Текст книги "The Play"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“If you’re anything like me, it’s going to take you a few days to adjust to the new time zone. I remember when I first traveled abroad to Australia for the Rugby World Cup, I was an absolute wreck. Couldn’t even tie my own laces. No wonder we lost.”

I smile against him, then turn it into a kiss, my lips brushing the side of his chest. “I have a hard time believing you could lose at anything.”

He grunts. “Then I shant ruin the pedestal you’ve placed me on, darling.”

I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, his rhythmic stroking of my hair. I’m almost falling asleep again, dreams coming at me in dark flashes, wanting to bring me under, when his alarm goes off.

“Can’t we ignore it?” I mutter.

“We can ignore the alarm,” he says. He adjusts himself just as Lionel jumps on the bed, shuffling his way between us. “But we can’t ignore him.”

“I just want to sleep,” I say, seconds before I get a paw to the face.

“Aye,” he says, “but we have a big day.”

My tired brain jogs over the plans we’ve made. Or plans that he has made for me. He has rugby practice at two, and he wanted to bring me to the shelter beforehand and introduce me to the people that work there. I guess he feels bad about leaving me in the apartment with the dogs all day, though I honestly wouldn’t mind. Lionel is just a big suck and Emily is warming up to me more and more.

Plus Lachlan’s apartment is absolutely stunning. I never pegged him as someone who would live in such a gorgeous, airy, historical place, but even after glancing out the front window and gazing at all the other stone houses on the street, it’s obvious everyone here lives somewhat like this. It’s kind of like living in a sexier episode of Downton Abbey.

But Amara, who I met briefly yesterday, seems nice enough, albeit a little quiet, and I know Lachlan wants me to feel important and involved. The last thing I want is for him to worry.

Somehow the two of us manage to remove ourselves from bed. Lionel is running around the living room like a crazed beast, mouth open in a permanent, gummy smile. While Lachlan slips on running shoes, loose black drawstring pants, a white t-shirt, and a baseball cap, to take Lionel and Emily out for a quick walk, I putter around his sparse, elegant kitchen trying to figure out how to make a pot of coffee. I find a cupboard overflowing with stashes of tea, a small bag of coffee, and finally, a French press.

I sigh loudly in relief, putting the kettle on and taking a moment to take it all in. There’s usually so much you can tell about a person judging by where they live, but Lachlan’s apartment doesn’t give me much. He told me he’s been living here for about five years now, but to be honest, it’s not that much different in terms of personal touches than the short-term rental he had in San Francisco. There’s some art on the walls, vintage concert posters framed extravagantly in the living room, and subdued modern art in the dining room, but none of that really seems to reflect his personality. The same goes for his furniture. While it’s all very nice, the only thing that seems to have any reflection of him is the wood dining table, with its knots and grains and imperfections.

The bookshelves hold mainly hardcover non-fiction books ranging from memoirs to travel, but there are just a few items and photos held on the shelves and on top of the fireplace mantel. The photos are of him and Edinburgh Rugby, one of him and Lionel, and then one of him and, who I’m guessing are his adopted parents after a game, his hair matted, barely smiling in his uniform. If this was my house, I would have my shit cluttered all over the place. All you need to do is walk inside, look around, and you immediately know that Kayla Moore lives there.

If I’d met Lachlan on the street, and by some good fortune strolled on home with him here, I’m not sure I could glean anything from his home that I didn’t already know. That said, his flat does have a nice feel to it, just as he does. I’m sure over time it will become more and more comfortable. I’ll adapt to it and it will adapt to me.

When he comes back from his walk, I hear him in the hallway talking to the dogs in a happy, playful tone. The coffee is ready, so I lean against the counter, slowly sipping from the cup while he walks into the kitchen.

“Wow,” he says when he sees me, stopping by the door to look me up and down, shaking his head slightly.

“What?” I ask, wanting to know why he’s staring at me with such awe.

He runs his hand over his chin. “You. Here. In my kitchen. In nothing but your knickers.”

I raise my coffee cup. “And with coffee.”

“Dream woman, that’s what you are,” he says, sauntering over to me with that ever present swagger. While he may be wowed by the sight of me, I’m equally wowed by him, particularly by the way his drawstring pants hang so low on his waist, showing that perfect V and giving me one hell of a dick imprint. I’m glad I can continue to wow him in every way possible.

