exit campus and head to work. The parking lot is full, so I pull my car into a spot far away from the building and trudge toward the entrance.
My stomach is a tangle of knots. Despite all my anger at my brother for his drunken hostility, there’s a constant level of concern that eats away at me. What happened to him? He’s been doing fairly well recently. I know him; he wouldn’t fall off the wagon unless something had come up in therapy that stirred up something in him.
I don’t know if I’m the source of his anger, but I suspect not. I am, however, the recipient of those feelings. He and I are going to need to have a real talk about this, because if he’s going to keep living with me, that’s not going to work.
The ride up the elevator is quiet. I can’t help my mouth curling up in the corners just a tiny bit as I remember when I was in here with Dane. Him holding me up and slamming into me.
Need pinches my lower belly, and I fight back a sigh. Instead of feeling satisfied, I find myself wanting him more and more. And not just physically, though of course that ache seems to be present way too much. Right now, I want to just see his face, hear the cadence of his voice. Let that sweep over me and remove the stress and strain from my heart.
Being around him helps me feel better, and my battered soul needs a little bit of that happiness right now.
When I reach my desk, I see him striding toward me, a folder stuffed with papers in his hand. A smile starts to spread on his face, then freezes in place when he gets closer. His eyes narrow as he notes the tension, the evidence of sadness on my face.
My heart squeezes, and I clear my throat. “Is that for me? Do you need copies or anything?”
He steps close to me, a bit closer than he should be, given that we’re out in the open in the office, and my pulse stutters. We don’t speak for a moment, just looking at each other. His brown eyes are a quiet haven of calm, and I find myself starting to relax for the first time since last night.
Dane hands me the packet; his thumb strokes my hand for a moment, but there’s a volume of words unspoken in that gesture. Comfort. Something in my chest cracks open at the feel of him reaching out to me, despite the dangers.
His voice is quiet when he says, “Do you need to take the day off?”
I shake my head, my throat closed tight. “No, I need to be here,” I make myself say. I need to clear my brain and not think about Robert for a little while, as harsh as that sounds. But if I’m not honest with myself, I’m never going to find that happiness I crave.
He gives a quick nod. If anyone were to get it, it would be Dane—escaping into work to avoid facing those issues that hammer in the back of your head. He practically wrote the book on it. Not that I’m judging him right now. If anything, I understand the impulse, more than I did before.
“Okay, go make me enough copies of the paper on top to hand out at the meeting this afternoon. You can keep them at your desk until then.” Boss Dane is back in place. For once, I take comfort in it, because this is something I know how to deal with.
I lick my dry lips and nod, then head to the copier room. There are two people in line ahead of me, so I let my gaze wander around the room, its boxes of paper. The women chat casually about their kids, the commute to work. The rhythmic pulse of the copier, the mingled voices, the soft noises outside, all create a white hum in my head that helps numb me a bit.
After about ten minutes, the copier is free, and I’m able to make my copies and head back to my desk. When I sit down, I see a folded and stapled piece of paper in front of me. That makes my heart give a painful, excited thud.
It’s from him.
The last of my sadness rushes right out of my body, and in its place is an all-over tingle of anticipation. Dane clearly knows that what I need right now isn’t to wallow in my own sadness. It’s to clear my head, to give myself
My stomach is a tangle of knots. Despite all my anger at my brother for his drunken hostility, there’s a constant level of concern that eats away at me. What happened to him? He’s been doing fairly well recently. I know him; he wouldn’t fall off the wagon unless something had come up in therapy that stirred up something in him.
I don’t know if I’m the source of his anger, but I suspect not. I am, however, the recipient of those feelings. He and I are going to need to have a real talk about this, because if he’s going to keep living with me, that’s not going to work.
The ride up the elevator is quiet. I can’t help my mouth curling up in the corners just a tiny bit as I remember when I was in here with Dane. Him holding me up and slamming into me.
Need pinches my lower belly, and I fight back a sigh. Instead of feeling satisfied, I find myself wanting him more and more. And not just physically, though of course that ache seems to be present way too much. Right now, I want to just see his face, hear the cadence of his voice. Let that sweep over me and remove the stress and strain from my heart.
Being around him helps me feel better, and my battered soul needs a little bit of that happiness right now.
When I reach my desk, I see him striding toward me, a folder stuffed with papers in his hand. A smile starts to spread on his face, then freezes in place when he gets closer. His eyes narrow as he notes the tension, the evidence of sadness on my face.
My heart squeezes, and I clear my throat. “Is that for me? Do you need copies or anything?”
He steps close to me, a bit closer than he should be, given that we’re out in the open in the office, and my pulse stutters. We don’t speak for a moment, just looking at each other. His brown eyes are a quiet haven of calm, and I find myself starting to relax for the first time since last night.
Dane hands me the packet; his thumb strokes my hand for a moment, but there’s a volume of words unspoken in that gesture. Comfort. Something in my chest cracks open at the feel of him reaching out to me, despite the dangers.
His voice is quiet when he says, “Do you need to take the day off?”
I shake my head, my throat closed tight. “No, I need to be here,” I make myself say. I need to clear my brain and not think about Robert for a little while, as harsh as that sounds. But if I’m not honest with myself, I’m never going to find that happiness I crave.
He gives a quick nod. If anyone were to get it, it would be Dane—escaping into work to avoid facing those issues that hammer in the back of your head. He practically wrote the book on it. Not that I’m judging him right now. If anything, I understand the impulse, more than I did before.
“Okay, go make me enough copies of the paper on top to hand out at the meeting this afternoon. You can keep them at your desk until then.” Boss Dane is back in place. For once, I take comfort in it, because this is something I know how to deal with.
I lick my dry lips and nod, then head to the copier room. There are two people in line ahead of me, so I let my gaze wander around the room, its boxes of paper. The women chat casually about their kids, the commute to work. The rhythmic pulse of the copier, the mingled voices, the soft noises outside, all create a white hum in my head that helps numb me a bit.
After about ten minutes, the copier is free, and I’m able to make my copies and head back to my desk. When I sit down, I see a folded and stapled piece of paper in front of me. That makes my heart give a painful, excited thud.
It’s from him.
The last of my sadness rushes right out of my body, and in its place is an all-over tingle of anticipation. Dane clearly knows that what I need right now isn’t to wallow in my own sadness. It’s to clear my head, to give myself
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