Falling Under by Danielle Younge-Ullman Page A

the car, take out my rarely used cell phone and dial. I usually give him more warning. I usually manage to stay away longer. But there is a strange safety in Erik and I need that safety right now.
    He’s waiting in the open doorway, a lit joint in his hand. “Hey,” I say, and brush past him.
    Maybe it’s because of Hugo, or maybe I’m more of a mess than usual, but I start babbling about the weather and then the mayoral race and finally about an editorial piece I read online this morning. Erik leans back on the closed door and squints at me through the haze of smoke until, finally, I trail off.
    “What’s going on?” he says.
    “Nothing,” I say, but I have trouble meeting his eyes.
    Regardless, he sees me. Even stoned, even though we never talk much, he sees.
    “Bullshit,” he says. “Try again.”
    “Oh,” I say. “You know I’m always a little fucked up.
    Nothing new.”
    “Really?” he says. He moves to stub the joint in an ash- tray and then walks toward me. I take a step back and bump into the side of the couch. He comes close and stands inches away, never breaking eye contact. “Then how come you can’t shut up? How come you look like you might break if I touch you?”
    “I’m fine. Touch me all you want.”
    He reaches out and draws a line up from my throat, under my chin with his index finger. The still, dark look in his eyes and the delicacy of his touch send shock waves through me. I swallow and somehow hold his gaze.
    “I don’t think you’re here for the usual, Mara,” he says in a whisper. “Though, of course, I’m all for it, if you are.”
    “Yes, I am,” I say, but my voice sounds strangled.
    He lowers his head and brushes his lips across the skin of my neck. The shaking starts again and quickly spreads to my legs. I lock my knees to keep them still.
    “Liar.”
    I reach for his shirt, but my fingers can’t manage the but- tons. He takes my hands in his and presses them against his chest. I feel his heart thumping. His eyes search my face.
    “Ah,” he says.
    “What?”
    “Not running fast enough, are you,” he says. It’s not a question, he just knows. He knows because he has his own past to run from, his own ghosts to flee. And of course, there’s always Lucas. We both know more than enough about that.
    As always, he sees right through me, right into me. It makes me feel obscenely naked.
    I try to pull away, but he’s got my hands trapped. “Let me go,” I say and jerk backward.
    “I don’t think so,” he says. “Did something happen?”
    I shake my head. If I don’t get out of here I’m going to turn to mush. I’m going to fall apart and blubber like a fool and I really, really don’t want to do that here.
    “Please. I have to go.”
    He lets go of my hands, but only to wrap his arms around my waist, pick me up and carry me to the couch. He puts me down and kneels on the floor in front of me, between my legs, effectively blocking me in.
    “ You came to me ,” he says. “And I get it, all right? I fucking get it.”
    I can’t hide the shaking anymore. I’m gasping for breath, holding my arms crossed in front of my chest.
    “Okay,” he says, his voice warm and calming. “Okay.” He climbs onto me, straddles me so his legs brace mine. “Hold on,” he says. “Just hold on.”
    Erik presses his forehead to mine and puts his hands over my cold fists, slowly opens them and twines our fingers to- gether. I grip his hands and his body absorbs some of the shaking.
    He holds me and murmurs soothing words. When the tension starts to ease, I reach under his arms and wrap mine around his back. He pulls my head to his chest and presses me closer. A few tears fall, but I don’t turn to mush. Eventu- ally my breathing slows to match his and I feel the heat returning to my limbs. I should really pull away, but I can hear his heartbeat and he is so warm...
    “Better?” he whispers. “Mm-hm.”
    “I’m not crushing you?” “Mm-mm.”
    In another few