He comes over, bracketing me in between his large hands, his body pressed up against mine. He gazes down at me through his lashes, eyes roaming my face, the smallest smirk on his lips. “I think I can get used to this,” he says, voice low and husky and reaching inside me. My spine liquefies at the sound of it, my skin dancing with anticipation because I know, I know, he’s going to touch me and my body is in constant need.

“What time do we have to head on out?” I ask him, closing my eyes as he leans down and kisses my neck.

He groans, sending shivers through me. “Where do I have to go again?”

“To practice,” I remind him. “And you’re taking me somewhere first. To your work. Though I suppose we could do that another day,” I add hopefully.

He sighs. “No.” He pulls back and peers at my face. “I wish, but if I don’t go back, I’ll be in big trouble.”

He doesn’t have to tell me. I know rugby is his career, and I know how important it is to him. The last thing I want is for him to feel guilty about it.

I decide to lighten the mood. I run my hands down his taut waist and gaze up at him sweetly. “What happens when you get in big trouble? Do the other boys pull down your shorts and give you a spanking?”

He raises his brow. “Filthy, filthy creature,” he murmurs.

I run my thumb under the waistband of his pants, feeling his warm, soft skin. “Well, don’t spoil my fantasy now.”

“Right. Well, yes, of course we pull down each other’s shorts and take turns beating each other with sticks. Sometimes we rub butter all over each other and have one big tackle.” He pauses. “Actually, that happened once, but I think we all had a bit too much to drink. It’s not easy to tackle a naked, oily man. Was good practice though.”

I study him, unable to figure out if he’s serious or not. “Rugby is a very weird sport.”

He reaches around me for the mug I set out for him. “You’ll come to practice sooner or later and see for yourself.”

“I can do that?” I ask, suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing him in action. I step to the side to let him pour the coffee.

“If you’d like,” he says. “I can’t say whether I’d be playing or at my full capacity, but I’ll arrange it. Hopefully on a good day. I don’t want you to start thinking I’m not the player you thought I was.”

“Oh, I never thought you were a player,” I tease him. “Gay, maybe.”

There’s just the slightest roll of his eyes. “Right, well that rubbing butter over our naked bodies didn’t really help now, did it?” He takes a sip of his coffee and closes his eyes. “By the way, love, this is bloody good. If you can make me coffee every morning for the rest of my life, I will die a happy man.”

There’s brevity in his eyes, but his words still hit me hard. God, could that even be possible? My thoughts trip and suddenly I’m imagining myself right here, in this kitchen, weeks from now, months from now, years from now. What would that be like? To be with someone like him for that long? Contrary to how I used to think, at least with Kyle, that thought doesn’t scare me anymore. Instead, it makes my heart warm, skipping a beat.

“Only thing is,” he continues, as if he hasn’t just put the most wonderful imagery in the world inside my head, “I wish you could actually be here to see me in action. Our first game starts the week you leave, and I highly doubt I’ll be put on the pitch.”

My heart may have been skipping a beat but now it’s sinking.

I swallow hard and grip the edge of his shirt. “New rule. Neither of us are to mention the fact that I’m leaving in three weeks.”

His eyes narrow and he nods. “All right. That’s fair. What about when you book your flight back?”

“Leave that to me,” I tell him, knowing he’s already offered to pay for my return. “I’ll take care of it when I do.”

“Or maybe you could not, and just stay here indefinitely,” he says, focused on his coffee cup until he briefly looks up at me. He shrugs one shoulder. “It might be an option.”

This man is tempting me at every turn. First it was coming here, now it’s the idea of never leaving.

“We both know I can’t do that,” I tell him. Then I playfully punch his rock hard shoulder. “And hey, what did I say about that? We don’t mention it, okay? Let’s just…enjoy this.”

“For as long as we can?” he says, and damn if I don’t see sorrow in the way he scrunches up his brow.

“For as long as we can.”

***

A couple of hours later, after a quick breakfast of sausage and eggs, courtesy of Lachlan (and no, that’s not an innuendo), we leave the dogs behind and pile into his car. I’ve never been inside a Range Rover before, but damn if it’s not a perfect car for him—big, tough, and rugged. But instead of taking it out into the wilderness, we cruise through the busy city streets, heading to his organization which is across town.

I can’t help but ogle out the window at everything we pass. The buildings are so different, so old, so charming and full of character you can’t duplicate. They bleed history, and I find myself getting antsy over exploring the city. Already it feels like there’s not enough time to do everything, and even though I want to soak up as much Lachlan as I can, I want to take in as much of Edinburgh as possible. It’s probably because of my present company, but it already feels like the city is leaving a stamp on my heart.

