Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
FREYA
Iknow he’s doing his best not to hover, but he’s not doing a very good job. I’ve been feeling sluggish all day after what happened last night, and I can tell it’s freaking him out.
I woke up to him tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand.
Sometime in the night, I’d rolled onto my own side and it made me kind of sad to not wake up in his arms. I hate that I scared him.
I still don’t totally understand what happened, but I can feel the ghost of it in the air.
It’s in the careful space Oscar leaves between us as we take a walk around town, like he’s afraid that touching me might make something shatter.
It’s in the way he keeps opening his mouth, probably to ask for the hundredth time if I’m alright, before closing it again with a snap.
Honestly, fuck Aaron. Fuck him for screwing me up so badly that I can’t let myself trust this man who’s only ever been good to me. Fuck him for driving a wedge into the thing that feels like it could be one of the best parts of my life.
It’s Thursday, so the store’s closed, and we end up on a bench in the park.
I stare across the empty duckpond, the water waiting for the birds to come back for the summer.
Oscar sits a few inches away from me, his hands firmly in his pockets.
I want to take hold of one, but he’s not giving me an opening.
“There was something you said last night,” I start. I barely registered it at the time, I wasn’t really able to take in any information, but I want to know what he meant.
He slumps down further on his seat. He knows what I’m asking. “Yeah?” he says warily.
“About what you thought of me when we were kids.” It sounded like he knew me a lot better than I knew him.
“I figured we were going to get back to that.” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I’m just trying to put the pieces together. What you said, and the Jamie stuff…” I trail off. I’m half afraid to say it, knowing how ridiculous it sounds, but I’ve been mulling it over all day and what other explanation is there? “Did you like me?”
He takes in a deep breath, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “Yes.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that to be so easy. He liked me?
“I’m sorry, I should have told you before now.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“At first it didn’t seem relevant.” He won’t quite meet my eye. “Then, when things with us started changing, I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”
I nod, looking down at my shoes. “That makes sense, I suppose.”
“And there’s still no pressure. We can take things as slow as you want.” He hurries out.
I blink a few times, hoping to clear my thoughts. I still don’t know how I could have been so oblivious to all this? “So, when you hit Jamie, that was because you had a crush on me?”
“I hit him because he deserved it,” he says forcefully. “But, yeah. The fact that it was you definitely made me a little more motivated.”
I chuckle. “That must have been one hell of a crush.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
We get back to my apartment around six and it’s like my whole body’s been dunked in ice. My skin’s itching to be touched, to be held, but I don’t know how to tell him.
I slip into the bathroom as soon as we get in, needing a minute to compose myself.
“Just ask,” I whisper to my reflection. “Ask.”
The woman in the mirror stares back at me, eyes wide and frightened. Maybe one day I’ll look at myself and not see ghosts. But not today.
“He’ll say yes,” I tell myself.
It was hard to know how touched-starved I was until Oscar started doling out his easy affection.
My whole life, people have been strange about touching me.
They see my sensitivities, the way I can only handle certain kinds of contact and take that to mean that they should keep their distance. They never think to ask what I need.
When I met Aaron, affection turned into something I had to earn.
Why would you want to sit here sweating on each other?
His voice in my head is so vivid it sounds like he’s speaking into my ear, the answer he gave the one time I asked him to cuddle.
“You can ask Oscar,” I whisper.
We cuddle after sex. I don’t get why you’re being so clingy?
I grip the edge of the sink, trying to banish the words. My heart’s beating so hard it could crack a rib. This is crazy. All I need to do is to go out there and tell him that I’d like us to cuddle for a while.
The worst that could happen is that he says no.
Even contemplating it sends a shiver of despair through me. It’s like being around him has brought down my walls just enough for me to realize what I’m missing, and now I practically ache with the need for human contact.
“Freya?” Oscar’s voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the door. “You alright in there?”
“Yes!” I squeak, my throat thick. “I just need a second.”
