels like about ten times that long. I've lost twelve pounds, am barely leaving the house, and I've been out of my mind with worry. I'm taking care of myself, but at the bare minimum and it's become a point of contention between Brandon and I. He's frustrated, but to his credit, trying hard to give me space. This part I'm playing is taking a lot out of me, not to mention the fact I'm only hearing information about Adam's recovery through other sources and I haven' seen him in weeks. Brandon said he would do what he could, but so far nothing's materialized, and I'm going insane.

The last few weeks I've been hovering in a state of constant exhaustion, desperately needing sleep, but every time I try to lay down, I just can't turn my mind off. I tried medication and yoga and hot baths, but nothing is working. Last night, Brandon tried a new tactic—having sex until I was so worn out I literally couldn't move— and it must have done the trick because the last thing I remember was him leaving me with a kiss before disappearing into his office for a while. I didn't even wake up when he came back to bed.

There's no point in trying to fall back asleep now. I can already feel my mind beginning to swirl, so I get up and make a pot of coffee. I pour two cups and bring them out onto the balcony outside of the bedroom. It's a beautiful morning. The fog is already starting to clear and I can almost see out to the water. The only downside to Brandon's place is that it's so far from the ocean that you can't hear the waves. That was always my favorite part of Rockaway and where my parents lived.

After a few minutes, I hear the balcony door slide open behind me. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think coffee falls on the list of things that qualify as a balanced breakfast."

I giggle, rolling my eyes with my back still to him. "It does if you add creamer and sugar."

Brandon lets out a sharp laugh, sitting in the chair opposite me and picking up his cup of black coffee. "How exactly do you figure that?"

"Well," I shrug. "Dairy is good for you, and it's hazelnut. Nuts have protein. And sugar is a carb. Technically mine is healthier than yours." I point toward his mug.

"It's a good thing you're cute." He arches an eyebrow at me, resting his hand on my knee. "Sugar is an empty carb, and there's no real hazelnut in that shit. It's all artificial flavor."

"Shhh." I close my eyes with a smile. "Can you just let me drink my coffee in peace?"

"I can if you swear you'll eat an omelet." He drives a hard bargain.

"Brandon," I bat my eyelashes at him sarcastically. "I'm twenty six years old, somehow I've made it this long without you questioning every single one of my nutrition choices. I think I can feed myself."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "How am I supposed to leave you alone for a few days if you insist on being so obstinate?"

I twist my face in confusion. "What do you mean leave?"