We pull up to a stone building near what seems like the outskirts of downtown. I get out of the car, remembering to look right before I’m run over by a car and stare up at the sign above the dark wood door.

“Ruff Love Animal Shelter?” I repeat. I look at him in awe. “That is absolutely adorable.”

“Aye. It is. People were surprised how saccharine it was, considering it came from me. But most of these animals can use a sweet bit of PR. Having people view them as cute and adorable is what helps get them adopted.”

Agh. Once again, this man has found another way to sweep me off my feet. I look down the building, back up at the sign, then over to him, standing there on the street in black boots, black jeans, and a grey t-shirt, looking about as rough and rowdy as they come, and yet from the goodness of his heart he’s managed to do all of this.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

I eagerly latch on to it and let him lead me inside.

It’s not as chaotic as I would have thought. There’s a reception area where I spot Amara on the phone, giving us a quick wave, then a small row of prison-like cells. I know Lachlan is doing a wonderful thing, but I can’t help but cringe painfully, knowing how many animals spend their lives here.

“It’s all right,” he whispers to me, grabbing my hand and squeezing hard. “The dogs here are the dogs with a fighting chance. Most of them get adopted and go on to live full and happy lives.”

He takes me down the aisle, and even though my heart is breaking a little bit at the sight, he points out the good things the dogs have going for them. For one, they all get dog beds and toys in their kennel so they don’t have to sleep on concrete. They have more room than most shelter dogs do and the ones that are social can easily share with another. He tells me that thanks to their volunteers, and Amara, all the dogs are walked three times a day, four times for the high energy, and one of those walks is an hour long excursion to a nearby park. Sometimes they go in packs, sometimes they go alone where training is implemented.

We stop by an older pit bull named Jo, who loves to give sloppy kisses through the bars. She’s been there the longest because a lot of people don’t like to adopt senior dogs, even though she’s in good health and is easy going. He’s hopeful that she’ll be adopted soon.

“Sometimes I sneak her home,” he admits to me, while Jo stares adoringly up at him, tail swishing on the floor. “She’s spent a lot of weekends with me and Lionel, watching TV.”

“So why don’t you adopt her?” I ask him.

“If she doesn’t go at some point, I will do just that,” he says. “But the point of all this is to share the love. If someone adopts her and then discovers what a joy she is as a banned breed and as a senior dog, the odds of them doing it again, or at least encouraging others to do so, is very high. We have repeat customers here, you know, who adopt one dog and then realize how easy it is to make a difference. So they adopt another. Or they donate.” He pulls a dog treat out of his pocket and gives it to Jo, smiling at her as she happily eats. “Once people realize how easy it is to make a difference, they’re forever changed.”

He takes me past the rest of the dogs and I have a hard time keeping up with their names, though I’m falling in love with their beautiful faces. One dog, steel grey with a wide white chest, cowers in the corner until Lachlan crouches near the bars, casting the occasional glance his way. He speaks in low, furtive tones until, eventually, the dog comes over. He shies away when Lachlan reaches out to put a treat through the bars, but then hunger gets the best of him and he quickly gobbles it up.

“That’s Bubsy,” he says. “I found him, abused, beaten, hanging by a thread in a London alley. Someone had bashed his head in, his fur halfway gone from who knows what. I didn’t think he’d make it, but he pulled through. He’s terrified of people, obviously. The fuckers who did this to him ruined his trust in humans. And they say he’s a dangerous dog, just because of his breed. It’s those kind of people who should be banned, not the breed. People are cruel, so sick, far worse than any animal.” He sighs angrily, running his hand over his face. “To be honest, we didn’t think Bubsy would ever be integrated or adopted. We’ve had a few dogs that we’ve put our bloody hearts into and just…” He rubs his lips together, shaking his head. “It’s a fucking shame. But Bubsy is getting better, with time. With the right owner, someone patient and kind and strong, he’ll have a chance.”

My eyes are hot with tears that I’m managing to hold back. “I don’t know how you do it,” I tell him. “How can you be around all of this, all the time, and not be fucking gutted?”

He tilts his head, eyes wide in consideration. “To be honest, I am fucking gutted most of the time. But I understand these dogs. I know what it’s like to be cast aside, to feel unwanted, to believe you have no one to fight for you. I’ve been there. Time and time again. It hurts like hell, but if I don’t fight for them, who will?”

I stare into his eyes, completely enveloped by everything he is, and…shit.

