Chapter 3 #4
“It’s obnoxious. Next thing you know, you’ll be marrying me and wondering what happened!”
Oh.
Marriage.
My mind whirls and settles on the email I still need to respond to, leaving things up in the air and vague.
Everything can be vague for now.
I still have time.
Caleb leans a little closer, and my focus tilts toward him, as it always does.
His gaze tracks from my eyes, down my nose, and settles on my mouth.
It’s too much, too intense. I can’t feel my legs.
My throat clears, and he blinks, coming out of his trance.
“Um…right. What was I saying…?” He purses his lips and then nods. “Uh, right, I mean, now do you see why I had to move out?”
I shift my legs, and my hands land on his hips once more, pushing him slightly to the right so my legs can get some blood flow.
“Can I have my Kindle back now?”
He huffs in annoyance. I’m not sure what he wants from me. “For real, man? That’s all you have to say?”
“There’s nothing to be done about it.”
Caleb groans and throws his head back slightly, making the muscles in his shoulders pop. “You’ll have to spend your weekend with my family. There’s a chance we’ll burn something down, or someone’ll end up in jail.”
That makes me cock my head slightly. “Are you saying you have a record?”
“Not yet,” he mutters on a yawn.
Suddenly, the door opens, and we stare as Sem and Luke reappear.
“Aw, so cute. Look at those two,” Sem says to Luke, noting that Caleb is still firmly planted on my lap. It seems to bother Caleb more than it does me, but he still doesn’t move.
“Did you give them a key?” he asks me, and I shrug, vaguely remembering one of them taking it off my keyring and stuffing it in his pocket when Caleb was ill.
“Give me the key,” Caleb says, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers.
“No need to be aggressive,” Sem says as he slaps the metal in Caleb’s palm, a wild smile on his face. “That’s why we were coming back. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
And then they’re gone again, the door shutting with a quiet snick.
“We need to get the locks changed,” he tells me.
“Why?”
“They made copies. They’ll show up unannounced at all hours. Believe me. They have no boundaries.”
That makes me slightly uncomfortable, but I also can’t quite focus when Caleb is on me.
I never really liked being touched this much, never craved it.
Until him.
His head drifts back and lands on my shoulder, and I glue my eyes to my Kindle.
The moment blurs around me, a kaleidoscope of color and feeling. Heady. Changeable. Finite.
“I have to be crushing you,” he finally says, breaking me out of my spiral.
“I’m used to it.”
He huffs and seems to sink into me further. “That so?”
“Feel free to move if you’re concerned.”
“Is that a passive way of asking me to move?”
“No.”
I half-expect him to get up, but instead, he reaches over, grabs the remote, and turns on the TV. He loses himself in some obscure cooking show, and I sit there, trying to coax feeling back into my legs and tell myself that he’s absolutely not my type.
I read like my life depends on it. Caleb doesn’t move. Instead, he sinks into me further, dozing and nestling against my neck. His hand rests on my chest.
I swear he’s doing this on purpose.
He’s driving me crazy, making something dark and sharp uncoil inside me.
I open a book about the Civil War to take my mind off him.
It doesn’t work.
He’s everywhere.
I hear his stomach rumble, and I murmur that he’s hungry.
He grunts a response, obviously not wanting to move.
I need him to fucking move.
“Let me heat you up the soup your aunt made,” I finally say, my hand unwillingly moving up to squeeze the back of his neck. It’s warm, firm. I, unfortunately, don’t want to let go.
But Caleb just huffs and rolls off me, looking slightly forlorn at the loss of contact.
I can’t think too much about that. So I stand up and stretch, moving to the kitchen to warm up the soup. It gives me something to do with my hands besides reaching for him.
A few minutes later, it’s ready, and I set two bowls on the table.
“Come on, Caleb. Time to eat.”
He sighs loudly and ambles over to the chair, lowering himself into it and picking up the spoon. I do the same.
It’s good. I’ve had some already. I can tell the care that went into making it. What must that be like? Having someone love you enough to cook a meal for you, to deliver it, to call and check in?
I don’t know if I’ll ever know.
Caleb lifts some of the soup to his mouth and slips the spoon between his lips.
He moans, and I shift in my seat. Absolutely not.
“You having some?” he asks me when he notices how I’m not eating.
I purposefully take a spoonful.
“Yeah. Of course. Your aunt insisted. I don’t want to report back that I didn’t do as she commanded.”
He snorts, and I swallow. “Good man.”
I think he’s going to keep speaking to me, but he’s silent, the two of us eating the soup until it’s gone.
And then, when we’re finally done, he peers up at me, and I jump slightly. Those blue eyes.
Those fucking eyes.
“Did you miss class or work these past three days?” he asks, and I shrug, grabbing the empty bowls and placing them in the sink. After I’ve rinsed them thoroughly, I place them in the dishwasher.
“It’s fine.”
His lips fall. “Shit. I’m sorry, man.”
“I emailed our professors and let them know what was going on. I don’t work right now, so that isn’t a concern.”
His shoulders slump slightly, and he lets out a relieved breath. “Thanks for doing that.”
The way he says it, almost reverently, has me quickly wiping down the counter. I can’t look at him when he speaks like that. I really fucking can’t.
“You’re welcome,” I manage to say.
He’s silent for a moment, my mind swirling with questions and concerns, when he suddenly asks, “Want to watch a movie?”
My hand falters, and I swallow roughly. “I actually have plans tonight.”