I hear his sigh through the wood. “Do you want me to go?”
Oh God, now he thinks I don’t want him here! I fumble with the lock in my hurry to get it open. When the door swings wide, I’m greeted by Oscar on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a pensive expression.
“Hi,” I croak.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!”
“What’s wrong?” He goes to stand, but I hurry toward him until I’m on the other side of the coffee table. His gaze is hard as he stares up at me, probing.
“Could we—” I break off and huff out a breath. Why can’t this be easy? This isn’t a big deal, I’m just asking a question. But every time I try to make the words come, I feel a hand around my throat, keeping them down. “I thought we could…”
Oscar scoots forward, his hands outstretched, beseeching. “It’s okay, honey, you can ask me anything you want.”
I knit my fingers together, trying to steady my breathing. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but… I was just wondering…”
“You’re kind of scaring me,” he whispers.
“Could we maybe cuddle for a bit?” It’s barely audible. I wouldn’t have thought that he heard me if it wasn’t for the way he straightens. It’s as if every possible emotion cycles across his face so fast that I can’t decipher a single one.
“Freya.” The sound that he makes is guttural, like it’s been torn from him. “I - of course. Yes.”
I must sag at least an inch deeper into the carpet, the relief is so palpable. “Okay, that’s great.” I realize I don’t actually have any clue what I’m doing. “So, should I just…” I shuffle forward, my shin knocking the coffee table. “Shit,” I hiss.
“You wanna do it here?”
“Yes?” It comes out like a question. “I mean, is that alright?”
“That’s perfect.”
I move around the table and sit down next to him, perched right on the edge of the cushion. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper, a little mortified.
“We do it however you’re comfortable with.” He reaches out and palms my cheek. I can’t help but sigh as I lean into the grounding touch.
I try to be brave. “Could I sit on your lap?”
“That sounds fucking fantastic.” He smirks, easing some of the tension that’s zapping up my spine.
I shift, putting my hands on his shoulders and going to straddle him. My foot knocks into the table and I huff a laugh. I’m not exactly playing this cool.
“Here.” Oscar moves slowly, bringing his hands to my hips so that he can guide me, maneuvering my body until I’m across his thighs. “Is this okay?”
I nod, not able to speak past the lump in my throat.
“Great.” His palms skim up my sides until he’s cupping my cheeks. “Come here.” At his gentle urging, I drop forward, resting my weight against him. My cheek finds a home against his shoulder, and it’s like someone’s turned down the volume on everything going on in my head.
I flatten my hands against his chest as one of his arms wraps around my back, the soft pressure keeping me against him. His other hand starts combing through my hair in smooth, rhythmic strokes.
It only takes a few seconds before I’ve completely melted into him.
My chest feels like a megawatt lightbulb, humming with so much energy.
He presses his lips against my forehead and a single tear snakes its way down my cheek, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
My cheeks start burning with the kind of prickling sensation that comes when you’ve been out in the cold so long that your skin turns numb, but then come in and stand in front of a fire. It’s like I’m being recharged.
Is this what everyone feels? Is this what I’ve been lacking for so much of my life? The thought makes me furious, that so many people would lock this feeling away from me.
“Were you scared to ask me?” Oscar murmurs, his voice pained.
I sniffle, only now realizing that I’ve started crying in earnest. Whether it’s from joy or sadness, I have no idea.
“A little?” I admit. “Not because of anything you’ve done.”
“Because of him?”
My silence is confirmation enough. Oscar’s low grumble echoes into my ear, and I don’t know whether I’m hearing it or feeling it. I snuggle into him closer and his grip tightens.
Yes.
This is it.
This is what everybody talks about.
His hands carry on their movements through my hair, alternating between carding through the strands and resting his palm on the back of my head. His fingertips trace patterns on the shell of my ear and I wonder what it was that I was so afraid of.
“This is nice,” I mumble.
“Anytime you want. You don’t even have to ask.”
