Chapter Text
The clock struck two in the morning and I groan, rolling over onto my back, letting go of your bare hip.
“Leave.” You say, snuggling deeper under the covers, pulling up the thin sheet to cover your body. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I rake my fingers through my hair, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The moon is almost full, casting long shadows on the ground below. Slipping my jeans and shirt back on, I stand and turn, placing a kiss on your forehead. There is no snappy reply or snarky comment this time; you’ve already fallen asleep, your face slack and relaxed. A light snore is emitted and I take that as my cue to leave. I lace up my shoes and pad downstairs, retrieving my car keys from the kitchen and taking an ice cube from the freezer while I’m at it.
The ice melts as I sit it in my mouth, letting the cool temperature clear my head. My fingers rake through my hair again, and I exit the house, my spare keys in hand. I lock the door, walking down the icy path to my car, almost slipping over. As I leave, I spare a glance at your window. The light is on.
Flash forward two weeks and I’m in the same position, except this time I’ve fallen asleep in your bed – you didn’t get a chance to throw me out. My conscious has been weighing down on me for months now. I shouldn’t be doing this; it’s not right. My eyes flutter open and I blink the dirt from them, my hand reaching up to assist. I reach out and my hand meets empty space. Your warm body isn’t lying next to mine like I hoped it would be. I’m still naked under the covers, and I get out of bed, pulling on my boxers and yanking the sheets off of the bed. I deposit them on the landing, the blinding white against the tan carpet making a nice contrast. Innocence of the white, and the filth of the tan. I wish I had stayed innocent, and never taken your shirt off or played strip ‘n sip snap or allowed myself to accept your offer despite you lying to me. That’s what had gotten me into this filthy, tan mess. I walk downstairs and reach the lounge where you’re splayed, a blanket covering your body.
“Wake up,” my voice is too loud for this morning; way, way too loud. I pad over to you. “Jenna? Wake up.” I nudge your shoulder and you grumble.
“Fuck off, would you? I’m trying to sleep.” You shift under the plaid blanket, huddling closer to yourself, generating heat. You huff, and clench your eyes shut. “Why are you still here, anyway? I thought I told you to leave.”
I do as you say, walking into the kitchen. It’s never a good idea to wake you up – I don’t know why I even attempt to. The sun filtering in from the window hits the white tiles, just like it did oh so many months ago. I retrieve a frying pan and eggs from the fridge, shuffling around in the pantry for oil. I start cooking the eggs, the sizzling and snapping sound filling the quiet morning. It feels nice, almost homely. Like I’m not just a friend with benefits. Like we’re something more. I sigh. That will never happen.
As I’m cooking, I feel two arms wrap around my waist and a head lay itself on my shoulder. “Hey you,” you say, “I’m sorry about,” you pause, yawning, “earlier.”
I smirk and reply with, “It’s okay. Do you want to get the toast ready?”
“No,” you say, but do it anyway. “Butter on yours?”
“Please. How many eggs do you want?”
“Just the one.” I crack another egg into the pan, flipping the other two. You slide the plates over to me and nod when I point the spatula at your egg in a ‘like that?’ gesture. We sit at the table and scarcely a word passes between us. Finishing my breakfast, I put the dishes next to the sink and go back upstairs to put on my clothes.
“See you later, Jen.” You call out a goodbye and I finally exit the house, the door shutting behind me with a hollow thud.
I didn’t return to your house for another few days. I didn’t answer your calls or your text messages. You finally come over to my house, trying to find me. Truth be told, the week and a half we spent apart was beneficial for me. I turned up to work on time and stayed on task, your long, pale limbs not climbing into my mind and ensnaring themselves, resulting in creating a mess of my thoughts. I sobered up my act too. I stopped drinking the moment I left your house – I needed to clear the haze in my mind and rid myself of your brown irises swimming in my vision.
My phone was dead the first few days too. Another reason as to why I didn’t answer. My mother called my home phone line and demanded I charge it back up; she had been worrying. She was the only person I came in contact with besides my co–workers and boss.
You really screwed with my mind this time. I was falling deeper into the abyss of your gentle yet firm embrace. I clung to you for all I was worth without a second thought. And your intoxicating scent of fruit infiltrated my system and imprinted itself on my brain. I couldn’t help it when I walked through my front door and walked straight over to the refrigerator and rifled through it, producing a mango. When I inhaled I could smell your hair as I rested my head against yours, faint memories reviving themselves.
I had mulled over the circumstances on the way home, searching deep in them, looking for a flaw, for anything I can use to convince myself to not see you in this way. I threw the mango out, and the few soft berries I found in a plastic container, a few drops of juice lulling themselves into a small pool in a corner.