Page 203 of Silver Sweet
My pulse is racing when I head back to Phoenix, and his eyes flit all over me. Then he finally notices the neck massager in my clutch. A device that splays over the shoulders like a scarf.
“It’s for your neck,” I explain. “I know it’s been bugging you.”
I don’t have to ask if he likes it. His lips are on mine. His hand against my flushed face, and his kiss speaks what words can’t. I slide my fingers into his hair, clutching Phoenix, and I try not to let it hit me.
The bad truth among all these amazing feelings.
I’m keeping the Adderall a secret from my boyfriend.
47
PHOENIX ST. PIERRE
Tom crashes as soon as we make it back to his apartment. The sun has risen, and it definitely doesnotfeel like nine in the morning. Going from pacific time to eastern two days out of the week has wrecked my already busted circadian rhythm. I’m off-kilter.
Do not know when I will sleep, but I’m just glad to have Tom tucked next to me on his bed. Really, I’m on my back, and he’s clung to me like I’m a body pillow—one leg draped over my legs, arm curved over my abdomen, and head pressed to my chest.
His ear is right over my heart, and I know he hates sleeping to total silence. But it does something to me knowing he’s fallen asleep to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
I intake a deeper breath and shift my hand down his back.
Watching him pass out has eased the residual tension in my muscles.
I can’t believe I asked him if he’s using cocaine. Then again, I can. Because I still have Beckett’s threat riding my ass. Beyond that, I would never forgive myself if Tom got swept up in hard drugs on this tour.
Mister Feathers makes tiny chirps from his cage across the room. The one time I woke to him right beside my face, I almost slapped him off the pillow in shock (not fright, like Tom believes). Thankfully I didn’t harm the bird, but Ben locks him up now whenever I spend the night.
The warmth of Tom against my body is soothing. Even if my eyes feel rough. Heavy. I close them.
“Phoenix.” Tom nudges me awake.
I’m startled for a second. “The fuck—what time is it?” I ask, sounding more alert than groggy.
“Time for me to go.” He stares at my eyes. “Stay here? I’ll come back tonight after dinner.”
“You sure?” It’s a lot of travel. It’s easier for him just to spend the night at his parents’ McMansion in Philadelphia and meet up tomorrow.
“Yeah. You should sleep.” He’s scrutinizing me harder. There might be dark half-moons under my eyes. I wonder if he can finally tell something’s not right with me.
I haven’t been actively trying to hide anything. I’ve just been existing how I always exist, but there is a part of me that prefers Tom not knowing I’m an insomniac. Or else I would’ve told him already. I haven’t wanted to worry him over something I’ve dealt with for years, but it might be a conversation that needs to happen at some point.
He’s my boyfriend.
It’s such a warm feeling that I wonder if I’ll be able to fall back asleep when he leaves. I lie in his bed under the black silk sheets, slowly processing that I just slept for sixuninterruptedhours. Six.
I can’t remember the last time that happened.
What was so special? I wrack my brain. I didn’t even fuck Tom. I just held him against my chest—but I’ve done that before. I slept on my back. Done that before too.
I can’t figure it out.
Was it this room? The bed? Is his mattress made for a literal god?
Mister Feathers squawks from his cage. No…the bird…it’s not the bird. Is it? I skim the stark-white feathers and bright yellow crest of the cockatoo. “You a good luck charm?” I ask him.
He chirps into a low-pitched, “Tally-ho!”
My breathing is hard. I hate the idea that it’s just random. Which is most likely the case. It’d be easier, if there were a reason. If I could replicate it. But I need to just be glad it happened at all.