I feel my eyes getting heavy as I listen to the steady thud of Oscar’s heartbeat. It’s like every shred of adrenaline has melted out of me, replaced by an overwhelming sense of rightness, of wholeness.
“You can put the TV on or something, if you want.” I know this is probably boring for him, but right now I’m feeling too selfish to stop.
He gives a little grumble of dissatisfaction. “I’m right where I wanna be,” he says into my hair.
I’m not going to ask twice.
I trace my fingers along the lines of his flannel, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“You getting sleepy?” he asks.
My yawn gives me away. I chuckle. “Mhm.”
“Come on, then.”
I feel the muscles in his thighs flex, then he’s standing. I yelp as he takes me with him, looping his arms under my thighs and lifting me into the air with seemingly very little effort.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh, go to sleep.” He carries me through the apartment, almost knocking over a lamp as he goes.
When we reach the doorway of my bedroom, Oscar carefully lowers me to my feet.
He keeps hold of my hands as he speaks. “I can go if—”
“Stay,” I cut him off. The thought of him leaving, of having to go to sleep alone, is too horrible to contemplate.
I don’t want to go any further, but I want more of this, more of him holding me, the way he makes me feel so safe, so precious. I stare up at him, my fingers reaching to trace the line of his beard. “Stay,” I say again.
He gives me a small smile that almost stops my heart. “Alright.”
I walk into my room, listening as he follows behind me. Something about his presence makes it feel more complete, as if it’s more like home with him in it.
I grab my pajamas from where they’re folded at the end of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
He hums a sound of acknowledgement, and then, for the second time tonight, I’m tucked away in the bathroom while he’s waiting outside. Except this time, I don’t feel the need to psyche myself up. I change fast and rush to wash off my makeup, eager to be back out there.
When I open the door again, the scene that greets me makes me pause.
Oscar’s in his boxers and undershirt, the rest of his clothes folded neatly on the chair in the corner.
He’s turned off the big light and the room is now illuminated by the lamps on either side of the bed.
The light coming through the stained-glass lampshade casts flickers of color up the walls.
I wish every night could be like this, so wonderful in all its normalcy.
Maybe one day, they can be, if I’m willing to be brave.
“You ready for bed?” he asks.
I nod, the words trapped somewhere in my chest. When he holds out a hand, I pad toward him until we’re wrapped around each other again, Oscar cradling my head against his chest.
“I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to do, you don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried.” The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.
“Good.” He kisses my temple. “Which side do you sleep on?”
“The right.”
He pulls back, taking a second to run his thumb over the apple of my cheek before moving to pull the covers back on my side. He gestures for me to get in and I do, sliding between the cool sheets.
Oscar looks down at me for half a second that feels like forever, before rounding the foot of the bed and getting in beside me.
“You wanna cuddle some more?” he asks quietly.
Yes.
Always.
I reach out to turn off the lamp, Oscar doing the same on his side. Only once we’re shrouded in a cocoon of darkness, lit by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside, do I answer.
“Yes, please.”
I hear him shuffling, then feel an arm snaking around my waist. “Get over here.”
With a giggle, I roll over. It takes a second for us to arrange ourselves, me landing with my head on his chest. One of his arms comes around me and I feel the soft tickle of his fingers toying with the end of my hair.
“I thought you didn’t like being touched?” he asks gently.
My stomach sinks. “People think that a lot.”
“But it’s not true?”
“Not really.” I yawn, pressing my face in closer. “I don’t like strangers touching me, or really light touches.”
“This is okay, though?”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes, letting another bit of honesty slip out. It’s like pulling a broken shard out of my chest and showing him, hoping he’ll like it anyway. “I really needed this.”
His breath stutters. “I’m sorry you didn’t have it.”
“People just assume, then they avoid touching me instead of asking what I need.”
“Like I did.”
I squeeze his middle. “You didn’t stay away.”
“I never will.”
With the sound of his breathing in my ear and the gentle movements of his hand, I finally let my eyes go heavy.