ODAAT: Volume 2, Chapter 8

 

Home Is An Empty Bed

I open the front door, resting against the frame as I push it open. It's somewhere around five in the morning and I'm tired from the two flights. I've never been a fan of flying, so more than one flight in a day is not my ideal way to spend time. I kick my shoes off on the rug that lines the entrance way. I drape my coat over one of the chairs in the kitchen. Then, I head down the hall towards my room. I pause in the hallway, caught off guard by the high-pitched giggling I hear coming from inside the guest room. There are a million thoughts running through my head, but my mind rests on "I guess Hunter is back". I take a deep breath before stepping forward, trying to prepare myself for the sight. I take the lightest steps possible, making sure my footsteps are faint, almost impossible to hear. You'd have a better chance catching the heart rate of a mouse.

I peer around the corner, looking into the room. There's a small hallway into the guest room, because the closet is on the outside wall. The foot of the bed is visible from the hallway. It's pressed against the right wall, in front of the closet. The dresser is at the end of the hallway, with a large mirror on the back of it. Through the mirror, I can see Jared standing above the bed. He's got a massive smile across his face as he's letting this blonde girl drop. I watch him pull her legs up for her, wrapping her in the blanket. She's mumbling, but it's incoherent because there's more alcohol in her system than blood. She's putting her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her. I cringe as my stomach goes back to it's familiar place on the floor. But I watch him take her hands and push them down. I hear him say he's not interested, that he's seeing somebody already. I hear him tell her she needs to sleep it off. I hear nothing from her, because she's already passing out. I step backwards and knock on the door. I make sure it's just loud enough to catch his attention. I expect him to jump because people with guilty conscious-es are more easily startled by loud noises. But he doesn't. He smiles even wider, happy to see me as he walks down the hall to where I'm standing. I smirk, motioning towards the bed.

“Who's the girl?” I ask, trying to pretend I'm jealous. We've been here before. Once upon a time, I would have been jealous. But I'm not. It's not because I don't care about him, either. It's not because I've moved on from what we had. It's because I trust him for the first time. I could hear it in his voice. I can see it in the way his eyes are lighting up. I can feel it most in his smile and his arms now wrapping around me. He pulls me close, like he was afraid I wasn't coming back to my own house or something.

“Madeline, you remember her?” He answers, looking over his shoulder at the bed. I raise my eyebrow.

“That's Maddie?” I ask, letting my voice crack slightly. He nods, resting against the door frame.

“She seems different.” I mumble, laughing slightly. He continues nodding, shoving his hands into his pockets. I turn around on my heels and head towards the kitchen. He follows. I pull out the chair my coat is now draped over and jump up into it. It's not a dining room table and chairs, but an island a series of stools. It's just between the kitchen and the living room, which is open concept. The entrance of the house shows the living room to the left, the kitchen to the right, and the hallway in the middle.

“I couldn't leave her like that.” He adds, sitting down on a stool in front of me. I nod, then stand up and head towards the fridge. I grab the bottle of scotch I had been saving. I tip it in his direction and he nods. I grab two glasses, pouring them half full, then hand him one of them. He nods to say thank you, not hesitating his first drink. I watch his lips as the glass touches them, admiring how full they are. How beautiful. It's funny, I've barely looked at him since he got here. I know he looks good. Better than ever. But, I couldn't get around the guilt. Now that it's gone, my eyes can't leave the features of his face.

He's looking down the hall, towards the bedroom he usually sleeps in. He doesn't notice that I'm staring until he looks over. I force my eyes to focus on him, resisting the urge to look away. I catch him, like a fly in a spiders web. He was always weak for eye contact. I put my glass down and move to stand in front of him. I can see his shoulders tense up. I put one of my hands on the back of his head and feel his pulse picking up. I don't give him the chance to ask what I'm doing, before pulling his lips to mine. I love how the liquid in the bottle doesn't taste half as good until it's coming from his lips. His eyes barely flicker open when I step backwards. His tongue is caught in his throat. Good. I sit back down on my stool and pick up my glass. My eyes don't leave him as I slowly sip the liquid gold. He looks over at me and a piece of his hair falls in front of his face. His hair was always as much of a rebel as his heart. He smiles, and I can tell he's blushing as he tucks the piece of his hair back behind his ear. I like the length on him, it's suiting, framing his face so well. The fireplace illuminates the color his cheeks have turned. I try not to stare, I would hate to make it worse. Or would I?

“What, uh, was that for?” He stutters out. I look towards the balcony, but watch him out of the corner of my eye. His finger is tracing the rim of his glass, which is one of his nervous habits. When he's really nervous or anxious, he bounces one of his legs. As it gets worse, his whole body begins slightly twitching. He's doing it right now, but trying to shrug it off. I smile, but I don't answer his question.

“So, where are you sleeping?” I ask, briefly looking over. He shrugs, motioning to the living room.

“I figured I would crash on the couch. Or maybe in Crystal's bed, since she's not using it.” He answers. I nod slowly.

“Crystal's bedroom is a disaster.” I inform him. He shrugs again.

“Yes, but, it beats sleeping on the couch, I'm sure.” He attempts to joke. I notice that his words appear to be caught in his throat. I guess I made him uncomfortable by bringing up his sleeping arrangements. I don't know why. He never had an issue with beds before. I laugh, shaking my head. He raises his eyebrow because he's not reading my mind and doesn't know what I'm thinking. All I can really think about is how adorable he is right now. He is more nervous than I've ever seen him and I am loving every second of it. I almost feel like a bad person. Then I think about Frankie inviting him here. He knew that he was allowed to be here, but I didn't. We didn't talk about it. Maybe he assumed Frankie had told me. But he didn't say anything either. He left it up in the air. While I was worried about Frankie's reaction to him being here, he knew he had been invited. Now, it's my turn to have a little fun with his insecurities.

“I was thinking you could,” I pause, biting the side of my lip. I'm watching him shift on his stool from the corner of my eye. I'm pretending to look at outside, watching the city lights twinkling in the distance. But my eyes are so fucking glued to him.

“You could sleep in my bed.” I finish, still not making eye contact. I should have waited until he finished swallowing, because now he's coughing. Oh well. I look over at him. His cheeks aren't blushed anymore. They are quickly losing color. Under any other circumstance, I'd worry he might be coming down with something. No one loses color this fast under normal circumstances. But they aren't normal. Nothing about this relationship has ever been normal. Why ruin our perfect record now?

“I'm sorry, what?” He stutters, pressing his fist into his chest. I shrug.

“Well, my bed has been awfully lonely.” I mumble, looking around the room. He's still coughing, like he's trying to catch his breath. Maybe he is. I put my now-empty glass down on the island. He's watching closely as I move back into his breathing space. I wrap my arms around his waist, letting my body brush against his. I can feel his heart racing, his breathing speeding up. Every part of me wants to experience that in another context. I dig my nails into his back and I feel him shudder. Leaning forward, I press my nose to his. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his lips collide forcefully with mine. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him. He's off the stool almost right away and he's pulling me up into his arms. Check. Mate.