Page 55 of Ugly Truths
That thought was running through my head when I stepped into his bedroom. The muted tones, crisp scent of his cologne, and the bed I’d slept in more times than I should have hit me all at once.
I hesitated before sitting on the edge of his side, letting my gaze drift over the room, taking it all in. It felt like I’d stepped into a memory, only for the details to shift under closer inspection. My fingers brushed over the soft bedding, and that’s when I noticed a small slip of paper wedged between two books on the bedside table.
Curiosity got the better of me. I reached for it, pulling it free, only to feel my chest tighten the second I recognized the handwriting.
My note. The one I left behind the night I walked away.
I remember how quickly I wrote it up before I got on my final phone call with Luis in the bathroom, just wanting to get the pain over with. It’s evident in the messy tails and smudges where my thoughts were moving faster than my hand.
My fingers traced along its worn edges, lost in thought, when I caught movement next to the open door. An apology was already forming, but the words died on my tongue when I looked up and saw that Silas wasn’t looking at me or the note I was holding. He was looking at the bags I had brought upstairs with me and placed inside the door.
I braced myself, waiting for him to tell me whether or not I was welcome here. But he didn’t. He just stood there, eyes darkening in a way that sent heat curling low in my stomach, silently confirming I made the right decision.
Even with all that intensity, Silas seemed distracted for the rest of the afternoon. I wondered if William got in his head the same way he once got in mine after that family dinner we left before it even began.
The only relief I have is in the moments I’ve been able to pull him back to reality, and his stare softens. That, at the very least, tells me that whatever William said to him might not be about me at all. Still, I don’t feel like I have the right to ask.
With Silas getting dressed in the closet, uncertainty creeps in like a slow, unwelcome tide. This thing between us is fragile, and I feel like I’m one misstep away from shattering it.
As if sensing the spiral of my thoughts, Silas returns in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, the fabric clinging to the lean, defined lines of his body. His coffee eyes find mine like he already knows what I’m thinking.
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the bathroom door. By the time I get the courage to follow him, he’s already pulling open the solid-wood drawers of the vanity.
“Get changed, and I’ll grab you some toiletries,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at me.
Swallowing the dryness in my throat, I nod. As I change, he unpacks a brand-new toothbrush and hairbrush, face wash, and lotion. My stomach twists as a quiet, intrusive question creeps in before I can stop it.
Who were these items meant for?
I press my lips together, forcing the thought away.
It’s no one’s fault but mine if someone else was here while I was gone.
The dull ache lingers as I pull my sleep shirt over my head and my shorts over my legs. By the time I finish, he’s already brushing his teeth, standing beside the sink like this is something we’ve done together a hundred times before, but we haven’t.
I used to get ready for bed across the hall, careful to never leave my things in this space. Making myself at home in a place I knew I couldn’t stay felt like planting roots in sand. It would’ve given me a false sense of hope I couldn’t afford to hold on to. Sharing space like this was too intimate. This is where you see each other at your most human, and I couldn’t risk letting him see more than he already had.
Silas braces a hand on the marble countertop, his tired eyes meeting mine in the mirror. We both still, and then Silas smiles around his toothbrush, foam catching on the corner of his mouth. Heat creeps up my neck, and I avert my gaze.
I busy myself with the hairbrush he set out for me, running it through my hair even though it doesn’t need it. He doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps brushing his teeth, that knowing smile still lingering.
Once we’re both finished, Silas moves through the bathroom and then bedroom, shutting off the lights one by one until only his bedside lamp remains. It casts everything in a soft, golden glow. I hesitate at the edge of the bed as the memory of my last night here hits me, instant and visceral.
My tears soaked into the pillow I’m about to rest my head on. Silas beside me, his arm draped over my waist, as if, even in sleep, he could keep me from slipping away. I watched him for hours, memorizing the contours of his face in the darkness, waiting for his grip to loosen so that I could leave.
I barely breathed as I grabbed my bag and vanished into the night.
“You okay?”
My head snaps up as Silas moves to his side of the bed, slipping off his glasses and folding them carefully before setting them on the nightstand. Something in the way he watches tells me he knows exactly where my mind just went.
Instead of answering, I follow his lead, slipping beneath the covers as he flicks off the lamp and plunges us into darkness. The crisp scent of freshly laundered sheets surrounds me and the familiar weight of the duvet settles over my body.
Still, I can’t relax.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to his breathing. My body aches to move closer. All I do is curl my fingers into the sheets.
We never used to fall asleep wrapped up in each other. The most contact we'd have was Silas gently holding my forearm while I desperately tried to keep him at arm’s length—literally and figuratively. It was futile, though. In the middle of the night, I'd often wake to find us tangled together, as if our bodies knew better.
