[Okay, let me put on some clothes.]
[You can come in your underwear, I don't mind. And make sure to forget your bra again.]
[ >:( ]
[Haha. Just kidding. I'll be here when you're ready.]
A few minutes later, my door creaks open. I'm lying on my back, but I don't move, not wanting to discourage her. Her muffled footsteps come around the bed before the mattress shifts and she's under the covers. I pull the sheet over our heads, shifting to my side so that she comes into view.
"Hi," I say, voice low.
"Hi."
It's weird, lying side-by-side and face-to-face, eyeing her features and the curve of her lips, and just enjoying that she's here beside me without trying to touch her. I peer down between us and see she's wearing pajama pants and a tank top that has ridden up slightly. The waistband of her pants is low on her hipbones and I have the irresistible urge to tug it down.
"I have a sort of personal question for you," she says.
"All right..."
"That girl that cheated on you, your ex. Why was that your only serious relationship?"
I resist the urge to let out a frustrated breath. I don't want to talk about Claire. But the curiosity in Julia's eyes prompts me to answer.
"I had a few girlfriends in high school, but you know how that is. I was just a kid. Claire was my first college girlfriend. Before her, I was content just messing around. I wasn't interested in anything serious."
Julia nods slowly, as though she guessed as much. "She must've been something else if she got you to change your ways."
I think on this for a moment then shake my head. "There was nothing especially different about her. It was me. I wanted a change. I guess after my dad died and my mother--" I cut off, not expecting that information to nearly leave my lips in this conversation. I try to continue as normal. "I guess after all that happened...I wanted something..."
"Stable?"
I shrug. My reasons don't matter anymore.
There's another question burning in her eyes, but I can tell she's holding it at bay. "I'm sorry she cheated on you."
I yawn. "Yeah, well...I learned my lesson."
"What lesson is that?"
I brush my fingertips over one of her eyebrows. "Go to sleep, little leopard. You're too curious for your own good."
"One more thing," she says.
I sigh, but then smile despite myself, waiting for her next line of questioning. I secretly enjoy the way she seems so eager to know every little thing about me.
"Ava mentioned a while back that you can sing," she says. "Is that true?"
The smile freezes on my face. "I'm not going to sing for you, if that's your next request."
"Oh, come on," she pleads. "Please?"
"No. I haven't sang in a long time. My mother used to make me sing at events when I was younger. Then I set my foot down and told her I wasn't interested in being a singer. Just because you can do something well doesn't mean it's what you should do for a living."
"I get it," she says, though she seems disappointed. "But you really won't let me hear you sing? Just a little?"
I shake my head in response.
She groans out in disappointment. "Fine. At least tell me, what was the last song you performed in front of people?"
"Amazing Grace," I answer without thinking.
Julia goes very still, her lashes lower and I can almost hear the buzz of her thoughts putting the pieces together in her head. The last time I sang for anyone was at my father's funeral.
"Thanks," she whispers, closing her eyes. I'm not sure why she thanks me, but I stare at her for a few seconds before closing my own eyes.
There's something I can't deny. She's quickly slipping past me in a way I'm not sure I want. Parts of me fold inward to let her in, even though I know it's not a good idea. I'm allowing her to take root in me, roots that can't be permanent.
Because nothing in life is ever permanent.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Julia
THERE'S A SMALL STUFFED LEOPARD that sits on my nightstand. I look at it every day, running my hand over the top of its head in a move I'm not sure is entirely conscious.
That tiny stuffed toy is proof of a change that's crept into my life over the past few weeks. I'm not so sure what any of it means. All I know is that every night, after I get home from work, I get ready for bed in my room, then sneak down the hall and climb into bed with Giles. If anyone saw us, they'd think we were up to no good. If I told anyone, Lex for instance, she'd scold me for playing with fire. And I know I am.
Giles and I don't talk about it, but there's an energy between us, constantly licking and crackling and threatening to pull us across the point of no return. We try to pretend it's not there, we talk easily and laugh as if we don't have a care in the world, but there's no denying the heat we generate anytime we're near each other.
Other people wouldn't understand our dynamic. I don't understand it myself. I'm attracted to him and I know he's attracted to me, but the friendship we've uncovered, almost accidentally, has been something we both seem to treasure above anything else. And every night that goes by that we manage to sleep side-by-side, without anything happening, is like slaying the head of the beast that taunts us to act on our physical attraction. A beast that regenerates during the day and goes back to full force by the time I settle down beside him at night. It doesn't get easier, but somehow it gets better.
There's a spell that comes over us in the dark, in the twilight hours when the world is asleep and we are free from the chains of what everyone else would force us to explain. We are free to just be ourselves. To talk, openly, freely, and without fear of being overheard. And our voices are magic in the way they are soft and unrestrained, effortless, and honest. Nothing disarms like the truth, nothing cracks you open like a genuine, heartfelt word.
In just the span of those weeks, sleeping in his bed becomes something so normal and expected that there's no longer a question of if.
One night he tells me, "I look forward to this now, you know? Lying here with you. It's my favorite part of the day."
I know what he means by that because I feel the same way.
On another night, he confesses that the anniversary of his father's suicide is coming up and that the day is a hard one for him to face.
"You should do something special that day," I say. "Something to commemorate his life. It helps with healing..." I trail off, realizing how awkward I must sound when I know nothing about losing a loved one, other than what my psychology textbooks have taught me.
But Giles just looks pensive. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that's a good idea."
I think of how he's an only child, with no one else to share the burden of the loss. Then, I whisper a single statement to him that makes him go very quiet. "You never talk about your mom."