Page 152 of Saving Sparrow
Sparrow kissed me again and again, each kiss just as pure as the last, each one breaking me apart. He guided us onto our sides, pulling the covers over us. This time when he kissed me, he paused there, breath held.
I knew I was making a mistake, but I couldn’t stop myself. Elliott wasn’t coming back, and Quentin was lost to me. I had no one, and I was so sick of trying to hold it together, of trying to do the right thing. I was sad and lonely, heartbroken and scared, and Sparrow wanted me. I needed comfort, needed to be wanted and held. And Sparrow wanted me. I was just a man who’d lost everything he’d ever treasured, everyone he’d ever loved, and Sparrow was offering me more than what I’d been left with. It was something, and I wanted it.
Maybe I can stay here.Maybe I can live like this. Yes,I thought as my tears soaked my pillow,I could.
I closed my eyes, and with a shuddering breath, I opened up and let Sparrow in.
Elliott
Then
I popped up from under the blanket, shielding my eyes from the morning sun. Quentin groaned, pulling the covers back over himself. Miguel rolled away. I shook them both. “Wake up. We’ve got less than forty minutes to make it to class.”
Quentin had a little more time than us, but his first class was in the Luminary building, a few blocks farther than ours. He pushed onto his forearms, peering at the clock on the nightstand. “Remind me again why I thought we’d be fine with only three hours of sleep?”
“Because you wanted to have a sex-a-thon and would’ve said or done anything to make it happen,” Miguel murmured into his pillow.
“Oh yeah, it’s all coming back to me now. Can’t we skip? It’s the first day. Nothing really happens on the first day.”
“No, we can’t.” I grinned tiredly down at Quentin. “We’ll be fine once we shower.” I climbed over Miguel, dodging his grabby hand. He and Quentin morning hugged and kissed as I headed for the hall. I was tempted to turn back and join them, but I was too hyped up to get to class.
“Fuck, Guelly,” Quentin moaned as I grabbed three towels from the linen closet.
“We can’t, Q,” Miguel panted. “You know the rules.”
“Pretty girl!”
I shook with silent laughter. “Yeah?”
“Can I fuck, Guelly, please?”
“Absolutely not. We don’t have time.” I laughed harder as Quentin’s groan and Miguel’s own laughter chased me into the bathroom. Theymet me there, joining me for a quick shower before hurrying to get dressed.
We’d turned the second bedroom into a walk-in closet/sanctuary. Ironic that I’d been the one in a rush this morning, yet both Quentin and Miguel were dressed and ready before me. They plopped down next to each other on the closet loveseat, watching me change clothes for the fourth time.
“Wear it,” Quentin said when I grabbed the lavender silk camisole.
I’d removed one strap from the padded hanger, then blew out a frustrated breath before changing my mind and hanging it back on the rolling rack. I trailed my fingers over the pretty blouses and dresses, scowling at the dangling price tags. I still hadn’t found the courage to wear any of this stuff outside. “I thought I was ready, but… maybe not.”
“Why not?” Quentin asked as I dug into my dresser drawer for my boy jeans. “You should wear whatever you want.”
“I agree,” Miguel said. It was easy for them to say; wearing whatever they wanted didn’t draw attention, didn’t single them out as different or weird. I took in Miguel’s jeans and T-shirt and Quentin’s sweats. They looked comfortable in their skin, happy with their fashion choices. They fit into what society wanted for them. I didn’t know what that felt like.
I zipped into the rough jeans, hating how unnatural and abrasive it felt against my body. “Neither of you understands what it’s like to be different.” It made it hard to take their advice on the subject, hard to be motivated and inspired when they told me wearing whatever I wanted would work out okay.
“Uh, hello, have you met us?” Quentin asked. “Yourself included. We can’t walk a whole city block without stopping for a group hug or kiss. We’re on top of each other all day, we feed each other, clean each other, we touch like we’ll die if we don’t,”—He waved a hand toward our bedroom—“and we sleep like we’re on a damn twin bed and scared to roll off the edge. It’s a king-size mattress on steroids for fuck’s sake, and we only take advantage of that when we’re fucking—which is all the time because we fuck like the world is coming to an end. That’s weird shit, isn’t it, pretty girl?” Quentin made it hard to be serious. I both loved and hated it because he knew how to shake me from a funk, but sometimes I just wanted to sulk.
“It’s not the same.” I half-smiled despite myself. I couldn’t bear to wear another solid color T-shirt, so I grabbed a folded plaid button-down before closing my drawer.
Quentin leaned forward. “No one’s gonna fuck with my pretty girl, okay? If they do, I’ll have this place running like Locklier so fast that heads will spin.” He reclined slowly with a nod, resting his arm across the back of the loveseat.
“It’s always violence with you,” Miguel muttered.
Quentin seemed baffled by Miguel’s comment. “Well, how else am I supposed to protect you two? Challenge them to a reading contest?”
Miguel rolled his eyes, focusing on me. “Maybe you can start small. You know, like we did that day at the lake with the nail polish.”
I’d thought I was starting small—or big, if I recalled correctly. But I’d never taken things a step further than that. “Yeah, maybe another day,” I said to appease them because we were short on time. There’d never be enough time to get them to understand, to accept that they couldn’t fully appreciate how I felt. They tried their best, though, and I loved them for it.
