Page 136 of A Little Broken

“Keep going,” I whisper to the empty room, no matter how petrifying it feels. “Keep. Going.”

There’s this guy… It feels weird telling you about him. But it also feels weird admitting that it feels weird telling you about him, so…I’m not sure what it says about me, but it is what it is.

Just write it, Tatum!

Last night we hooked up.

I stare at the five simple words, watching as they blur together before forcing myself to continue.

We’ve hooked up before last night, but last night felt different. More intimate, I guess. Less like fucking and more like, real, or whatever.

I hesitate, and blow out a slow breath.

I like him, Arch. And it’s weird liking someone who isn’t you, even after all these years. But it doesn’t feel wrong, either. That’s the strangest part about it. And then I start to wonder if I’m wasting way too much time analyzing my feelings over a potential relationship with someone that is still so new in the big scheme of things.

I pause again, tapping my pen against the edge of the page until a little bundle of dots appears as my anxiety claws at me. I want to close the journal. I want to close it and hide it and never open it again, but the pull to keep going, to keep writing and to keep feeling is too strong. Too consuming.

He did something really thoughtful last night. Honestly, it had you written all over it. You were always thoughtful. You were always good at paying attention to the little details no one else would notice.

He does it, too.

Pays attention. Takes note. Cares.

He cares, Arch.

He cares about me. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. But what’s scary is how I’m starting to care about him, too. Scratch that, I think I’ve cared about him for a while now, and I haven’t known how to handle it. How to wrap my head around it. How to protect myself and my feelings while putting my heart out there after everything that’s happened.

It’s scary, Arch. It’s really scary.

I lick my lips and stare at the last paragraph.

Anyway, I guess that’s it. I’m scared. And I care about him. And I wish you were here.

Miss you.

-Tatum

As I rinsethe glass under the faucet, the front door opens, revealing an exhausted Rory. It’s been a long day. The sun is already setting, and I’ve been contemplating cutting bangs just to pass the time.

“Hey,” I call.

She sets her laptop on the kitchen counter, unclips Hades’ leash from his collar, and hangs it on the hook by the front door. “Look at you doing the dishes.”

“Hey, I know how to clean,” I argue.

Unconvinced, she folds her arms. “You know I’ll only do them again once you’re finished.”

With a soft snort, I rinse the bubbles from my hands and grab the dish towel. “And here I am trying to be helpful.”

“Nah, you’re trying to stay busy so you don’t overthink shit,” she argues.

Man, she knows me too well.

“Not enough houses to clean?”

“Already finished the ones I had scheduled,” I mumble, dipping the sponge into the warm water before scrubbing an especially stubborn stain.

Rounding the edge of the kitchen, she approaches the sink and hipchecks me out of the way so she can get to work cleaning the last few glasses and bowls hidden in the soapy water.

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