Chapter Eighteen
Blake
I t’s almost midnight, and I’m lying in bed, wide awake. I wouldn’t say I have sleep problems— anymore— because it’s rare and random. But it still happens often enough that I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that my anti-anxiety medication made me drowsy. Instead, I take my pill every morning; any later and it’ll be impossible to sleep. About a month ago, my therapist Catalina, and the psychiatrist she works with, decided it would be a good idea to up my dosage a bit. I didn’t disagree, since I was starting to show symptoms that made my mom worry again.
Margo and Meera leaving for college didn’t help, but it’s not their fault that I’m naturally an anxious mess. And I didn’t want them to be worried about me while they should be out, living their lives.
So, even though I was reluctant to go through the initial adjustment period again, I’m proud of myself for recognizing the signs. Especially the quiet symptoms that are so easy to ignore—like not going to the pool for days on end, or the frustrating combination of fatigue and restlessness that always finds me. There’s also the not eating because I’m constantly nauseous or the zoning out when my mom’s talking to me, that are harder to hide, even from myself.
Truthfully, I did it as much for them as I did for myself. And Catalina had to remind me, again, that it’s okay to hold onto the hope of other people if I can’t find it in myself sometimes.
So even though the higher dosage has fucked up my sleep the last couple of weeks, I can’t bring myself to complain about it when my head feels quiet most of the time, and I’m not nauseous just from existing.
With the exception of the last couple of days that is. It’s been pretty loud up there since I woke up yesterday, but it’s not only my anxiety that’s playing on a loop. It’s also Adrian.
My mind’s been replaying the last forty-eight hours and everything my mom said since I laid down. I haven’t tried to stop it necessarily, since one thing I’ve learned in therapy is fighting the thoughts is sometimes worse than giving them space. Sometimes we just need to let ourselves feel and think without shame.
But fuck , for someone who can’t sleep worth crap tonight, I’m fucking tired.
It was a long day. A good day—no, a great day if I feel like being honest with myself.
I know my friendship with Adrian is still new, but I’ve never felt like this before. So seen and understood. And that seems crazy because how could this impossibly perfect man understand me ?
My phone lights up on my nightstand, pulling me from my obsessive thoughts.
Sat, October 4 at 11:47 PM
Adrian
Thanks for today ??
I feel like I should probably be thanking you dude
Nah I was the lucky one
We could maybe do it again sometime?
“Oh my God,” I mutter to myself before shoving my face in my pillow. I don’t know if it’d be worse for him to leave me on read or reply and say no .
Definitely being ghosted. Although being rejected by him would hurt horribly, I think.
Storm cloud
Are you asking me on a date?
“ Fuck me. Who just calls someone out like out?” I quietly seethe.
Oh no
No no no
That’d be ridiculous right?
If I asked you out? HA
Decent joke though
I meant we could just like… hang out again?
Hang out ?
Is that what it’s called when a guy chooses to spend his entire day off helping you get your tires fixed, and carrying the bags that the shop owners keep shoving at you, and comforting me with his hand on my back?
I’m new to all of this but it feels like… more than that.
Too bad
I would’ve said yes
I stare at the screen for probably about three minutes, not sure what to say. There’s no way to save face after that and I don’t know how to flirt. I know I can do it sometimes, when I’m not thinking about it, and I don’t feel the pressure to perform. And that’s what this feels like.
There’s a simple comfort that comes from his soft eye contact and amused smirks. It fills me with this sense of calm fortitude I’ve never felt before.
When my phone buzzes again, I look down. When it keeps buzzing, I just stare. And stare. And stare.
Adrian is FaceTiming… slides across my screen over and over.
When I wait too long, the call ends. “Oops…” I mutter.
I know you’re awake
And looking at your phone
My phone starts buzzing again, but this time, I answer on the second ring. His easy smile lights up my screen. “Hi.”
“Hey, Storm Cloud,” he says quietly.
“You don’t have to whisper,” I laugh.
“You are.”
“Yeah, but I live with my parents.” I watch my face turn pink in the little rectangle, and I have to consciously stop myself from tapping my thumb along my fingers—my most stubborn nervous tick.
He shrugs. “It kinda feels like we’re in on a secret, you know?”
“I don’t know what kind of secret that could be,” I scoff with an eye roll.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind being your dirtiest secret,” he says smoothly. My eyes pop up to meet his gaze, and he winks back at me. When I let out a little gasp, he tips his head back and laughs. It’s easily become one of my favorite sights but getting to watch it happen when he’s in bed—one arm crooked behind his head as the other holds the phone in front of him—it feels intimate and… yeah, quite secretive somehow.
He shakes his head and gives me a long, assessing look. “Nah, I’m playing, Blake. You don’t deserve to be a secret, and I’d never let anyone treat you as one.”
