My phone lit up the ceiling at 1:18.
are you awake
Brett had fallen asleep on the couch during a movie, and I’d gone to bed alone, annoyed, pretending I wasn’t. I typed yeah with my thumb and then watched the three dots appear and vanish twice.
get on your stomach and don’t lock the door
I had never in my life moved so fast. I flipped over, shoved the pillow under my hips, turned off the lamp and then turned it back on because I wanted to see his face, and then off again because he’d think I was being pathetic. The door was unlocked. The door was always unlocked. Somehow it felt different now. It felt open.
I lay there listening. The couch creaked. A glass set down in the sink. The tap, water running, stopping. His bare feet on the hallway boards, slow, all the way down.
The doorknob turned, and I was already so hard against the mattress it hurt.
He didn’t turn the light on. The mattress dipped. His hand found the back of my thighs, then the shorts, then they were gone, and he said nothing, he was heavy and warm and half asleep himself, and when he pushed in it was slow and thick and almost gentle.
“You waited,” he mumbled into my shoulder blade.
“You told me to.”
He was asleep again before he’d even pulled out. I let him stay.
