Page 91 of Bad at Love

“Storm is upset about something and he’s in his room and won’t answer the door. Should I go in?”

“Is it locked?” she asks carefully.

“There is no lock on the door.”

“Seriously? You let him move in and can’t even give him the luxury of a lock on the door?”

“There was never one on it! If he wanted one, he could have said something. I’d have let him change it.”

She tsks. “What happened?”

I pace in the kitchen as I explain everything that happened from when we were about to eat, to what happened when he came back.

“It sounds like he wants space.”

“But it’s been over two hours since he’s been back.”

“Gabriel, you of all people should know what it’s like to want space, right?”

“Yeah, but…” I don’t really have an argument for that. Other than telling her I’m worried about him, but I’m not sure that’s a good enough reason to barge into his room.

“Give him some more time, Gabriel.”

“How long? You know I’m not patient.”

She chuckles. “Don’t I know it?”

“How long?”

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Just tell me!”

“Until tomorrow.”

I stop abruptly, frowning.

“Tomorrow? No way. I’m not waiting that long to see if he’s alive or dead.”

“I’m sure he’s very much alive, Gabriel. Stop worrying so much. Try again in a little while, but I’m telling you, do not go into that room until tomorrow.”

We end the call after I tell her about my trip, though it’s a very quick overview of what happened because I want to get off the phone. I leave out all the sex stuff or anything that’ll make her ask more questions. I fold the clothes from the dryer and put them away, then knock on Storm’s door one more time. When he doesn’t answer, I put my ear to it to see if I can hear anything.Nothing. No snoring, no music, no sound. With a huff, I grab my book from my room and make my way outside.

There is no way I’m leaving him in there all night without checking on him, but I will give him a little more time. He’s allowed to be upset, and I will respect his need for space—to some extent.

I enjoy the rest of the sunlight and then head inside to start dinner once it’s out of sight. It’s later than we usually eat, but we ate lunch late. Well, I did because he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

When dinner is done, I sit and eat alone, then bring a plate up to Storm’s room. I’ve never brought food upstairs, but I’m pretty sure he does without telling me. Food doesn’t belong in bedrooms. It’s for the kitchen and dining room—outside is questionable.

“Storm, I’m bringing you some food,” I call out before turning the handle and pushing the door open.

I find him lying face down on the bed, hugging his pillow. His breaths are long and slow, and he’s still wearing what he had on earlier. Even his shoes are still on. He’s definitely alive—just sleeping. Probably been sleeping the entire time. At least he’s alive. His phone is beside him on the bed, and for the first time, I wonder who he talks to. Does he talk to guys? Does he have boyfriends? Go on dates? I don’t think he has since he’s been here, but he could be doing all sorts of things while I’m at work without me knowing. We aren’t dating, never said anything about actually being with each other. I’d have no right getting mad at him if he was doing any of that. Standing here, watching him, for far too long, all these thoughts start swirling in my head. Thoughts that have me sick to my stomach. Thoughts I really don’t like.

I put the plate of food on his end table, then carefully take off his shoes and leave them by the door. I leave the room and go for a drive, because I need to think.

The house is quiet when I get back, and I don’t feel any better than when I left. I was able to think, but it didn’t do me any good.

I’ve accepted that I like sex with Storm, even though he’s a man. I’ve accepted that I’ve had premarital sex, and that I have made a sex video that anyone in the world could see. What I haven’t accepted, and what I can’t wrap my head around, is that I have feelings for Storm. Feelings that aren’t just comfortability. It’s not the same way I like Marta; trust her and want to spend time with her—sometimes. It’s more than that. I think about him often, want to be with him, and when I’m not, I wonder what he’s doing. He’s always on my mind. I like when he smiles, and like when he makes me smile. I like that he cares about my feelings and is thoughtful. I like that he knows me and that I can be myself with him. He makes me laugh, and that’s important. Is this what it’s like to have a crush on someone? I don’t know where to begin to process this.

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