Page 92 of When In Doubt

The woman in the mirror stares back at me, eyes wide and frightened. Maybe one day I’ll look at myself and not see ghosts. But not today.

“He’ll say yes,” I tell myself.

It was hard to know how touched-starved I was until Oscar started doling out his easy affection. My whole life, people have been strange about touching me. They see my sensitivities, the way I can only handle certain kinds of contact and take that to mean that they should keep their distance. They never think to ask what I need.

When I met Aaron, affection turned into something I had to earn.

Why would you want to sit here sweating on each other?

His voice in my head is so vivid it sounds like he’s speaking into my ear, the answer he gave the one time I asked him to cuddle.

“You can ask Oscar,” I whisper.

We cuddle after sex. I don’t get why you’re being so clingy?

I grip the edge of the sink, trying to banish the words. My heart’s beating so hard it could crack a rib. This is crazy. All I need to do is to go out there and tell him that I’d like us to cuddle for a while.

The worst that could happen is that he says no.

Even contemplating it sends a shiver of despair through me. It’s like being around him has brought down my walls just enough for me to realize what I’m missing, and now I practically ache with the need for human contact.

“Freya?” Oscar’s voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the door. “You alright in there?”

“Yes!” I squeak, my throat thick. “I just need a second.”

I hear his sigh through the wood. “Do you want me to go?”

Oh God, now he thinks I don’t want him here! I fumble with the lock in my hurry to get it open. When the door swings wide, I’m greeted by Oscar on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a pensive expression.

“Hi,” I croak.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“What’s wrong?” He goes to stand, but I hurry toward him until I’m on the other side of the coffee table. His gaze is hard as he stares up at me, probing.

“Could we—” I break off and huff out a breath. Why can’t this be easy? This isn’t a big deal, I’m just asking a question. But every time I try to make the words come, I feel a hand around my throat, keeping them down. “I thought we could…”

Oscar scoots forward, his hands outstretched, beseeching. “It’s okay, honey, you can ask me anything you want.”

I knit my fingers together, trying to steady my breathing. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but… I was just wondering…”

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he whispers.

“Could we maybe cuddle for a bit?” It’s barely audible. I wouldn’t have thought that he heard me if it wasn’t for the way he straightens. It’s as if every possible emotion cycles across his face so fast that I can’t decipher a single one.

“Freya.” The sound that he makes is guttural, like it’s been torn from him. “I - of course. Yes.”

I must sag at least an inch deeper into the carpet, the relief is so palpable. “Okay, that’s great.” I realize I don’t actually have any clue what I’m doing. “So, should I just…” I shuffle forward, my shin knocking the coffee table. “Shit,” I hiss.

“You wanna do it here?”

“Yes?” It comes out like a question. “I mean, is that alright?”

“That’s perfect.”

I move around the table and sit down next to him, perched right on the edge of the cushion. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper, a little mortified.