Page 113 of Splintered Hearts

Smiling sheepishly, he admits. “A little. Sorry. The pain is terrible today. I fucked up, I fear.” Jamie still won’t tell me what happened when he got hurt. “You did a great job drawing in this.”

“I’m color coding the genres, so if I want sports, enemies to lovers, a girl’s love, a boy’s love, whatever, I can easily find it.” Feeling my face flame, I cannot believe I just said all that nerdy bullshit out loud. “That was the nerdiest thing I’ve ever said.”

Jamie laughs. “It is pretty nerdy.” I can’t help tracking the flash of silver as he licks his bottom lip. “It’s very artistic.”

“It’s not art; it’s organization.”

“Art is whatever a person interprets it to be. This is very artistic of you, Noah.” Face hot, Jamie goes back to his sketch, but I watch him a moment, sinking back against the couch. Jamie’s foot brushes my side, making heat pool in my belly. Returning to the notebook, I finish the list, with Jamie’s body still more than half on my mind.

Jamie focuses on whatever he’s drawing as I close my book and lie back against the pillows, sinking into them. Reaching down, I cup the back of his calf, squeezing, and my fingers tickle through the hair on his leg.

Looking up, he smiles as I massage his calf then goes back to his drawing, keeping his eyes between me and the page. Slowly, my mind begins to swim, my eyes sinking and my mind blanking into nothing.

It’s dark.

Opening my eyes, I look around, focusing on the dim room. I feel a weight against me and see Jamie’s legs tangled with mine. His eyes are closed, his chest slowly rising. Shit, how long have we been sleeping. I didn’t mean to fall asleep; I was just so comfortable.

Sitting up, I try not to jostle Jamie when I hear something crinkle.

A piece of paper lies on my chest. Grabbing it, I hold it up. It’s a sketch—a rough one, but still so damn good—of me lying down like I am now with my bullet journal in my hand. In the picture, Jamie’s legs intertwine with my own. Swallowing, I look up and blink.

Was he working on this the entire time? I take the picture, stretching to put it on the coffee table, careful not to move Jamie too much. Watching his chest rise and fall I can’t form any coherent thoughts. Instead, I touch him, my hand gliding up his pant leg, soothing one hairy leg before sliding behind to squeezehis calf.

This is all too confusing.

I lie there for a bit, massaging his leg and watching him sleep, and something blooms inside me—some feeling I can’t name. Months ago I had no home, no job, no friends except for Mark. Now, I have this entire little life that I love deeply. I have a great job and a cute place to live with the most amazing man I’ve ever met.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

How could he feel nothing?

Swallowing hard, I try not to let my emotions take me under. It’s stupid. It’s dumb to be this upset. Jamie’s been clear about our relationship. He’s never brought up the desire for more despite me being the only person he puts his hands on.

An ugly thought pops into my brain.

When he got hurt weeks ago... was he with someone? He still refuses to tell me what he was doing. So, maybe. Sometimes doing things like that can stress the body, but would he really sleep with someone else?

Fuck. Why didn’t I think of that?

I want to tell myself he wouldn’t, but why wouldn’t he? We aren’t official. It would make sense. Night after night, lost in our own little bubble, Jamie still doesn’t want me for real. There’s something I can’t give him and I want to so badly. How does he not feel the same safety and warmth that I do?

Swiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I take a steadying breath.

I have to get out of here.

After I disentangle myself from Jamie’s limbs, I come into my room for a breather. I’m angry with myself as I clean up my room. It’s still littered with books and becoming a problem. I really need to stop looking for the perfect bookshelf and justsettle for a shelf so I won’t burn the house down with this fire hazard.

I slump onto the floor, grabbing a pile of books. I nearly slept the day away, and between my ugly thoughts earlier and sitting in this hopeless mess I’m too wired now. I only have myself to blame. I do this every fucking time. My emotions get the best of me nine times out of ten and I fall for men who never feel the same for me.

This time, though, it’s worse.

Way worse.

Heat squeezes my eyes, and I try to focus on making my bed but collapse onto it instead. I feel so overwhelmed. With the mess in my room or the mess in my heart, I’m not sure. I need to keep my hands and mind busy. My mind’s too cloudy to read, though. A romance right now may actually break me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” My heart practically leaps from my chest. This would be a lot easier if just the sight of him didn’t make my insides melt. “Oh. Nothing.” I can’t come up with any other excuse as I blink back the sting I feel. “Just been lazing around. I wanted to clean up my room. I need to do something about these books.” And I maybe kind of think I’m in love with you. Possibly. Which is pointless because you’ll never love me back. Also, I think you fucked someone weeks ago, but I’m afraid to ask and confirm it.

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