Page 129 of Falling Too Late

WREN

It’d beena while since insomnia hit me. Every time I closed my eyes I saw blues that stressed and softened between the icy color of my nightmares and the ones that were once my safety.

Alex’s body heat was radiating off him. I peeled my cheek off his chest and sat up, grateful for the slight breeze coming through the open window. The moon gave off enough light to see his sleeping form. His chest expanded with each breath. I couldn’t help myself; I leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his full lips and held back the urge to run my tongue over them.

Since Alex had taken up residency in my bed, I was realizing that I should invest in a bigger one. We’d spent every night since the bonfire tangled in each other's arms, and I had reveled in his presence, but right now the room felt too small and too hot. I needed more air. I’d gone from sleeping alone for the last six years to having him in my bed again. Even though I was so grateful for this second chance, my head was spinning with the changes.

I sat on the porch swing. In the distance I saw the moonlight shimmering off the lake. I settled myself in the serenity of my home. The frogs croaked and crickets chirped. King walked outonto the lawn and rolled around in the grass. Queen was walking around the edge of the property, checking her territory. I loved that I couldn’t hear the city noise. I hadn’t heard a gunshot in the middle of the night in years. Hadn’t heard the loud rattling noise of the train passing by or the neighbors fighting out on the streets. This was my home, my sanctuary, and it was the place I was always meant to find.

Sometimes I wondered about fate and everything that needed to line up just right for me to end up where I was today. I wondered if there is an invisible red string tied around me, pulling me in the direction I was meant to end up. Then I cursed the Fates for the very same things.

“Wren?”

I jumped a little at Alex’s panicked voice coming from the house.

“I’m out here,” I called.

The storm door creaked and there he was. He was standing in his sleep shorts, a sheen of sweat across his forehead and chest. Immediately, my heart ached for him. I could see the worry all over his face. His eyes scanned me.

“Hey.” I reached my hand out for him. As if I had a magnetic pull on him, he reached for me, too, lacing his fingers between mine and pulling me to him. He crushed me to his body and I allowed it. His nose was buried in my hair at the nape of my neck. I ran my fingers over his back in slow circles. “It’s okay. I just needed some air.”

“Did something wake you?”

I leaned back to look up at him. I wasn’t used to this. I was not used to someone being there to talk to when there were too many sleepless nights. When the demons crawled out from under my bed and tormented me. I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him that I just got up to use the bathroom and take the dogs outside. I didn’t want to admit that what had kept me awake was the echoing of my own voice begging for him to stay. To hold me.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” I tried, but I could see it on his face.The eyes that could still read me like I was a page of his favorite book. The six years of distance hadn’t transformed me into an unreadable language to him.

“What’s keeping you up, darlin’?”

He allowed me to slip free from his hold, and I set myself back down on the porch swing, tucking my feet underneath me. He ran a hand through his still too short hair before they settle on his hips expectantly. He was vibrating with nervous energy and it pained my heart to see. In the daylight, things seemed so right between us, but there was still so much unsaid.

The lie was on my lips when his amber eyes sharpened with the knowledge, like he’s already read my mind, knowing I’m about to give him a lie to placate his anxiety.

“Wren. . .” He said in the same warning tone he used on me in the bathroom when I first exposed my bruised and emaciated back to him.

“I still have nightmares of that day, and they keep me up on occasion.” I looked across the lawn to the trees. “So, when they would get to be too much, or the voice too loud, I would come out here and sit in silence. The voice isn’t so loud out here.” The words came out softly. Like I didn’t want to disrupt the tranquility around us.

I could see the cogs turning in his head. He shifted on his bare feet, looking out at the scenery.

“You still hear his voice?” Alex asked, an edge to his tone.

I hesitated, once again wanting to lie to him.

“It’s not his I hear.”

“Then whose do you hear?”

I wanted to ask him to drop the subject. I wanted to go back upstairs and get lost in him. I wanted to erase this conversation from existence, but I wasn’t blind. I saw the guilt on his face. I saw that he had been at war with himself, and I couldn’t imagine the festering guilt and anger that he had been dealing with all these years. Had he had someone to talk to? Did they offer therapy in prison? I didn’thave a clue.

I took a deep breath and loosened my hold on the words that I didn’t want to say.

“I hear my voice. I hear my cries and my screams. I hear myself begging you to stay and watching you leave anyway.”

He looked as if I’d reached out and slapped him. He even staggered back, catching himself on the post. I was rooted in place, watching him. We needed to talk about this, I knew we needed to, and there was no gentle way to pick at this scab.

“Do you. . .blame me for?—”

“God, no, Alex.” I couldn’t even let him finish the sentence. “I don’t blame you for anything.” I shook my head, wishing he would look at me but also knowing his eyes would clog the words in my throat. “It's just, that day, I needed you. I needed you to stay. I needed you to be there for me, but you left me, and. . .” I took in a shaky breath. “I’m still angry that you left me.”

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