the toe and the sole s worn almost completely down to the fabric . Yet, knowing her, she’s too sentimental to carelessly burn anything . She probably wants to give them a funeral to commemorate their travels togethe r . I set them on my balcony to air out .
I peel off her sweaty socks and frown at the brown stains on the heel s . I glance down at her and wonder if she ever did laundry . I contemplate checking her hair for lice . I throw her socks in the trash and notice her jeans are scrunched up around her knees so I decide to slide them off , so she can be comfortable . Or maybe I want to torture myself . I’m relieved her pink underpants look clean . I have to resist letting my fingers run down her legs , legs that I’ve tasted every inch of , and I cover her with a blanket before I lose any self - control .
I head back downstairs , grab her ba g from the porch and pour a glass of water from the sink . When I walk back in my bed room I can’t help but feel like its brighter , like the light has shifted in the sky and more rays are filtering in, but I know why it feels warmer . She always had that e ffect on my life . I throw her jeans on top of her bag and set the water on the nightstand next to the bed . I stare down at her for a few seconds . I could watch her sleep for the rest of the night and wait for all the old feelings to flood through my heart . But I built a dam to catch those feelings . Well, at least to slow their progress . I grab some shorts to sleep in and escape downstairs before the memories have a chance to catch me .
***
The next morning , I walk into my bedroom to get a change of clothes and try to ignore the energy of a girl whose presence I can feel like a gust of wind, like a storm blowing in . I glance quickly at the bed and Dylan ’s still sound asleep , rolled up into a ball, her nose and forehead peeking out from under the b lanket . I need her out of my room before her presence contaminates everything .
I grab a gray hooded sweatshirt from the top shelf of my closet and I hear her body shift on the mattress as I pull it over my head . Y ank ing it down over my waist , I turn to see her eyes open now, blinking at the ceiling . I shut the close t door and she turns and squints u ntil her eyes adjust and focus on me . We stare at each other for a few seconds. T he room feels too small, as if the walls are slowly compressing around me .
I tell myself I’m not impressed with those huge eyes, eyes that could level me with a single glance . She blinks at me unbelieving, like she’s still in a dream . She glances around my room .
“ Gray ? Where am I?” Her low voice is slower and groggier than normal.
In a mental hospital, I want to say, but she looks to o tired for sarcasm .
“ I n my bedroom,” I say . “I thought you might prefer it to the front porch. ” I pull a UNM baseball cap low o ver my head . She sits up and the blanket falls to her waist . She rubs her eyes and runs her fingers over her messy heap of bed hair . I try to dwell on the fact that her face is puffy and she has dark circles under her hazel eyes and that I a m by no means attracted to her .
My mind quickly shifts to Kari, the girl I met at the Velvet Room last week , in those high boots that walk around in my mind . We’ve been texting and have plans to hang out next week . I try to focus on that, instead .
“How long have I been asleep ?” she asks with a yawn . I tell her about fourteen hours.
“ It’s Friday morning, ” I say . Her eyes widen at this.
“I don’t think I’ve slept that long since I was — ” and she stops to consider t his , resting a finger on her chin .
“In the womb? ” I offer and she grins . Her eyes light up wh en she smiles . It’s annoying . S he presses a hand against her temple like she’s in pain and I point to the glass of w ater on the nightstand .
“Thanks,” she says . She takes a sip and grimaces . I sit down at my desk chair, the furthest spot away from
I peel off her sweaty socks and frown at the brown stains on the heel s . I glance down at her and wonder if she ever did laundry . I contemplate checking her hair for lice . I throw her socks in the trash and notice her jeans are scrunched up around her knees so I decide to slide them off , so she can be comfortable . Or maybe I want to torture myself . I’m relieved her pink underpants look clean . I have to resist letting my fingers run down her legs , legs that I’ve tasted every inch of , and I cover her with a blanket before I lose any self - control .
I head back downstairs , grab her ba g from the porch and pour a glass of water from the sink . When I walk back in my bed room I can’t help but feel like its brighter , like the light has shifted in the sky and more rays are filtering in, but I know why it feels warmer . She always had that e ffect on my life . I throw her jeans on top of her bag and set the water on the nightstand next to the bed . I stare down at her for a few seconds . I could watch her sleep for the rest of the night and wait for all the old feelings to flood through my heart . But I built a dam to catch those feelings . Well, at least to slow their progress . I grab some shorts to sleep in and escape downstairs before the memories have a chance to catch me .
***
The next morning , I walk into my bedroom to get a change of clothes and try to ignore the energy of a girl whose presence I can feel like a gust of wind, like a storm blowing in . I glance quickly at the bed and Dylan ’s still sound asleep , rolled up into a ball, her nose and forehead peeking out from under the b lanket . I need her out of my room before her presence contaminates everything .
I grab a gray hooded sweatshirt from the top shelf of my closet and I hear her body shift on the mattress as I pull it over my head . Y ank ing it down over my waist , I turn to see her eyes open now, blinking at the ceiling . I shut the close t door and she turns and squints u ntil her eyes adjust and focus on me . We stare at each other for a few seconds. T he room feels too small, as if the walls are slowly compressing around me .
I tell myself I’m not impressed with those huge eyes, eyes that could level me with a single glance . She blinks at me unbelieving, like she’s still in a dream . She glances around my room .
“ Gray ? Where am I?” Her low voice is slower and groggier than normal.
In a mental hospital, I want to say, but she looks to o tired for sarcasm .
“ I n my bedroom,” I say . “I thought you might prefer it to the front porch. ” I pull a UNM baseball cap low o ver my head . She sits up and the blanket falls to her waist . She rubs her eyes and runs her fingers over her messy heap of bed hair . I try to dwell on the fact that her face is puffy and she has dark circles under her hazel eyes and that I a m by no means attracted to her .
My mind quickly shifts to Kari, the girl I met at the Velvet Room last week , in those high boots that walk around in my mind . We’ve been texting and have plans to hang out next week . I try to focus on that, instead .
“How long have I been asleep ?” she asks with a yawn . I tell her about fourteen hours.
“ It’s Friday morning, ” I say . Her eyes widen at this.
“I don’t think I’ve slept that long since I was — ” and she stops to consider t his , resting a finger on her chin .
“In the womb? ” I offer and she grins . Her eyes light up wh en she smiles . It’s annoying . S he presses a hand against her temple like she’s in pain and I point to the glass of w ater on the nightstand .
“Thanks,” she says . She takes a sip and grimaces . I sit down at my desk chair, the furthest spot away from
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