This man.

I am so fucking in love with this man.

Then I’m hit with an aftershock, because holy shit.

Did I just admit that to myself? Did I just think that?

I did.

Luckily he’s looking back at Bubsy, that wonderful, reckless kind of hope in his eyes, another look that does me in, while I’m feeling lightheaded, breathless, unruly with the realization of my feelings.

Maybe it’s just that he’s this manly man standing in front of you, talking about how much he loves rescuing dogs, I think.

But of course it’s that. It’s many things. It’s everything.

And I’m completely head over heels in love with him.

His eyes flit to me and he frowns slightly. “There is almost always a happily ever after,” he says, and I have to blink at him to get back on track and understand what he means. “And unless we take the risk and bring them in, even if failure will break our bloody hearts, it’s worth it.”

Oh god, please don’t let him be talking in a metaphor for our own hearts.

He smiles at me and I have to look away because I can’t stand to lose my footing.

“Want to take a few for a walk? I’ll get Amara to join us.”

I nod, my tongue feeling thick, my brain stupid. Meanwhile my heart is fucking breakdancing in my chest because it’s finally discovered what love is.

The most wonderful, most terrifying feeling that life has ever had to offer.

I’m kind of in a daze when we go and get Amara. I hope I’m speaking to her correctly and making sense, because all I can really think about is Lachlan and love and that dire hope that maybe, somehow, love is something that you can turn off like a switch. Maybe this is just all lust wrapped up in a very sexy, soulful tatted bow. Maybe this is just adrenaline, the thrill of being overseas for the first time, the excitement of taking risks. Maybe it’s a lot of things.

But it doesn’t stop that feeling.

It’s a feeling you can’t even question.

Because it’s real, and it’s beating in a rhythm you never knew you could dance to, and it’s there. It is so fucking there and present and taking up every cell in my body.

I have to talk to Steph and Nicola. I have to get their advice. Coming to Scotland for hot passionate sex is one thing, but coming here and realizing you’re in love, on day one, is something else. It’s dangerous and futile and one more risk I have to take.

I can’t even snap out of it, so lost in my own thoughts, until Lachlan realizes he should head off to practice sooner rather than later. He tells me that Amara will take care of me and drop me off at his flat later. I have his spare key in my purse, just in case I’m home before him.

“See you later, love,” he says, pulling me to him, oh so gently, and leaving a lingering kiss on my lips.

I sigh against his mouth, my chest fluttering. “Okay,” I say breathlessly. “Good luck.”

He nods and leaves the shelter, and I’m just standing there like a fucking puddle of Kayla goo.

“So, who do you want?” Amara asks me, handing me a leash.

I gingerly take one in my hands, but have to shake my head to knock some sense into me. “Um, what?”

She smiles at me. She has a giant Madonna-sized gap between her front teeth that gives her this strangely sexy edge. “The dogs,” she says. “Which dog do you want to walk?”

“Oh,” I say. “Whichever one needs it most.”

“How about whatever dog is easier? Jo it is,” she says, heading over to Jo’s cage and opening the door. She waddles over to me, fat belly swinging from side to side, and immediately stares up at me like I’m going to take her home and never let her go. Even black hearts don’t stand a chance here.

“She’s Lachlan’s favorite,” Amara says, snapping the leash on Jo and giving me a knowing look. “Though I think you might be Lachlan’s favorite too.”

I look away and hope that the heat on my cheeks isn’t translating into blushing.

“Hey,” Amara says, going over to another cage. “You’re all right, yeah? It’s good. I’ve never seen him this way around anyone before. Not that there have been any anyones if you know what I mean.”

As she brings two dogs out of a communal cage, I give her a look. “Let me guess, you’re going to warn me about how brooding and difficult and quiet he is. Believe me, I know. I heard that same shit from his cousins.”

“Oh, well that’s a given,” she says lightly. “But I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily brooding—he’s just a thinker. And he’s not difficult either, he’s just honest and he knows what he’ll do and what he won’t do. Personally, I’ve always found something very noble about Lachlan, like a breed of man that doesn’t really exist anymore. I’m glad, really, to see him with someone that makes him light up. It’s about time. You meet his parents yet?”

I shake my head.

“I’m sure you will,” she says as we head out of the shelter. She stops and locks the door while the dogs all start pulling against their leashes in excitement. “They’re lovely people. They’ll just love you and the fact that you’re here.”

I give her a steady look. “Just how much do you know about why I’m here?”