With a small smile, I admit, “I don’t know what to say when you say things like that. And it makes me feel bad…”
“Why do you feel bad? Because you can’t wax poetic about how much you like me?” I just roll my eyes even though we both know that, yes , that is exactly what I meant. “Don’t worry, I have a huge ego. I can be patient while I work you open.”
My eyebrows flick up and my mouth drops open at his innuendo. He’s on a roll today.
After a second, he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. I’ve learned his tells—he bites the left corner of his bottom lip and scrunches his nose almost unnoticeably when he’s embarrassed. It doesn’t happen often, but it makes him look cute and boyish when it does. Right now, he’s grimacing hardcore and refusing to make eye contact with me.
Seeing Adrian so flustered makes me absolutely giddy.
To the point a giggle pops out of me. I slap a hand over my mouth, which only makes us both laugh even more. I don’t think I’ve ever made the squealing noise that just burst out of me.
Plus, Adrian accidentally saying something totally filthy to me makes me laugh harder than I have in a long, long time.
The fact that it was an honest to God accident somehow makes it the perfect cherry on top of the day with him.
After a couple minutes, I realize that he’s stopped, and now he’s just watching me. It almost looks like adoration in his expression but let’s not be ridiculous.
Right? Right…
When I finally calm down, we just watch each other for a few more seconds. Finally, he breaks the silence, “I didn’t mean it like that . I meant like, emotionally, you know?”
“Yeah, sure thing,” I nod emphatically, trying to keep my smile at bay. I fail. Miserably.
“Whatever.” His tone is still playful and easy-going.
“That was the dirtiest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I chuckle. I don’t know why I admit it. Then again, everything feels safe with him.
“Blake,” he says, suddenly very serious, causing me to sober right up, “ that was an accident.” Before my heart can crack in half, he continues, “The next time, it won’t be. And I promise, I can make it a hell of a lot filthier if that’s what you want.” His eyes rove my shocked face before he adds with a smirk, “What you need .”
“Oh,” I squeak out. A smug look slides over him at my dumbstruck expression, and we can’t have that. Absolutely not. “Are you going to stutter like a schoolboy after that time too?” I retort with a small victory shimmy into my pillows.
His snort makes my eyes snap to his. “Says the girl that could audition to be a tomato.”
“That’s not true,” I grumble, as my cheeks turn impossibly red. Yup, they skipped pink this time and went right for a perfect impersonation.
“Yeah, sure thing,” he parrots back to me.
I start to roll my eyes, a huge yawn breaking out of me instead. I stretch my free arm up and slip my hand further into my sleeve. “You should get some sleep.”
“You’re the one that works tomorrow,” I say as I snuggle further into my duvet.
“I work at the clinic tomorrow, sure. But you’re babysitting those boys you’re always complaining about, right?”
I love that he remembers my schedule.
“Ugh, yes. The Paulson boys—those little shits are going to give me a coronary one day.” Typically, I work Sunday mornings with Adrian, but Kevin and Erika Paulson are good people who often need cheap, if not free, help with the kids. And I’m one of the last people willing to put up with their antics.
Laughing, he shakes his head looking through the screen with affection. “Good night, Storm Cloud.”
“Good night, flaco .” He smiles at the endearment, but I wonder if he knows it literally translates to skinny . He’s thin in the sense that he’s tall, lean and cut except that’s not why I used it. It reminds me of my mom calling my dad gordo . It technically means fat but is often used in a loving way.
When I see him moving toward the red button, I sit up suddenly. “Hey, wait—”
He jerks the phone back. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I swallow, and his eyes track the movement. “Um, well, it’s kinda silly really. Never mind.”
“Nope.” He settles back into his pillows. “You can’t get rid of me until you tell me.”
In that case…
“I was just, um—I was wondering if I could text you tomorrow. If you won’t be too busy, you know, after work? I don’t think we’ll work together again for a few days…” I trail off in embarrassment.
“I was already planning on texting you first thing in the morning, but you never have to ask. Texts, calls, carrier pigeons, they’re all welcome.”
“This is San Diego, dude. We use seagulls here.”
“Oh”—he lifts one hand in a fake placating gesture—“excuse me, I’d hate to offend the wicked creatures.”
I fall back in laughter, thinking back to the story he told me recently. He’d only been in Amada Beach for a couple of weeks at this point, so he didn’t know how determined, and fearless, the local seagulls were until they’d already knocked the entire plate out of his hands. “You’re still mad about the cheese fries, I see.”
“It was a horrible welcome to the town.”
“And yet, you’ve forgiven Benji for the bowel movements.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m a professional, Blake. You can say shit like an adult. And he wasn’t the siren who took advantage of a desperate man.”
“You’re delusional,” I shake my head. “Get some sleep. It’ll help.”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning.” The last thing I see before I click end is his playful smirk.
Sun, October 5 at 6:23 AM
Good morning storm cloud
I hope you slept well
I slept like a baby just so you know
So now I can confirm that…
You’re still a siren and I’m still just a desperate man stuck in the lure of your heart’s song
…
Don’t EVER free me I beg you