Reality

Chapter 17

I'm not exactly sure how we ended up in this position, but I'm currently sitting on my couch with Alex's head in my lap, my fingers carding softly through his dark hair.

All the lights in the apartment are off, except for the dim light above the stove. The only other sources of light are coming from the TV and the moonlight steaming in from the windows. The room is silent, the TV muted, except for the rustling of the curtains whenever a small gust of wind blows through the crack in the window I keep open during the day to air out the apartment, the early spring air tolerable. Except now that the sun is long gone from the sky, the air that drafts in is cold, sending a shiver through my body.

I want to get up and close the widow, but for right now I can tolerate the draft, not wanting Alex to have to move. In fact, I don't even think he notices the chill. Sure, there are a few goose bumps that rise on his skin, but there's such a far off, detached look in his eyes that I don't think he notices anything, seemingly numb to everything. Regardless, I let my hand travel down his arm ever so often to provide him some sort of warmth.

The heater eventually kicks on, but again, I don't dare get up to close the widow in fear of disturbing Alex. I'll let it run with the widow open to at least get some heat in here.

Even though I know he's not paying attention, I turned the TV on to the Food Network channel when we first got into this position. There's a baking championship on that I thought he might like—and I know there's no chance of the news about his father being broadcasted on this channel— but I doubt he's paid a lick of attention to it.

We sit here for hours, neither one of us saying a word. When I finally pay attention to the TV, I notice that one of those cheesy hour long infomercials about a pot and pan set is playing now that it's past one in the morning.

Mindlessly, I reach for the remote and start scrolling through the guide, through hundreds of other infomercials playing right now due to it being so late. Finally, I find a familiar show that peaks my interest, and I absentmindedly turn it on.

Monica, Chandler, Joey, Phoebe, Ross, and Rachel grace the screen, all of them sitting in their favorite coffee shop. I feel Alex physically tense and I mentally curse myself, scrambling to find the remote to turn off Friends.

"No," Alex croaks out, nearly startling me. He hasn't said a word since he's been here, and his voice sounds so ruff and worn. "You can keep it on."

I relax a bit, settling back into the sofa and running my fingers through his hair once more. Despite the lingering tension in the room, his body begins to relax, his head in my lap and his body on the couch becoming heavy as he still stares blankly at the screen.

His wounded and drained eyes start to droop with exhaustion, but he fights to keep them open.

"Do you want to go to bed?" I ask softly.