The realization completely derails everything else I was thinking about and I sit up, suddenly anxious. What does that even mean? He hasn't tried to kiss me or say anything out of bounds. He's just been nice to me. But I know him, and I remember how he used to look at me. The protective, kind, doting side of him disappeared a long time ago. Maybe I forced him to bury it. Whatever the reason, he's allowed it to resurface, and it's... wonderful, actually.
I can't talk to him about this. I'm not even sure I'm capable of letting someone love me, let alone loving anyone back. Not right now. He has to understand that, right?
God, slow down, Stevie. He's not doing anything. I take a deep breath and get out of the water, wrapping myself in a towel. I know he's going to come ask me if I want dinner soon. I look at myself in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair and trying to keep it together. I know I don't have the emotional energy to spend talking to him about this. He hasn't said anything to me, though, so I may very well be freaking out for no reason.
"Stevie?"
"I'm not dressed," I say, stepping into the doorway and facing him, wrapped in a towel. He frowns and looks at my shoulder. I realize there are bruises there he hasn't seen yet, but he doesn't say anything. "Did you need something?"
"I just wanted to see if you were hungry."
"I'm alright. I think I'm going to get into pajamas and go to bed early. I'm really tired."
"I bet you are. Well, I'll leave some stuff in the fridge for you in case you change your mind."
"Thank you."
"Do you need anything?"
"I'm all set. Thank you, Lindsey." I need him to stop looking at me. I try to avoid his eyes, knowing I'll say something stupid if I let myself get close to him.
"Okay. You know where to find me. Get some rest," he says, turning to go. I watch him leave my room and stand there trying to slow my heart down. Finally, I pull on one of his tee shirts, some leggings and leg warmers, and light every candle I can find. I finally break through whatever block I've had this week and start to write, sitting cross legged on the bed for hours.
I finally feel compelled to sing and I take my filled pages and sneak down to the piano, hoping he's asleep. I start to plunk around and sing some of what I've written.
When I see you again
Will it be the same
When I see you again
Will it be over
When I see you again
Will your great eyes still say
What's the matter, baby
I sing it over and over again, playing with melodies and changes.
And the dream says I want you
And the dream is gone
So she stays up night on end
Well at least there is a dream left
I pause for a minute, jotting things down on my notebook.
"That's beautiful."
"You scared me."
"I heard you singing and got excited."
"I started writing," I explain unnecessarily.
"What's your dream?"
"What?"
"Your lyrics." He picks up my notebook and looks at my words. "'At least there is a dream left'... what dream are you holding on to?"
"My dreams haven't changed very much. Most of them have come true now, so I guess my focus is a little different."
"You still want a family?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"No," he says. "But you'd be a great mom."
"Lindsey, you can't love me," I blurt out.
"What?"
"You can't. I can't do that yet. It's taking everything I have to just get out of bed and function right now and I..."
"Woah, woah... what are you talking about?"
"I know you're in love with me."
"So?"
"You don't want to do that."
"You're in no position to do anything right now. I wouldn't try to complicate anything, even if you wanted to."
"But if I was ready... would you want me?"
"Now more than I ever have," he says, his voice almost a whisper as he leans forward and kisses my hair. I tear up and hug him, burying my face. He didn't say he loved me. He didn't need to. I probably couldn't handle it right now anyway. He holds me and strokes my hair, and I manage to reign in whatever meltdown I was on the brink of and my breathing returns to normal. "We don't have to talk about any of this."
"I'm sorry I make everything hard."
"Loving you is not easy," he says, his lips against my head.
"I don't know how to be different."
"No, baby. You don't need to be different."
I close my eyes, concentrating on how his arms feel around me. "I'm done writing."
"Okay," he says, not moving. "Do you want to go to bed?" I pull away from him and nod, letting him lead me up the stairs. He opens my bedroom door for me and says goodnight, kissing me on the cheek before he disappears into his room.
I crawl into bed and lay down, curled on my side. This is when I finally cry, letting a few sobs escape out loud. I hope he can't hear me, but just seconds later I see him crack my door. He says my name gently, not actually entering.
"I didn't mean to wake you," I say.
"I was still up," he says, coming to the edge of the bed. "I wish you could get some rest."
"Stay please?" He climbs in beside me and holds me, playing with my hair. "Goodnight, Lindsey."
"Goodnight," he says, kissing my cheek.
Once again, I fall asleep easily with him there.
At some point in the night I'm jolted awake and realize that Lindsey isn't beside me anymore. I hear something downstairs and immediately know something is wrong. I get out of bed and poke my head into the hallway, looking for him. "Stevie, get back in the room and lock the door," he hisses at me. I obey, but glue my ear to the door to listen. He rushes down the stairs, and I hear a loud crash.
"I know she's here," yells a familiar voice.
It doesn't belong to Lindsey.