She tightens the ponytail at the back of her head. “I know that he’s not the type to meet a girl and fly her over here. That says a lot about him. And the fact that you came, that says a lot about you.”

She’s a real straight shooter, this one.

“What can I say? I, uh, really like him.”

She doesn’t need to know what an understatement that is.

Her eyes squint into a smile. “I know. Ah, before we forget.” She unhooks three muzzles hanging along the wall with an array of leashes. “If the dogs aren’t muzzled, we can get in some real shite.”

She passes me the muzzle and I stare down at Jo’s beautiful, open face, the hopeful eyes and the big smile. “Seems kind of wrong to be doing this,” I tell her, fixing the muzzle on her snout, which Jo accepts without a fuss. “This is only going to make people more afraid of them. I’m pretty sure Jo wouldn’t harm a fly.”

Amara sighs as she slips them onto the others. “Yeah, well. Tell that to the government. It’s either we muzzle them or we don’t get them at all. Most people in the U.K. have preconceived notions about these dogs and the muzzles only make it worse. If only they could see them, how they can really smile, they wouldn’t be so afraid. It’s that stigma, you know, that we’re trying to work through. People want to believe the rubbish they hear about these dogs, and it’s really hard to get them to do anything but argue with you.”

“It’s the same in the States,” I tell her. “The more I’ve been with Lachlan, the more I’ve been paying attention to the media bias. If a Labrador attacks a child—which is, like, way more common than you think—it rarely makes the news, and if it does they sweep it under the rug as a ‘dog attack.’ But if it’s a pit bull, all the news stations report it with screaming headlines.” I give Amara an embarrassed smile. “I confess, the media had me totally fooled until I met Lachlan.”

She nods, putting her hands on her hips. “He might not say too much, unless you really know him of course, but if you get him talking about the dogs, he won’t shut up. He’s done so much good here. He’s very, very persuasive.”

She jerks her head toward the door and I follow her out into the streets. The dogs look terrible with the muzzles on, but at least their tails are wagging, their noses full of fresh smells.

“So how is the place doing?” I ask her curiously. “I mean, in terms of funding and all that?”

She tilts her head back and forth, thinking, as we stop to let the dogs sniff a patch of grass. “It’s okay. I get paid no matter what, and that’s thanks to Lachlan’s own money. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s made a lot of smart money over the years, I think my position would be strictly volunteer.”

“And the volunteers?”

“They come and go, but we have four of them who are really committed. One used to play rugby with Lachlan years ago. Rennie.” Her eyes brighten as she says his name. “He’s away at the moment, but he’s always a big help.”

“Has Lachlan done any fundraising recently?” I ask.

“Well, he’s been away, but at the start of the rugby season there’s a gala…will you be here for that? It’s in a few weeks.”

My jaw clenches uneasily. “I’m not sure…”

“I was left in charge so I’m not sure if it will be as up to par as it normally is. Thankfully I had Lachlan’s mother, Jessica, to help. She’s usually the one planning these kinds of events. Lachlan would be lost without her when it comes to parties and mingling with the rich and famous.”

“What about, like, a rugby calendar?” I remember what Neil told me about the French ones.

She smirks at me. “Like have him pose nude to save the animals?”

I grin at the thought. “That wasn’t really what I had in mind, but hey, if I saw a calendar with him naked in it, I’d buy it. I wouldn’t care what the cause is. Women are really fucking simple.”

“That doesn’t weird you out, to have the world looking at your boyfriend’s goods?”

A thrill runs through me at the mere fact that she called him my boyfriend. Is he my boyfriend? I have no idea. But I’m not about to correct her. I like the sound of it.

“I wouldn’t have a problem with it. More reason to brag,” I add with a laugh.

We spend two hours taking various dogs for walks around the block and then some, until it’s time to clean up. Amara says that she’ll be back around eight p.m. with Charlotte, one of the other volunteers, to take the dogs for their last walk. I have to say, even though it seems hopeless in many ways for these dogs, they’re obviously taken care of very well. I shudder to think of how animals in other shelters are, especially the overcrowded ones back home with the high-kill rates.

When Amara drops me off at Lachlan’s, I let myself into his apartment, expecting to see a big mess inside. But both dogs have been well-behaved and Lionel jumps off the couch where he was snuggling with Emily, running over to me with big eyes and a wagging tail.

I crouch down and scratch behind his ears, unable to escape being licked all over my face.

