Page 51 of Our Long Days
“Things plural?” I scoff.
“Hundreds.” I can feel him looking at me, but my eyes remain glued to where my hand rests on the scripture over his ribs. The room is too dark to make it out.
Clearly, he’s delirious.
“Your smile. Your laugh. How you chat to the goats—or to yourself. The scrunch of your nose when you’re angry orconfused. Your empathy. The way you mess up common sayings.” He takes a breath. “I’ve got my own List of Florence. I just haven’t had the chance to write it down yet.”
Be still my stupid, stupid heart.
“Most of all, I like how you feel next to me, even if I shouldn’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
dexter
When a vertigo attack strikes,the last thing I want is to be in the company of others. It’s one of the reasons my cabin’s situated on the outskirts of town, so no one witnesses me at my worst.
My friends are aware. Patrick has witnessed a few. Afterward, it’s never discussed.
Me and my condition are two separate entities. I want to be Dex, not Dex with Ménière's. I refuse to let it define me, but when my body betrays me, it’s hard to accept it doesn’t.
This attack was rough, the nausea and whirling cloaking me in darkness.
Then, a light dawned. The vibrations of her feet on the floor, her calming touch, her coconut scent enveloping me dragged me out of the murkiness.
The relief was short-lived, and shame assaulted me. Having her witness me in that state left me feeling like half the man I was.
Distance is easiest. Not from friends, but strangers, keeping my circle of trusted people small. I’m not celibate, but it’s been a while since I was comfortable enough to bring someonehome. On the odd occasion I did, it was strictly casual and for good reason. What woman wants to undress their partner? Or stand idly by, waiting for the unforeseeable? The days following an attack are unpredictable. The side effects could pass within hours or days. Above all else, the risk of me going completely deaf isn’t impossible, a probability I’ve known since being diagnosed and still struggle to accept.
A pressure guaranteed to take its toll on the strongest of couples.
What I did accept long ago was it wasn’t worth the risk or heartache. Why bother settling down when there’s a chance I won’t be the same person who entered the relationship?
But then, I glance down. The walls I erected long ago tremble, their foundations tested as slender fingers rest on my bare chest, the ring on her finger glinting in the darkened room. Soft snores tickle my neck. Stolen moments like this make me question my future.
Florence Sadler frightens the life out of me. She makes me want tolive.Properly live. She wears her fears unabashedly. Her vulnerability is beautiful, soul pure; heart open.
With that logic, I’m hideous.
A happy, sleepy noise reaches my ears. Fuck, I missed it. There’s always the chance my hearing won’t return to what it was before an attack, and the waiting is brutal. I love any sound that comes from her lips, but especially now.
She deserves better. She’s Patrick’s sister. My future is unknown.
It’s the same chant, only now, it holds a different tune. It lacks its usual determination, the kind I’ve used to keep her at arm’s length.
“I’m guessing you’re awake. You went from a big cuddly bear to a taxidermy possum.” Her voice scratches with sleep, stirring my dick to life. I grunt in response.
She snickers, unraveling herself from me. Sitting up, dress creased and eyes hazy, she stretches, thrusting her tits in myface, perky nipples poking through the thin cotton material. I’m hypnotized by the simplicity of it.
After a long yawn, her eyes dart around the room. “I can go if you want to rest.”
“No.” My response is instantaneous.
She tries to fight a smile and fails, giggling. No complaints here. That hint of happiness lights me up. After hours of grueling darkness, her laughter is a welcome beacon.
“On a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?” she asks.
I take stock of my surroundings and body. Her voice is clearer, though still slightly muffled. The buzzing is now a low hum, and the room doesn’t spin when I sit up. I’m also hungry—a good sign. As far as attacks go, it wasn’t the worst I’ve experienced, just sudden. “Eight.”