It’s a lie. A huge one, but not the biggest one I’ve ever told. And I’ll rectify it. I will have plans. Just after I make them.
“Oh,” he says, the despondency in his voice hitting me square in the chest.
I can’t stand it. I can’t fucking stand it. It’s almost hard to breathe.
“Yes, well, I’ll be back in a bit,” I blurt, tossing the rag into the sink and moving to grab my satchel. Yes, right, I have to work on some homework. No, even better, I have to do some research for the speech and debate club meeting later this week.
Not that it’s needed, but I can’t focus when he’s near me. On me. All over me.
“Okay,” Caleb says, that adorable pout on his mouth.
As I move past him, I can’t help but stop and stare down at him. Those long lashes, those flushed cheeks. The way my hand could curl into his hair and pull.
“Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
He leans back and shrugs, pretending not to care. But I can see past it. He’s so fucking easy to read.
“Yep.”
I hesitate a moment, my mind telling me to stay. That nothing bad will happen if I just fucking stay. But I can’t. That email looms like a bad rash. It only infects and ruins whatever it comes into contact with.
I will not ruin him.
“Okay, well, text me if you need me.”
“I won’t. Have fun, man,” he says, without looking at me. Losing that blue—losing his gaze—pushes me straight to my keys. I grab them and walk out without a backward glance.
And then I do as I said I would. I message the debate team to let them know where I’m headed to see if they’d like to join me.
Predictably, none of them can, so I go to the library alone, carefully avoiding the beanbags and situating myself at a table.
I pull open my laptop and begin my research, but my fingers falter, and I end up staring at the screen, my mind whirling. All I can see is him, feel him, the weight of him on my lap, the way his hair brushes against the sensitive skin of my neck.
I can’t concentrate, but I can’t go back.
Not yet.
So I struggle, trying to focus for hours before calling it quits and packing up my stuff.
Downhearted and a little crushed, I mistakenly answer a phone call from my father. His voice is brusque, angry, as he speaks in English with his thick Romanian accent.
This is absolutely not what I need right now.
“You haven’t answered the email like you said you would.”
I bite my tongue, feeling slightly off-kilter. “I’ve been busy with school.”
His voice trembles, and something inside me folds in on itself.
“You will give the correct response tonight, or I will speak with the school about your tuition.”
I know that it’s already paid for, but I bet he’d be able to reverse it. I swallow and nod, and when he shouts for me to answer him, I jump slightly, giving a clipped answer that I’ll do it tonight.
And I will. I can’t handle the way it’s been looming over me.
I can’t keep putting it off. I know if I don’t deal with this, they could pull me from where I am. They’d enroll me at a school near them so they can watch me more closely.
I’ve been playing fast and loose with fate.
I know I can’t get away with it much longer.
We hang up without even a goodbye, and I stand up, my limbs heavy, my eyes aching. I rub at them and then let out a long breath. I’ve made it through two decades of this. I can get through the next few months.
I slide my bag over my shoulder and head home.
It’s where I wanted to be anyway, but I just needed some space.
Caleb is right where I left him, sprawled out on the couch, a hand down his pants, the other up his shirt.
My heart thrums in my chest.
I set my satchel down and press a hand to his forehead, making sure that the flush on his face isn’t from a fever.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles, tilting his head slightly to watch me. When I don’t move my hand, he grunts. “I’m fine.”
I nod and slip my hand from his skin.
“How was your thing?”
“Fine.”
“Who did you meet up with?”
I wet my lips and lower myself into the chair next to the couch. The one we sat on—together.
“I’m part of the speech and debate club here. We have a tournament coming up soon, so I had to meet with my team to go over a few things.”
He glances over at me and bobs his head.
“You’re a smart dude.”
“At times,” I reply, moving my gaze to the TV. I don’t feel smart right now.
None of this was smart.
In fact, it was incredibly stupid.
“Nah, man. You’re like super smart. Always reading and shit. I see you. We would have kicked ass in trivia if you had come.”
My fingers move across the fabric of the chair, drawing little designs. I stare at them, unable to meet his gaze. If I do, I may never look away.
“Don’t feel like you need to watch this. You can watch whatever you want.” His comment has me looking at the TV, and then I shake my head.
“This is okay.”
“Is it, though?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s fine.”
Caleb huffs and then purses his lips. “Alright. No more of this. Get over here, Whit.”
I peer over at him, my heart thrumming in my chest, in my neck, right behind my ears. I must be hearing things.
“Come on. Don’t make me beg.”
No, not hearing things. My fingers tap on the chair.
Don’t do it. Don’t go.
No.
But then I push myself up and step toward him. And with a long breath, I lower myself down next to him, and Caleb, without batting an eyelash, crawls on top of me.
“No need to get weird about this,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead into my pounding pulse, his leg flinging over my thighs.
“We’ll just get it out of our systems today and then go back to normal tomorrow.”
Will we, Caleb?
I sigh loudly, and he wiggles deeper into me. I feel him in my chest, in my heart, buried deep inside my bones.
My fingers move through those long locks, doing something I told myself not to.
“What is normal?” I ask, wanting to know if this is normal for him. Does he do this with everyone he knows?
“Don’t ask me. My entire life has been weirder than a Dr. Who episode.”
Those words make a small laugh escape me. He has no idea.
He really has no fucking clue.
“So tired,” he says as those fingers curl into my chest, and after several minutes, he falls asleep, leaving me to revel in the warmth of him still pressed against me.