Page 50 of Our Long Days
When the T-shirt hits the floor, I tap his half-unbuckled belt. “You want me to do this, or you?”
A slight flush tinges his pallid complexion. He fumbles with the belt and zipper, and after a minute, he reluctantlylets me take over. Leaving on his briefs, I tug his jeans past his hips. Pushing lightly on his shoulders, I urge him to sit and lower to my knees. I wrangle his pants down to his ankles then cup the backs of his calves. Pine trees decorate his left thigh, a large clock on the other. There’s barely any blank space on his body. From his neck to his feet, countless designs adorn his tanned skin. I could sit here for hours admiring them.
His bloodshot eyes flutter open. “Hate this,” he rasps, looking wretched and embarrassed.
Oh, Dex.
My heart bursts with pain.
“I know.” I press a kiss to his knee. “Do you need to take anything?”
He watches my lips closely. “Bathroom cabinet. Ben-benzod—” Exhaustion minces his words.
Standing, I stroke his jaw. “I’ve got it. Lie back.”
I search his cabinets. Benzo? Benzo? Benzo?Benzodiazepine.Grabbing the medication, I return to him, happy to find he’s listened to me and lies against his pillows. His tired gaze tracks me as I grab the glass of water from his bedside table and shake the bottle gently.
He reads the label, nods, and opens out his palm. After he swallows two pills, his bulky frame melts into the comforter, breaths evening out. I brush a hand down his stubbled cheek, thankful he’s resting, my worry from earlier easing. My anger and sadness linger over his obstinate nature.
A clammy hand wraps around my wrist when I go to step away.
“Stay,” he whispers.
One word. One request. A million reasons I shouldn’t.
One reason I should: him.
I convince myself this is what friends do.
But as every inch of my body erupts in sparks when I laynext to him, head resting on his chest, my argument loses all gumption.
Sleep finds him quickly.
I drop a text to Megan, telling her we won’t be around today. I answer a few emails, push back this afternoon’s meeting with the Department of Agriculture, and scroll through mindless videos to pass the time. It’s hours before the silence breaks.
“What time is it?” a drowsy voice asks.
I crane my neck to find him peering down at me. His cheeks have a little color back and his eyes are less bloodshot.
“Don’t worry about the time. How are you?”
He swallows. “I have meetings. People I need to?—”
“The only thing you need is rest. Work isn’t going anywhere.”
He doesn’t say anything at first; he just studies me. “Robert.”
I cock my head.
“My middle name is Robert.”
Embarrassment stains my face, unsure how much of my lecture he heard. “You have a free pass today, but get ready for a verbal beating tomorrow, DexterRobertMoore.”
His smile is weak. “I look forward to it.”
I settle back into his chest, and he tugs me closer, vice-like grip locking me in place. “Sorry for the dressing down I gave you. Seeing you like that kinda freaked me out, and my stupid brain went into overdrive.”
“Your brain isn’t stupid.” He sighs. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