“I’ll take you out in a few minutes,” I tell him, careful not to say the “W” word around him. He just stares at me with those big eyes, and I have to look away. If he was my dog, he would be so damn spoiled. Now I understand why Paris Hilton dragged that ugly Chihuahua everywhere.

I walk into the bedroom, taking off my shirt and putting on something new and fresh. I pick a black tank top cut low enough to show the top of my lacy push-up bra. My boobs have to look their best for him. The fact that right now, he’s at rugby practice, getting all hot and sweaty and manly, running other big men over with his sheer determination and brute strength, well, I’m half-tempted to bring my vibrator out of my half unpacked suitcase and get busy.

But instead, I decide to save what I have for him and start making myself at home. I open up his closet to see how much room he has, though it quickly turns into me snooping through his clothes.

His wardrobe is pretty much the same as I’ve seen so far, just more of it. Still, for all his money, you never really see any of it in excess. Maybe a Land Rover is pricey, and this flat sure wasn’t cheap, not in the way it’s so stunningly done up, but Lachlan pretty much lives like everyone else. He’s got a few suits, all obviously tailored to fit his extra broad shoulders, but they aren’t designer labels. His shirts and jeans are mostly from H&M or some shop I don’t recognize. I like that about him, how unpretentious he is.

Since I’m in snooping mode and apparently don’t feel all that guilty about it, I move on to the rest of the room. At first it seems like he keeps everything neat and tidy, but then you realize it’s just that he doesn’t have a lot of stuff.

I move on to the bathroom, out past the hall, the walls painted a vivid blue. I know, I know it’s wrong to creep on people, and it’s especially wrong to want to check out their medicine cabinet. But there are just some things that have me curious. Sometimes it’s the ticks that he has, the ones he probably doesn’t even notice—the clenching of his jaw, the scratching of his arms, that wild widening of his eyes like he’s about to beat down on someone, the little sounds of frustration he makes at any odd time. We all have things like this, but with him…I just want to know more in any way I can.

And to be honest, I want to know more about what I’m getting myself into. I’m just here for three weeks, but I want to know Lachlan as deeply as possible. He seems to have been through so much…but how much more is there? And how deeply do his demons have a hold on him? Are things going to change now that we’re on his turf, or was the Lachlan I saw in San Francisco the one I’m going to get?

I take in a deep breath, nervously peering over my shoulder, as if Lionel is watching and ready to tell on me, and then open the cabinet.

There’s a bar of glycerin soap still in the package. A razor blade, a beard trimmer, one of those old-fashioned looking shaving brushes. Toothbrush, mouthwash, toothpaste. Hydrocortisone cream, anti-bacterial cream, arnica cream. A packet of allergy pills, a packet of muscle relaxers. Ibuprofen. Aspirin.

Then three bottles of prescription pills.

One only has a quarter left in the bottle: Ativan.

I know that one well. It’s for anxiety. That doesn’t surprise me. A lot of people I know are on it, and Lachlan isn’t exactly the calmest dude around. I mean, when he’s intense, he owns it. It nearly takes your breath away.

The second bottle is Percocet. Pain killers. Must be for the tendon injury because the bottle is almost empty.

Then there is Fluoxetine, which I know is Prozac. My mom took hers for a long time, but this bottle has barely been touched. That’s either a good thing or a bad thing. I’ve seen how my mom is on and off the drug, and I’ve heard her complain about how it dulls not just the pain but all the joy in life too. Then again, there were times when she really needed it to get through the day.

I carefully shut the cabinet door, holding my breath, afraid that he’s going to appear in the mirror behind me, like in a thriller movie. But he doesn’t. I’m alone in the bathroom, and Lionel is whining outside the door.

It’s none of my business to ask why he might need anti-depressants, and lord knows that, given his history, or at least what little I know of it, he has more than enough reasons to warrant it. But even so, I’m terribly curious. I want to know and I want to know on his own terms. I want him to trust me enough to open up to me, to let me in and show me around. Show me his fears and the demons on his back. I want to lose myself in his beautiful darkness.

I want my love to be the thing to bring him light.

But in these passing days, in the situation we’re in, I’m not sure that’s possible. I’m not even sure if I’ll ever tell him how I truly feel, because who trusts those words from someone you barely know? It doesn’t matter how much I know it. It doesn’t matter that people fall hopelessly in love all the time, every day. I don’t know if he’ll ever see, really see, just how I feel. And the complicated part is, it’s only going to get worse as the days go on and I fall more and more under his spell.