A Little Bit

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Warren

Screeeeeech.

My eyes spring open, chest heaving while I try to calm myself from the nightmare. The one that keeps coming back, whether I’m awake or asleep.

I bring my hand up to wipe some of the sweat from my brow, taking a moment to remember where I am. Not in my stuffy old townhouse with frilly fabrics and floral patterns, but in a small college dorm laying next to Eli.

I guess we fell asleep last night. I honestly can’t remember. I had never felt as content as I did then, wrapped in this bubble of warmth and… not love, but something pretty nice.

I’m surprised he didn’t send me on my way, but he never asked, and I didn’t broach the subject because… I didn’t want to go. I didn’t feel that urge to freak out or leave. It was perfect.

And he kissed me. Something he said he didn’t do. But he did. With me.

That feels really fucking important. And if I’m being honest with myself, I think I might be in trouble. That first swipe of his tongue rearranged my DNA, depositing something inside me that I shouldn’t feel. That I can’t feel.

But… at the same time… maybe I can feel this. Maybe it’s okay.

How can something that feels so inexplicably right, be wrong?

Maybe I can just stand up and give a big “fuck you” to Mother and Grandaddy and everyone else who thinks they have a right to tell me who to fuck in this stupid town.

The idea sends fear coursing through my veins, and the tiniest bit of hope.

So maybe I’m not quite there yet, but potentially on my way, and one day it can be my reality.

Turning my head, I take in his sleeping form next to me. He’s colorfully bright, like he always does. Sun streaking across his beautiful features, full lips parted and breathing peacefully while his warm muscular arm rests across my chest.

I smile at him. Like an idiot, because he can’t even see me. I mean, I couldn’t stop following him for a while, so I know I’m not fully sane, but now I’m watching him sleep and just smiling at that. It’s nothing really, but it feels like everything to be able to watch him right now.

I’m completely fucked, aren’t I?

I would like to say that I shake those thoughts away as I carefully remove his arm so I can get up, but I don’t. They keep me warm and toasty even as I use his tiny bathroom.

Once I’m done, I take a moment to stop in his living area, looking at the organized chaos.

A dingy couch sits on the far wall, various items of clothing haphazardly slung over it, while a small built-in desk is on the other side of the small room, littered with piles of half-drawn portraits that are illuminated by a cheap flexible desk lamp clipped to the edge.

I walk over, because I can’t help myself and want to live inside of his brain, and begin thumbing through his work, that idiot smile on my face again.

They’re all so beautiful and… sad. Like him.

I still don’t even know what it is that haunts him. Maybe one day I will.

We can share our pains.

Could I ever have that?

Share my deepest anguish with someone—the thing that fills me with the most wretched shame and unrelenting guilt that I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to rid myself of? And still have that person accept me—to see past my sins and love me .

When I get to the bottom of the pile, there’s a worn blue folder, the type of worn from being dragged around, like he’s had it for a long time. Opening and closing it repeatedly over years and years.

I crack it open, flipping through some of the papers, getting to the very last one, hidden under everything else, and my heart drops.

I squint, trying to understand why this is here. And then everything clicks into place, a hideous epiphany rushing forward in my brain.

No no no no no no.

I slam the folder shut, trying to readjust everything to the way it was.

Sweat breaks out all over my body while I desperately try to take air into my suddenly empty lungs, but it doesn’t help. My knees shake and I give in to them, abruptly sitting on the floor, holding my head in my hands.

No no no no no no.

I hear the door to his bedroom creak open, and then Eli is in front of me, on the floor, peeling my hands from my head. “Hey. Hey. Are you okay?”

I look up at him. God . He’s so beautiful. It’s fucking painful. Especially now.

He grabs my face with his huge, warm hands. “Why are you crying?”

Reaching up to my face in surprise, I run my hand through the wetness. I am crying. I didn’t even feel it happen.

“I have to go,” I blurt while rising up and rushing past him, leaving him gaping at me from the floor.

I scramble around his room, quickly throwing on my clothes so I can get out of here. For good.

I hear his voice come up behind me in the doorway. “What’s wrong? Are you freaking out?”

“Yes.” Just not why you think.

His fingers caress my back as I search for my shirt, temporarily halting my movements. He barely touches me, but it still sends tremors through me, goosebumps appearing across my entire body.

I don’t want to let go.

You have to.

I wriggle away from him, spotting my shirt in the corner of the room and quickly picking it up to pull over my head.

“I just… I just have to go,” I say while looking at the floor, because I’m sure whatever look he’s giving me right now will just fill me with more shame and guilt, and I don’t think I have room for anymore.

I push past him, ignoring him telling me to wait and forcefully shutting the door behind me.

As I walk away from his dorm, I reach for my wrist, finding the rubber band. A frisson of disgust runs through me, but I’m still glad it’s there.

I need it right now.