Page 64 of Get A Fix

“Good morning,” I said hoarsely, so happy to see him.

“As nice as that robe looks on you,” he said sharply as he reached me, taking hold of my bicep, “I need you to come with me and put on some clothes, since we apparently have guests.”

“Wait,” I said, stopping so he would too. “I need to introduce you to⁠—”

“Clothes,” he snapped. “Let’s start with underwear.”

“I—”

“Now,” he insisted, his grip on my bicep tightening as he tugged me after him, not interested, from how quickly he was moving toward the bedroom, in any explanation.

Once there, he slammed the door behind us, then rounded on me.

“Listen, Ash, there is⁠—”

“Fuck,” he growled, which surprised me, and I was even more so when he started to pace.

Not what I was expecting. “What’s wrong?”

“I promised myself when I woke up this morning and turned my head and found you beside me in bed, still holding me, still spooning me, that I would absolutely not get attached.”

I just stared.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. You don’t want to like me.”

“No. You’re not listening.”

“But that’s what you just said.”

“No. I told myself I, me…me, that I would not get attached.”

I squinted, unsure if he knew what he was saying.

“When I rolled over and watched you sleeping, I thought, I could get used to him so very easily, and I was even planning to get up because I needed to put some distance between us, but then you realized I wasn’t right next to you, and your eyes opened just a bit, and you told me to lie back down and hurry up because you were getting cold. Do you remember that at all?”

I shook my head.

“I knew you weren’t awake, but you were so insistent, and when I got close to you, you grabbed me and wrapped me in your arms, and seconds later you were breathing on my nape and⁠—”

“Listen, I’m sorry I⁠—”

“No,” he said sharply, “you’re still not paying attention.”

I shut up, feeling lost.

“You see, lately,” he began, then stopped. “No. More than that. For a while now, I’ve been missing a feeling of normality. I’ve been going nonstop, which is why I usually have Benny with me because looking at my dog gives me just enough of a tether that I don’t completely forget who I am…but I digress.”

I remained quiet, listening.

“You see, the question becomes, if you’re never actually home, do you, in fact, have one? Isn’t home where you feel grounded? Where there is nurturing, if not from others, then simply from being in a space that belongs to you alone?”

“Of course,” I agreed. “Mine is like that. I walk in, and whatever went on outside doesn’t matter now that I’m inside.”

“Yes. Exactly. Home is that feeling of being cared for.”

I smiled at him. “What are you trying to say?”